Today I’m thrilled to share this wonderful guest post by Jack Purdy - a Paulo Coelho Readalong subscriber and a lifelong contemplative, obsessed with the pursuit of better living. He writes his Substack, A Life Examined where he explores ideas around self-realization through the lens of personal stories as an entrepreneur in web3, yogi, and world traveler. In this post, he acknowledges the debt he owes to the inspiration he found in The Alchemist in his quest to find his North Star.
Stranded in a foreign country, alone, trapped within the prisoned existence of a quarantined hotel room and a COVID-induced delirium, an existential angst crept in. The days drew on, minute by minute, with nothing but me, my thoughts, and my thoughts about my thoughts occupying this perilously empty, timeless awareness wrought with scrutiny of every facet of my life. Why aren’t I happier? Am I wasting my life away? Isn’t there more to life than working 60 hours a week, retiring, then finding an adequate hole in the ground to decompose one day?
From those dark depths came a life-altering realization after experiencing what one might call a synchronicity – where something happens that eerily coincides with an obscure thought that feels impossibly connected. Usually, this gives rise to a pause, accompanied by a desire to name it a coincidence that’s then superseded by the feeling that that’d be doing it an injustice.
In this instance, a synchronous event transpired that no semblance of rationality could explain. The word coincidence was ostracized from my vocabulary as I became convinced of some agentic force out there puppeteering the universe making that something happen exactly how it did, in that precise moment in time revealing how I’m here for a reason, everything has meaning, and we’re all connected.
This was all thanks to a well-known novel I brought on my travels about an Andalusian shepherd and the inexplicable signs from above that incepted resonant truths around my purpose here on earth, or at least the direction I’m working towards–a North Star.
Lost in Paris
It was June 2021, over a year since the start of the pandemic and the world was returning to a sense of normalcy. While we still thought masks would protect us on a plane, we were allowed to start traveling internationally, which for a newly nomadic me, signified freedom. I’d spent the last year traveling around the US, enjoying the luxuries of remote work, but was ready to release the shackles of travel restrictions and satisfy my longing for more worldly experience.
I was in Paris for a work conference, relishing the opportunity to do business outside the confines of a Zoom meeting devoid of any real humanness. At the end of the week, I’d be flying across the world to meet up with a dozen of my best friends for a month in Costa Rica.
Unfortunately for me, I shook one too many hands and came down with my first bout of COVID. While there are worse cities to be quarantined in, forced to Uber Eats every meal in one of the culinary capitals of the world, this meant I had to cancel my trip and wait for a q-tip shoved up my nose tickling my brain to permit me to leave the country.
And so here I was, the onset of this disease overtaking my body, alone, unable to leave a city where I knew no one. My physical and mental state began slowly spiraling as I was trapped between four walls of a small, 3-star hotel that made a valiant attempt at a classic Art Deco ambiance but fell admirably short due to budget restraints leaving guests with the slightest taste of cozy but mostly a longing for sheets that don’t feel like the thin paper doctors put over the examination table during your annual check-up.
With this much time in solitude and the incessant full-body throbbing, my mind began to conjure up stories around how every aspect of my life was reflective of this depressing external world. Had my transition from the corporate world to a startup led me to merely another flavor of the rat race? Was my decision to leave New York and travel the world nothing more than a hopeless attempt at fleeing a life I wasn’t proud of?
To escape the paralyzing tyranny of these negative, recursive thought patterns, I grabbed my pen, sat down in the undersized desk crammed in the corner, and began to write. For me, writing has always been a way to cut through sloppy thinking manifesting itself as sadness, anger, fear or any other lower-level emotions as it tends to expose the ultimate truth that things aren’t as bad as they seem and everything will probably be okay.
On this particular episode of journaling my way out of a rut, I continued with the theme that gripped my headspace–what am I meant to be doing on this earth? Despite the flu-induced brain fog, knives in the back of my throat, debilitating body aches, and fever sweats, I managed to scribble down a few coherent ramblings.
I loved my job. But I wasn’t put here on this earth to scale a startup. I wanted to understand myself at the deepest level and become self-realized but I also wasn’t meant to meditate on the side of a mountain the rest of my life.
And then something happened. As I closed my journal, I heard a voice. Not the literal voice of a person, nor a hallucination. It was more of a felt sensation that echoed a clear message. It was as if my immediate surroundings suddenly became conscious and through some hypnotic medium posed a question that resounded through my very being – what is your North Star?
For some inexplicable reason after that, I took my pen and drew a tiny star on the back of my hand near my wrist. I don’t know why. I hadn’t drawn on myself since the days when I didn’t yet know that’s not what markers were for. But in this moment, I felt compelled to do so and then carried on with my day.
Signs from Above
The day dragged on. I slept for most of it. Ordered more expensive delivery food in hopes it’d jumpstart my serotonin levels. It was getting late, the sun went down hours ago but characteristic of Parisien summers, the sky remained lit well into the night.
I was on the top floor of the hotel next to a small stairway, clearly not intended for use by guests. It led to an exit door saying “entrée interdite” which I didn’t need 7 years of French to know I wasn’t supposed to go through. But the allure of fresh air and open views outweighed the potential of an uncomfortable “désolé stupide Américain” in my best nasally accent if I were caught.
Feeling mischievous, I peeked outside my door and stealthily crept outside carrying an iconic red hardcover book, emblazoned with a mandala-like sun in the center. Its fiery golden tendrils emanating out with a mystical font seemingly pulled out of an ancient manuscript that read The Alchemist.
It was a book I’d known about for ages and finally got around to reading. It offered a much-needed reprieve from the headspace of the past week. Immediately I resonated with the main character Santiago, who like me, was a nomad, starry-eyed with a spiritual inclination, hopelessly romantic about life and its omens.
I often felt like I was on my own adventure towards an elusive treasure, undefined, yet seen clearly and imbued with definitive reason. A calling of sorts. I’d also met guides along the way, characters that appeared to help me when I needed it most, pointing me in the right direction after setbacks that sapped my strength, discouraging me from the pursuit, yet always finding the resolve to carry on.
It was only fitting as I opened the book, a glimmer of light shone on my hand, illuminating the remnants of a smeared ink blotch. I paused for a second to reflect on the question that led to that faded star. And then read the next passage:
But this all happened for one basic reason: no matter how many detours and adjustments it made, the caravan moved toward the same compass point. Once obstacles were overcome, it returned to its course, sighting a star that indicated the location of the oasis. When the people saw that star shining in the morning sky, they knew they were on the right course…
While the star on my hand had nearly vanished entirely, the idea it represented had never shone brighter. My purpose in life isn’t just to grow a business or to become an enlightened yogi. In fact, it wasn’t any single thing that I could put into my finite use of words and expecting to ever have an explicit answer to “what is my purpose” is a fool's errand.
I wasn’t going to wake up one day with a stroke of clearheadedness finally uncovering my raison d'être and therefore could hang up my purpose-finding cleats, retiring from the contemplative world forever, joining the hall of fame of other purpose finders.
No, it’s much more of an intuitive sense. One that shines in the sky signaling the direction you’re meant to work towards. One that appears when you’re rational mind ceases its unrelenting analysis and you surrender the need for a logical explanation for what you’re doing and why and you tap into that ineffable spirit of You that knows exactly the pursuits you’re meant to embark on and the people who will aid you along the way. That’s your purpose. That’s your North Star.
Like Santiago as he traversed the desert, unsure of what he was after yet finding conviction along every step of the way. While reason suggested turning back after he was robbed, losing everything leaving him stranded in a foreign land with nothing to his name, or his love for Fatima swaying him towards staying in the Oasis, he continued to press on. Uncertainty pervaded yet he stayed on course towards what he knew he had to do–what Fate had scripted for him.
Similarly, I knew I had to continue on my path, performing my worldly duties, working hard at a company I’d helped build from nothing, doubling down on my spiritual practices seeking a deeper understanding of myself, and continuing to pursue my writing that was giving me so much. While none of these individually were my clearly defined, concrete end-all-be-all purpose, each of these played a part in what I’m meant to be doing, my personal legend, that acts as a North Star for me to follow for the rest of my days.
Hello, my beloved. What's up, brother? I think you forgot me. I'm Hector, your former online Spanish teacher. How are you doing?
Hey , my beloved one. what´s up, my bro, I think you forget me, It´s Héctor your past Spanish online teacher. How is it goin´?