The Ikigai Explorer

Article 2: False Starts and Goal-Adjacent Detours

Introduction

In the journey toward Ikigai, your reason for being, not every path is a straight shot toward purpose. Sometimes, you think you’ve found it, only to realize you’re orbiting the real thing without ever reaching it. This article explores the concept of “goal-adjacent” living, when your actions seem aligned with your deeper calling, but something still feels off. These detours can be valuable teachers. I’ve taken a few myself. 

Opening Reflection

It’s easy to confuse a “good idea” with a “true path.” When you’re passionate about many things or have a wide skill set, the world offers you countless possibilities. But not every job, talent, or hobby is meant to become your vocation. Sometimes we pursue something because it looks like our dream, only to realize it’s a clever replica. The trick is learning the difference.

Signs That You’re Close, But Not Quite

Some people commit to one thing early in life and run with it. That was never me. I thought I had it figured out. More than once, actually.

At one point, I worked as a portrait photographer in a department store. I was using a camera, creating images, capturing expressions, things I genuinely enjoyed. And yet, it felt hollow. I wasn’t exploring anything. I wasn’t chasing light in far-off lands. I was indoors under artificial bulbs, photographing strangers with generic backdrops. I told myself it was close enough to what I loved, but that missing sense of meaning made the gap painfully obvious.

Later, I dove into handcrafted goods. I made leather harnesses and sold them online and at craft shows. The work was intricate, satisfying, and rugged. But once again, it began to feel off. Who was I making these for? I didn’t want to be the guy outfitting explorers. I wanted to be the one wearing the gear. Even with archery, I taught myself how to carve and shape longbows using a draw knife on a traditional cooper’s bench. The idea of primitive craftsmanship, of self-reliance, and connection to old skills. It fit right into the image of who I thought I was becoming. I was proud of the skill, but again, I lost interest once the novelty wore off.

I continued to learn new things, chasing the thrill of creation. But with every passing year, I started to see a pattern. Each new venture filled a piece of the puzzle, but none of them was the whole thing.

It was the same story with acting. I lived in Toronto for a while, chasing roles and auditions. The dream, I told myself, was to land parts that would let me travel, to see the world through the eyes of different characters. But while sitting on a bus heading to yet another audition, I caught myself staring out the window. There was a stretch of woods along the side of the road. I remember thinking, “I don’t want to go to this audition, I want to be in those woods, exploring.” That thought lingered. It was a quiet, persistent truth I could no longer ignore.

I even went to film school, not to make movies for Hollywood, but to learn how to document my own expeditions more effectively. That was my intention when I enrolled. Creating videos for others became a side job, a means to survive, but it was never the ultimate goal. If I wasn’t out in the world chasing stories worth capturing, then the work felt like a dress rehearsal for a show that would never open.

Looking back, I see the pattern clearly. I wasn’t lost, I was orbiting. Each pursuit was close enough to feel right for a time, but ultimately unsatisfying unless it was tied directly to adventure and discovery.

That’s the lesson of the goal-adjacent path: It will trick you. It will flatter you. It will almost fulfill you. But “almost” isn’t enough. Your body knows. Your spirit knows. And if you listen, you’ll eventually have the courage to course correct.

Every one of them taught me something about myself. Leatherwork developed my patience. Acting taught me to see the world through someone else’s eyes. Photography taught me new ways to frame the world around me. All of them gave me skills I still carry, even if they weren’t destinations on their own.

Trying everything is a wonderful gift. However, you must listen closely to discern when something resonates fully, not just partially. There’s a big difference between “this is interesting” and “this is mine.”

Reflections

Ask yourself:

• Have I ever pursued something that felt “close enough,” but left me unsatisfied?
• What patterns repeat themselves in my career or creative life?
• Am I trying to be near the life I want, or actually live it?
• What would I be doing if I stripped away all expectations and pursued only what brings me a sense of fulfillment?
• What “adjacent” roles have I clung to that might be blocking the real thing?
• Was I pursuing the skill, or the idea behind it?
• Which experiences left me wanting more, and which left me exhausted or empty?
• Are the things I’m building aligned with my bigger vision, or just distractions?

Closing Thought

False starts aren’t failures; they’re feedback. Every detour sharpens your sense of direction. The trick is to pay attention to what feels empty and what fills you up. It’s not enough to be near your purpose. You have to find a way to live it.

Looking Ahead

In the next article, we’ll shift from memory to momentum. After uncovering early clues about who we are, the question becomes: When do we feel most alive? We’ll explore the concept of flow, those rare, immersive moments when time disappears and you’re completely in sync with what you’re doing. We'll examine how flow reveals purpose in motion, and how recognizing it can guide your next step.