The Pull

August 3, 2026

Have you ever felt like you had a calling?

Like there was a pull inside of you that you were meant to do something greater than yourself? Something outside the box of normal societal expectations?

More than having a good career, volunteering, raising kids, paying your bills, going on nice vacations, and watching football every Sunday.

Not because those things aren’t meaningful. They are.

But because something inside you keeps whispering that your life is meant for something more.

I have.

I’ve carried that feeling for most of my adult life.

It became impossible to ignore about fifteen years ago.

It wasn’t a voice. It was a way of seeing the world. A feeling in my gut. A pull toward certain mentors, books, ideas, and experiences that seemed different from what most people around me were pursuing.

Around that same time, I began to recognize that I had grown up inside a remarkable family story. One that had shaped me in ways I hadn’t fully appreciated.

As those two realizations came together, a vision slowly began to form.

I believed I was supposed to share our family’s story with the world.

I believed I was supposed to help develop strong leaders.

I believed I was supposed to help people recognize the light inside themselves.

So I started.

Not at the scale I dreamed of someday.

But I started.

Then I questioned it.

Then I started again.

Then I questioned it again.

Then the landslide happened.

Oddly enough, it didn’t weaken that sense of calling.

It strengthened it.

I became even more convinced there was purpose in what I had lived through.

So I tried to build something from it.

What I learned the hard way is that it’s incredibly difficult to pursue a calling while you’re simultaneously losing your identity, your sense of safety, and your understanding of who you are.

Survival consumes almost everything.

So I got a job.

I was miserable.

So I followed the calling again.

But I couldn’t build momentum.

Eventually, I made a different choice.

More than anything, I wanted love.

I wanted home.

I wanted safety.

I wanted a life that felt secure.

So I settled myself into a man I believe God had sent to me to be love and not a lesson.

And I set the calling aside and chose a career that seemed like a good fit instead.

I studied.

I worked hard.

I passed my exam.

I was excited.

Committed.

Ready.

And just as that chapter was beginning, my dad died.

At nearly the same time, the love, safety, and home I thought I had found exploded into manipulation, predation, deception, and emotional abuse.

Everything I thought I had built disappeared.

Over the last year, as I’ve rebuilt my life piece by piece, I’ve wrestled with the same questions over and over.

Do I really have a calling?

Or have I simply convinced myself that I do?

Am I brave enough to follow it?

Why can’t I just be content with an ordinary life?

Why does it feel like everyone else can choose a career, build a life, and be satisfied, while I keep feeling pulled toward something I can’t fully see?

There are days when I think I should stop fighting it.

Get a normal job.

Build a normal life.

Be grateful for it.

And maybe I would be.

But every time I start to settle into that idea, something inside me stirs again.

Not because I have a clear plan.

Not because I know where it leads.

Simply because that pull has never left.

It has been there through success and failure.

Through the landslide.

Through the loss of my dad.

Through heartbreak.

Through betrayal.

Through rebuilding my life from the ground up.

I’ve questioned it more times than I can count.

I’ve tried to set it aside.

I’ve tried to convince myself that I made it all up.

And yet, it’s still there.

Quiet.

Persistent.

Unrelenting.

Maybe that’s the part I can trust.

Not that I know exactly what I’m supposed to do.

But that, for reasons I don’t fully understand, I have never been able to walk away from the belief that my life is meant for something more.

I just wish I could get some clarity around what that is.