My Mission in Life

Those of you who have read my memoir, The Accordion Player (available from Amazon and publications.adizes.com), probably understand what I’m about to share in this blog.

I’ve spent much of my life working tirelessly to ensure that I’ll remain alive, in some sense, even after I’m gone. I’ve been preparing my legacy—writing books, making sure they’ll be available and read after my death, creating a methodology to help the world, validating its effectiveness, and training others to continue my work. In essence, I’ve been striving to stay alive after I’m dead. But the price of this commitment is steep. It often robs me of the present. My life is measured less by moments of laughter and heartfelt joy and more by endless doing.

Happiness for me comes in fleeting moments: when I see my grandchildren, play my accordion in community sing-alongs, or join in folk dancing—especially Balkan folk dancing, which takes me back to my birthplace. But these sources of joy have dwindled with age. My body no longer allows me to dance as I once did. Living in the United States, far from my homeland, I have no one to sing with. My children are scattered across the globe, and I’m lucky if I see my grandchildren once or twice a year. I pour my time into my work, occasionally uplifted by feedback from someone telling me that my books changed their life, improved their business, or even saved their marriage. These moments feel good but are fleeting. They don’t sustain real, lasting happiness.

So, what’s the solution? Should I stop writing, teaching, and advising to seek out laughter and joy? Should I immerse myself in activities that fill my heart and make me love life? Happiness is a choice, after all, and only I can make it. But here’s the truth: I can’t do it. My work is not just work; it’s a calling. It’s beyond me. If I stopped writing, I’d feel as though I were cheating—hoarding the insights and knowledge that come to me unbidden. To keep it to myself just so I could go dancing would feel frivolous. Sure, I might feel good in the moment, but I’d be miserable afterward for abandoning my mission in life. My purpose isn’t just to be remembered after I’m gone; it’s to share what I’ve learned with those who seek it.

We are all born with a mission. Some of us hear it and follow it; others don’t. Yes, I may not dance or sing as much as I’d like, but I live the life I was to born to live for. I’m fortunate to know my role and my mission in life, and I’ve followed it. I’m not dancing myself out of it.

Follow your heart. Listen to what your soul tells you. I’m among the lucky ones who knows why he gets up in the morning and fulfills his role in life. The goal should not be to chase the idea of being alive after death. That’s not the purpose. It’s merely a byproduct of living your calling.