Placing emphasis on the Here instead of the Why
It’s early morning in Oxford. Mist hangs low over the Thames, softening the edges of the world. I’m running along the towpath, my breath rising in small clouds as the first light touches the water. The river is alive with colour; copper leaves drifting downstream, golden reflections shimmering between the weeping willows.
Along the quay lies a rich array of narrowboats, each with its own story. Some freshly painted in bright reds, greens, and blues, their brass fittings gleaming in the dawn. From a few, thin curls of smoke rise gently from chimneys, carrying the scent of coal and morning warmth. Others lie still and forgotten, derelict, half-sunk, cloaked in algae, their outlines barely visible beneath the water’s surface. Together they form a quiet mosaic of life on the river, vibrant and decaying, awake and asleep, all part of the same flow.
Then I see him: a single rower in a skiff, gliding silently through the still water. Perfect balance. As he moves forward, the blades hover equidistant above the surface, poised, patient, before dipping in with barely a sound. Each stroke leaves a pair of perfect eddies, expanding outward and dissolving again into calm. He gathers speed, not through effort, but through alignment. The rhythm of his body, the flow of the river, and the crisp morning air seem to move as one.
In rowing, presence is everything. If his attention drifts, if his mind wanders from ‘here’ to ‘there’, he risks what rowers call catching a crab: when a blade catches awkwardly in the water, gets pulled under, and suddenly throws the whole balance off. The boat jolts, momentum breaks, and sometimes the rower ends up in the river.
Watching him, I sense it — the essence of presence. Being fully here. In the body, in the conditions, in the unfolding moment. No forcing, no striving. Just movement born of stillness.
From Why to Here
Many people spend their lives searching for purpose. Why am I here? they ask, as if there is an answer waiting somewhere, hidden behind the next achievement, the next insight. We build our careers, our identities, even our relationships around that why, hoping that if we understand it, everything will make sense.
Simon Sinek captured this longing in Start with Why. He showed that the most inspiring leaders and organizations begin with purpose. That they act from a clear inner conviction rather than from external goals. At the time I thought his message was quite powerful, and it still resonates. But now I wonder whether there maybe is a step beyond it.
What if life isn’t asking us to find our why — but to inhabit our here?
The wisdom of Here
The trees don’t rush to change colour. A river doesn’t ask why it flows. Mist doesn’t question where to drift. They simply express what they are. Life unfolds through being, not through searching.
The same is true for us. Beneath our striving for meaning lies a quieter truth: we are already living it. When we release the compulsion to define, justify, or pursue our purpose, something else begins to move through us; a natural intelligence that knows when to rest, when to act, when to let go.
Presence, being fully here, ís the purpose.
The gentle paradox of goals
We are taught to set and pursue goals, to know where we’re going. And yes — goals can focus our energy. But when we look back, how many of life’s most meaningful moments were planned? I know from personal experience that one smile can have a life changing effect.
More often than not, life has taken us to places we never could have imagined — the unexpected detours, the encounters that changed everything, the setbacks that became gateways. I have yet to meet the person who says ‘yes’ to the question ‘did you plan or at least anticipate to be where you are now in life, five years ago?’ It’s as though life has a deeper current, guiding us toward what we need, not just what we want.
Perhaps the art is not to abandon goals, but to hold them lightly; to stay open enough that when life invites us elsewhere, we can follow without resistance.
When we are here, we notice the invitation.
On purpose living without a purpose?
Could it be that the corporate purpose movement is something that can paradoxically become limiting when it’s forced or overly rationalised. A majority of companies now claim a purpose or mission beyond profit, but only a much smaller proportion (perhaps around one-third) embed and communicate it clearly beyond a slogan.
Some statistics; A McKinsey & Company survey found that 62% of respondents reported their organisations have a purpose statement. A Strategy& / PwC-linked study found that 93% of CEOs’ purpose statements lacked a clear why. Another review of large companies found that only about one in three of the Fortune 500 were using purpose statements effectively to build their brand. A 2024 article in Deloitte’s “Gen Zs and millennials positive on purpose” report shows that ~90 % of younger workers say a sense of purpose at work is important.
It begs the question whether we shoud now all pursue a purpose. When purpose becomes something to achieve rather than something to live, would that not risk turning purpose itself into a trap; a well-intentioned prison that confines the spontaneity of life rather than expanding it?
Increasingly I sense that to live without a fixed purpose is not to drift aimlessly at all. In fact it’s to participate fully in life’s unfolding, to respond to what is rather than what should be.
The world of should is where much of our suffering begins. We carry expectations of how life ought to unfold; the career we should have built by now, the recognition we should have received, the impact we should be making. And when reality doesn’t conform to those imagined outcomes, we tighten, resist, and judge ourselves or others.
Yet life, indifferent to our narratives, continues to move in its own rhythm. When we meet what is instead of fighting what should be, we rediscover a quiet harmony. In that acceptance, something softens, and what once felt like failure or delay reveals itself as a deeper kind of unfolding.
The most alive people aren’t necessarily those who know why — but those who are deeply here.
They notice. They breathe. They act from awareness, not ambition.
Translating Sinek’s
“Why” into “Here”
Simon Sinek’s key insights translate beautifully into this language of presence, of being fully here:
| From Sinek’s “Why” | To a “Here” Perspective |
| Purpose inspires action | Presence awakens responsiveness; action arises naturally when we are fully here. |
| People don’t buy what you do, but why you do it | People don’t connect to your goals, but to your being; authenticity and presence move hearts more than words. |
| The “why” must come before the “how” and “what” | The “here” comes before all; from stillness, clarity and right action emerge. |
| Great leaders have clarity of purpose | Great leaders have depth of presence; they hold space where others reconnect with themselves. |
From Searching to Sensing
When we stop chasing purpose and start inhabiting presence, something shifts. Life stops being a problem to solve and becomes a rhythm to join.
The question Why am I here? drifts into the morning mist above the Thames, dissolving into stillness — until only the calm truth remains: I am here.
And as I think back to the rower on the Thames that morning, I can still see the quiet perfection of his movement — each stroke rising and falling in harmony with the river, his body and breath attuned to something larger than himself. There was no tension, no striving, no need to prove or perform. Only rhythm. Only flow.
Had his mind drifted elsewhere — toward why or what next — he would likely have lost balance, caught a crab, and ended up swimming in the water. But by being wholly here, moment by moment, he became part of the river’s intelligence.
Perhaps that is what life asks of us too — not to row harder, not to row faster, but to row with the current. To trust that when we are fully present, the direction will reveal itself.
Purpose, then, is not a destination but a quality of being; the stillness beneath movement, the awareness within action.
And maybe that’s all we were ever meant to discover: that when we are truly here, life itself becomes the answer.
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