Losing My Ambition

"That's me in the corner, That's me in the spotlight..." R.E.M.

Lately, as I find myself asking, what now? A lot of things have been stripped away from me—some by chance, some by choice—and now I’m sitting with the questions that arise in the aftermath. What do I do with what’s left? Am I running out of time to make my mark on the world? Does it even matter if I do?

I’ve always loved etymology. It’s like there’s this secret meaning behind words that speaks to our subconscious, revealing truths we might not even be aware of. As I wrestled with these questions, I decided to look up the word ambition. It comes from the Latin ambire, which means to go around canvassing for votes. Isn’t that interesting? It’s as if ambition is inherently tied to a need for validation—going door to door, seeking approval, getting “votes” for our worth. In today’s world, it’s easy to imagine the Romans would have loved social media likes.

On the surface, it might seem shallow to need the votes and validation of others, but it’s also deeply human. We all want to feel like we matter, to feel relevant. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it can come with a lot of pressure. This pressure even has a name: purpose anxiety. There’s this unspoken belief that we have to be extraordinary in some way, that our lives need to have a grand purpose. Have you ever noticed how everyone who’s had a past life reading seems to believe they were someone significant? I’ve never heard anyone say, “Oh yes, I was a gas station attendant in my past life.”

I recently listened to an interview between Elizabeth Gilbert and Tim Ferriss where Gilbert talks about this exact thing—how our obsession with purpose can create anxiety. She shared a story about holding a ladder for a man for half an hour, and during that time, she found herself wondering if her entire purpose was just to be in that moment, holding the ladder so this man wouldn’t fall. What if that was it? What if every decision, every twist of fate, led her to that moment? It’s a humbling thought. And it makes you wonder—what if our purpose isn’t some grand achievement, but something much simpler, much more ordinary? Would that be enough?

This brings me to another word—motivation. It comes from the Latin movere, meaning to move. While ambition looks outward, toward validation and recognition, motivation is more inward. It’s what moves us at a soul level. It’s the quiet force that drives us to act, not because we’re seeking approval, but because something deep inside us needs to move, to express who we are.

In some ways, motivation is easier to connect with because it doesn’t depend on anyone else’s opinion. It’s not vulnerable to the world’s likes and dislikes. That might sound like a good thing, but it can also be a lonely place to be. Motivation asks us to act out of alignment with our own values and desires, even if no one notices. It requires a deep contentment with oneself, an acceptance that what moves us might not be recognized or celebrated.

Maybe it looks like taking care of an elderly parent or a high needs child. Maybe it’s showing up for a cause you believe in, even if no one else does. Maybe it’s creating something just because it brings you joy, not because it gets you any votes or “likes.” These are the quiet, often unseen acts that come from a place of deep motivation, from the part of us that knows who we want to be in the world—even if the world never acknowledges it.

Ambition, Motivation, and Failure

Another layer to this whole ambition vs. motivation conversation is how each of these forces deals with failure. When ambition drives us, failure can feel crushing. If our self-worth is tied to external validation, then when things don’t go as planned, it’s not just a setback—it can feel like a personal indictment. We didn’t get the “votes,” and therefore, we’re not enough. Ambition can make failure feel like proof that we’ve fallen short of expectations, both our own and everyone else’s.

But with motivation, failure takes on a different meaning. When you’re moved by something deeper—something internal—failure doesn’t sting quite the same way. Sure, it can still be painful, but it doesn’t define you. Motivation is about showing up for the process, for the work itself, not just the outcome. So, when things don’t go as planned, it’s easier to pick yourself back up because you’re not chasing approval; you’re chasing your own alignment. You know why you’re doing what you’re doing, and it’s not for the votes.

In a way, the more we’re driven by motivation, the more resilient we become. Failure isn’t final, it’s just feedback. It’s a way of refining the path, not an end to it. This doesn’t mean ambition is wrong or unnecessary—we all need ambition to push us out of our comfort zones and pursue goals. But when ambition is tempered by motivation, failure becomes less about loss and more about learning.

The real challenge, I think, is balancing these two forces—ambition and motivation.

We all long for our time here to mean something. We want to believe that, in the grand story of life, our chapter isn’t just filler. But maybe the lesson is that our relevance doesn’t depend on whether the world claps for us or rejects us. The simple fact that we exist, that we’ve shared ourselves with the world, is enough.

That’s what all children long for - the sense that they light up their parents’ lives just because they exist not because of how they perform. That little kid is still alive in us, but we can’t make up for what we didn’t get is kids by trying to perform for the world.

The world may not always offer the validation we’re seeking, and yes, that can be painful. But we can still find belonging and significance within ourselves. We can remind ourselves that we matter, not because the world says so, but because we have the courage to offer our gifts, even in the face of silence.

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Photo by Katie Azi on Unsplash