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In the grand symphony of human existence, so much of our attention is devoted to the more conspicuous elements of success: the wailing guitar solos of achievement, the drumrolls of recognition. We’re trained to focus on these high notes—the Instagrammable highlights that signify, “Yes, I’ve got my life in key.” But beneath all that bravado, lies something humbler, even quieter. Something not looking for applause, yet more essential than any show-stopping riff. It’s the bass guitar of our lives: purpose.
The bass guitar is a curious beast, isn’t it? It doesn’t clamor. It’s not the crowd-pleaser, the show-off. You won’t find it throwing its back out leaping off the stage for a solo. The bass isn’t the part of the song that makes fans scream. And, yet, without it, everything would be off-kilter. Purpose, much like the bass, doesn’t parade itself around. It doesn’t insist on updating your LinkedIn bio or claiming the spotlight, but it’s the quiet force grounding us, underpinning everything that keeps us from sounding tinny, shallow, a little out of sync.
In fact, bass guitar is so unobtrusive that if you close your eyes, you might miss it at first. Yet, curiously, the moment it’s gone, everything collapses. The melody loses its depth, the rhythm its coherence. A life without purpose can be like a poorly mixed track—recognizable, maybe, but somehow hollow. The edges become blurred, the notes seem disjointed. Purpose, too, is something we often take for granted until it’s missing. And when we’re unmoored, it’s as though we’re floating off-beat, having lost the very rhythm that was meant to carry us forward.
Here’s where it gets interesting, though. For those who are deaf, the bass remains accessible through its deep, resonant vibrations. It’s a presence felt in the body, even if it’s not heard. Isn’t there something beautiful in that?
Purpose, too, is often felt more than consciously understood. It’s not necessarily something you discuss over coffee like a brand-new job or the latest heart-pounding romance. You don’t need to give a TED Talk on it. You don’t even need to articulate it at all. Purpose just hums away in the background, influencing your choices, your mood, your sense of direction. It’s a low, steady frequency that keeps you grounded, even if you can’t always explain exactly why.
Purpose also gives us a kind of continuity. Like the bass holding the song together, purpose offers a steady rhythm that helps us navigate life’s inevitable mess-ups and dissonances. It’s what lets us keep playing when the metaphorical guitar string snaps or the lead singer has forgotten the lyrics entirely. It’s the unsung hero, making sure the show doesn’t entirely fall apart.
Fifty Words for Snow podcast.
Source: Courtesy of Emily John Garces
Recently, while recording an episode of my podcast Fifty Words for Snow, where my cohost Emily and I search for words that defy simple English translation, I discovered the Hawaiian word kuleana. On the surface, it means “responsibility,” but it goes deeper than that—it also implies privilege, a sense of honor in the duty entrusted to us. As I am someone who often views responsibility as a burden, this concept made me pause. Isn’t that the Western mindset at work, to see responsibility as something weighty, almost oppressive? Words like kuleana point to a perspective that acknowledges responsibility as a gift, something to cherish and honor. It’s a reminder that sometimes our greatest sources of grounding, much like the bass line of purpose, lie quietly in values we may have overlooked or misunderstood.
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And yet, isn’t there always a temptation to focus on the showy stuff? The high notes of fame, fortune, or whatever success du jour society hands us on a sparkling platter. But purpose—just like the bass guitar and, in a way, like kuleana—reminds us that not all things of value come with confetti. Sometimes, the most vital part of the song is that quiet pulse, the privilege of responsibility, that no one in the audience may be noticing, yet every musician on stage is listening for. Purpose, like kuleana, is about honoring our role in the bigger picture, knowing it’s what keeps the song grounded.
So, here’s to purpose—the part that might not get the standing ovations but is the reason the band keeps playing. Without it, we’d all be just slightly off-beat, a little out of tune, wondering why everything feels, in some indefinable way, off. It turns out that the bass line—though subtle—is what makes the whole song sing.
