Living the Significant Life by Peter L. Hirsch, Robert Shemin

would listen. He wanted to go back. He wanted to quit his soul-crushing job, pack up his family, and move to Haiti. He knew it wasn’t a practical idea, given the age of his younger children, but he thought about it anyway. At the very least, he wished that he’d studied harder and gone to medical school. He could certainly do more to help people if he were a doctor.
    Late one night, after he had spent nearly an hour lamenting aloud, Kathy said, “You know, Brad, you don’t have to go all the way to Haiti to find people who need help. You don’t even have to leave town, and you certainly don’t have to be a doctor. There are plenty of people right here who aren’t getting adequate medical care, and sometimes it’s just because they fall through the cracks. They’re not part of the system, so they become invisible, and they don’t know how to change that. If you start looking, I’m sure you could find something satisfying to do a little closer to home.”
    During the next few days, Brad continued to replay Kathy’s comments in his mind, and slowly he began to feel a shift in his thought patterns. Maybe she was right. Why had he wanted to become a doctor in the first place? Thinking back, he realized it hadn’t been about the money or the prestige. He’d genuinely wanted to help people who were sick. He’d wanted to relieve suffering, and—who knows?—maybe even save a few lives. Now, even though he technically worked in the health care industry, he wasn’t really helping anyone.
    He knew that his company’s hospitals provided a certain amount of charity care, but it would never be enough, and the people in charge didn’t seem anxious to increase their efforts in that area. Their priorities leaned more toward buying a multimillion-dollar robotics system for the surgeons and other expensive, high-tech equipment. Brad knew those kinds of investments were important, but he also knew they formed the basis of enticing marketing campaigns designed to attract more patients—patients whose care was covered by insurance. What about the increasing number of people without insurance? What about the ones who didn’t realize charity care was available, or those who were too embarrassed to ask for it, or those who simply gave up after sitting for three hours in an emergency waiting room?
    There really were people in his own community who needed help. As he thought about them—who they were, where they lived, what their lives must be like—Brad began to feel something he’d never fully experienced before—a sense of purpose. Perhaps he’d had it back in high school, but it had slipped away in college, allowing him to choose fun over work until all those medical schools had told him he’d thrown away his chances of becoming a doctor. Even on his best days at Middle West, he had never felt a sense of purpose—not like the one that was taking root inside him now.
    Maybe his mind-numbing job wasn’t a waste after all. It had taught him about the structure of health care in his community. He knew about the services that were available and those that were lacking. He’d learned how the business side of health care worked. And he’d gotten to know people who knew the things he didn’t.
    Brad didn’t know exactly what his future held, but he was beginning to sense that his life was finally taking direction. For now, that was enough. With a little time, he’d figure out the rest.
    For more than twenty years, Brad hadn’t given much thought to his life’s purpose. If someone had asked, he probably would have mentioned being a good husband and father, living his Christian values, maybe something about contributing to the success of the company that issued his paycheck. It wasn’t until he began to dig deeper—to peel away the layers of the onion—that he began to get a handle on the real purpose that would drive the rest of his life. When he is finally able to get more specific and start living his purpose, it