My Personal Journey Along the Purposeful Path

"When you are inspired by some great purpose, some extraordinary project, all of your thoughts break their bonds: your mind transcends limitations, your consciousness expands in every direction and you find yourself in a new, great, and wonderful world.

"Dormant forces, faculties and talents become alive and you discover yourself to be a greater person than you ever dreamed yourself to be."

- Patanjali, Indian philosopher

As part of my early morning spiritual practices, I often trudge up the footpaths that wind around Glassy Mountain behind Carl Sandburg’s home, a few blocks from my home in Flat Rock, North Carolina.

On this morning, as I stop to catch my breath, my mind flashes to an ugly, yet necessary, time in the early eighties. I’m on the bathroom floor in my apartment in Greensboro, during another time of contemplation.

Sobbing, and in a fetal position, I can’t remember how I ended up here or how long I’ve been this way. I know only that I’m in great emotional pain and will do anything to make it stop.

I imagine what I might do if I had a gun. Would I have the nerve to use it? If I did, would I screw it up like I’d screwed up the rest of my life? The more I think about it, the more real the gun becomes, until finally I realize it’s not my imagination but a real gun — which I hold in my hand.

I feel the smooth wooden handle in my palm and the cold metal circle of the snub nose pressed against my temple. My finger begins to tighten on the trigger. Just a little more pressure, a quick flash of pain, and the deeper pain will finally be over.

Funny, I think as I lay there, how many people will be surprised to learn of my suicide. To outward appearances, I’ve got it made: my own veterinary practice, investments in real estate, a fancy car, a wallet full of credit cards—all the trimmings of a supposedly successful life.

But beneath the well-crafted exterior is a hollow core of emptiness and suffering. My life feels worthless, without any real meaning.

All the adornments of my Good Life don’t add up to true happiness or fulfillment. The truth is, I feel alone in the world, with no one who truly cares about me or understands what I’m going through.

Suddenly, someone has invaded my privacy. “Go away,” I think as loudly as I can, then realize I’m also shouting it. “Go away! Leave me alone!”

But whoever it is doesn’t leave. A moment later I smell the pleasant fragrance of a woman’s perfume, then hear the voice of an angel. “It’s okay, Brad. We’re going to get you some help. It’s okay.” I recognize the voice of my friend Rebecca.

Now, as I sit watching the exquisite sunrise over the Blue Ridge Mountains, that day in Greensboro seems to be from a different person’s life—and in many ways it is.

I am no longer that confused, scared, lonely young man. I no longer practice veterinary medicine; instead, I’m the founder of the spiritually based Life On Purpose Institute.

And today I can truthfully say my life is filled with purpose and meaning.

The journey of the last two decades has been a wild roller coaster ride, filled with slow upward climbs and exciting, sometimes scary descents. It is what I affectionately term my Purposeful Path.

Before my near-suicide, I traveled the path mostly asleep, unaware that I was even on a journey. Then came ten years of awakening, with a few long naps mixed in.

And for the last decade, as I’ve continued my awakening process, I’ve done my best to assist others along their own Purposeful Path. What follows are some of the key stops along the way.

Chasing the Red Queen

I’d like to say that after my near-suicide my life was suddenly and miraculously transformed... but my mother told me to never lie.

The truth is that my transformation was slow and arduous—a journey of many trials and errors, with a number of side trips and more than a few dead ends.

My next significant moment of awakening came a few years later, during my second marriage. At that time, I was still caught up in the great American Dream of
acquiring as many expensive toys as possible and had a lovely companion who was just as good at the acquisition game.

We lived in a plush neighborhood, on an acre of land, in a beautiful home complete with a rear deck overlooking a babbling brook.

Alice in Wonderland

Unfortunately, I was working too much to enjoy any of it.

In Lewis Carroll's childhood classic Through the Looking-Glass, one of Alice's misadventures in Wonderland is with the Red Queen, who takes her on a wild run through the countryside.

But no matter how fast Alice runs she can't seem to get anywhere. Finally, breathless from her efforts, Alice is allowed to rest long enough to comment, "Everything is just as it was!"

The Queen replies, "Here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!"

I knew just how Alice must have felt. I was physically exhausted and emotionally out of breath, running as fast as I could to keep up with an out-of-control lifestyle of my own making.

As I gazed across the wooded lot and listened to the bubbling of the water across the rocks, I realized that much of my reason for purchasing the home had been that very scene.

At the time I had imagined spending countless hours out on the deck, basking in the sun, watching the seasons roll by—but the seasons had rolled by without me.

I'd not so much as stepped foot on the deck in all that time. I'd been too busy working fifty to sixty hours a week at my veterinary practice so that I could pay the mortgage on the house and keep two car payments up and three credit cards paid down.

Like Alice, I realized something was wrong with this picture. I was running as fast as I could just to keep up.

While I still hadn’t suffered quite enough to make any radical changes, a seed of “divine discontent” had been planted. Unfortunately, it wasn't until my second marriage ended in divorce and I came close to professional burnout that the lesson finally hit home.

The Complexities of Simple Living

My personal journey to a simpler, more purposeful life was motivated by two factors: fatigue and frustration.

I'd been on the fast track ever since taking my first part-time job at the age of fifteen, working at the library downtown. I held my nose to the proverbial grind stone through junior and senior high school, being sure to make the types of grades that would prove to the world that I was worthy of attending veterinary college.

I even managed to rush through undergraduate school, completing a four-year pre-vet program in less than three.

By the time the mid-1980s rolled around, I had been hoofing it hot and heavy for over twenty years and, by American standards, I was a success. Yet, despite all the trappings of success, I kept thinking, "Is this all there is?"

My frustration grew out of a lack of meaningful ways to express my natural creative interests. Although my art teachers in high school had urged me to continue studying art in college, I would hear none of it.

I knew that artists starved and veterinarians didn't. Yet, by the time I found myself standing on my deck contemplating the similarities between Alice's
predicament and my own, I was starved—creatively and spiritually.

After over twelve years of struggling in private practice, I finally decided to seek
help to grow my business. During an initial interview, Judy Billman, a business
consultant whom one of my colleagues had recommended, asked me a question that no one—not even I—had ever asked.

My eyes teared up with the realization that the answer was, “No.” But if I left
practice at that point, I would feel as if I’d failed.

“I want to go out the top not the back door,” I told Judy, and hired her to help me
accomplish that feat. Fortunately for me, Judy turned out to be more than a business consultant. She was my first exposure to coaching.

Rather than spending most of the time looking over my financial records or my inventory, I spent it looking within myself.

What I discovered was that while I was comfortable with my four-footed patients, I was terrified of their two-legged companions at the other end of the leash. And my reluctance to be with my clients was stifling my practice.

In the process of working with Judy I also rediscovered my true reason for entering
the veterinary profession in the first place, which was to serve and make a
difference both with people and their pets.

Somewhere in the midst of the long hours spent struggling to make ends meet, I’d lost touch with this deeper purpose.

My practice had never grown by more than 15% in any other year; but upon
reawakening to this deeper sense of purpose, it grew by over 40% in the first year
that I worked with Judy.

Most importantly, in the process, I fell back in love with practice. This created a bit of a dilemma. After all, I’d hired Judy to help build the practice so I could sell it. I’d also found a new outlet for my creativity in writing and was having some early success selling magazine articles.

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This is an excerpt from Brad Swift's book Life on Purpose: Six Passages to an Inspired Life.

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W. Bradford Swift is the Founder and Director of the Life On Purpose Institute, with a mission of advancing “A world where all people live purposeful, passionate and playful lives of service; lives of mindful abundance balanced with simplicity; and spiritual serenity.