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Why Do We Do All of This in the End?

We each have our own answer to this question, but I want to share mine.

I spend a lot of time in business communities, and whenever I tell people I dance, I get the same reaction. Their face changes slightly, and then comes the question: "What's the added value of your activity to society?"

At first, this question used to irritate me. But after hearing it so many times, I realized it was pointing to something deeper. These aren't bad people asking this - they're people who have been shaped by a very specific way of thinking about what makes life valuable and meaningful.

So I decided to really examine this question. What does it mean to ask about "added value to society"? What assumptions are built into that way of thinking?

To ask "What's the added value?" requires accepting some pretty specific beliefs about reality:

  • We are primarily citizens of a country, economic units in a system
  • Money has real, inherent value rather than being a collective agreement
  • I am useful to society only if I help produce something measurable
  • The goal of life is to find a job and establish my utility within the existing system

These beliefs feel so normal, so obviously true, that we rarely question them. They're the lens through which we see everything - success, failure, worth, purpose, meaning.

But I started wondering: what if we step back from these beliefs for a moment? What if we look at what we actually are before all the social conditioning?

What We Actually Are​

When I really think about it, before all the layers of conditioning, I am consciousness. Some kind of awareness that experiences reality. We all are.

Imagine yourself as a one-year-old child. At that age, how do you perceive the world? You have no language yet, no concepts, no beliefs about what things mean. You simply experience reality directly through your nervous system. You see colors and shapes without being able to name them "tree" or "bird." You feel sensations - warmth, texture, movement - without categorizing them as "good" or "bad." You smell, you taste, you feel your body moving through space.

At this stage, there's no real sense of "me" and "you" - you exist in a kind of merged state with reality. You're simply experiencing the pure aliveness of being aware, moment by moment. There's no mental commentary running in the background, no worry about the future or regret about the past. Just direct, immediate contact with what's happening right now.

This is what I mean by awareness - this basic capacity to experience, to be present with reality as it unfolds.

How We Lose Touch​

But then something happens. As you grow, you gain access to language. And with language come concepts. Now you can name things: "tree," "bird," "mom," "dad." This is beautiful - language allows you to communicate, to learn, to organize your experience. But it also creates a filter between you and direct reality. Instead of just experiencing that moving, singing thing in the tree, you think "bird." Instead of just feeling the rough texture and solid support, you think "tree."

This filter isn't bad - it's necessary for navigating human society. But it's the beginning of living in concepts about reality rather than in direct contact with reality itself.

Then come beliefs. Maybe you reach toward a bird and your parent says, "No, don't touch! Birds are dirty!" Suddenly you have a belief: birds are dangerous, nature is dirty, curiosity can get you in trouble. These beliefs form from thousands of small interactions, creating a map of how the world works and how you should navigate it.

Then comes identity. At school, teachers tell you that you have a personality. "You're good at math," "You're shy," "You're the funny one," "You're not artistic." Slowly, you start to compress the infinite range of your possibilities into a fixed identity. You learn to see yourself as a particular type of person with particular strengths and limitations.

Along the way, you accumulate traumas - moments when life overwhelmed your capacity to process what was happening. Maybe your parents argued and you felt scared and helpless. Maybe other kids laughed at you when you tried to express yourself. Maybe you were told your emotions were too much or not enough. These experiences get stored in your body and nervous system, creating patterns of protection and defense.

You develop different parts of yourself to navigate different situations. There's the part that tries to please others so you won't be rejected. There's the part that criticizes you to try to keep you safe from making mistakes. There's the part that dreams of what's possible but learns to stay quiet so you won't be disappointed. There's the part that gets angry when your boundaries are crossed but learns to shut down because anger isn't acceptable.

All of these developments serve a purpose - they help you survive and function in your family and culture. But gradually, without you noticing, something profound happens.

You start to forget that these are tools you picked up along the way. Instead, you begin to think this constructed identity is who you really are. The spontaneous, curious, alive awareness that you were as a young child gets buried under layers of conditioning. You learn to live according to scripts that were written for you rather than emerging from your authentic nature.

Living on Autopilot​

By the time you're an adult, you might walk through a park where you once saw magic everywhere, and now you're completely lost in your thoughts. "I hate my boss," you think. "My rent is too expensive. My partner doesn't understand me. This city is too dirty. I should be further along in my career by now."

You walk right past the miracle of trees converting sunlight into energy, birds navigating by magnetic fields, the extraordinary fact that your heart beats without you having to think about it, that your body is made of the same elements as the stars. You miss the children playing, the way light filters through leaves, the simple joy available in just being present to what's actually happening.

You've become like a robot following programming - wake up, check phone, worry about work, rush through the day, collapse at night, repeat. And in this robotic state, you often lose touch with what actually makes you feel alive and energized. You might not even remember what that feels like.

The Possibility of Awakening​

The answer isn't to try to become a child again - we need our language, our concepts, our ability to function in society. But what if we could reclaim access to that underlying awareness? What if we could use all the tools we've developed while staying connected to the alive, curious, present consciousness that we started as?

What if instead of living as robots following scripts we never consciously chose, we could live as conscious beings who use our conditioning skillfully rather than being used by it?

Understanding the Question Differently​

When I hear that question about "added value" now, I recognize something familiar in it - the same process of conditioning that I've experienced in my own life.

When someone asks this question, they're speaking from their egotic structure - that collection of beliefs, identities, and protective patterns that we all develop. In this case, it's a structure that has been shaped very strongly by economic and productivity-focused thinking.

I recognize this because I have my own version of it. We all have. At different points in my life, I've also measured value primarily through external metrics - success, achievement, measurable contribution. It's a natural result of growing up in a culture that reinforces these ways of thinking from a very young age.

When someone genuinely cannot imagine why you would spend time on something that doesn't directly serve measurable outcomes, it suggests their awareness has become very focused on one particular lens for seeing life. They've learned to see themselves primarily through the roles they play - worker, producer, consumer - rather than from the deeper awareness we talked about earlier.

This isn't a problem, and it's not permanent. It's just where their conditioning has led them. The very question "What's the added value?" reveals a worldview where worth is primarily determined by quantifiable contribution to existing systems. It's a way of thinking that has lost touch with the understanding that some of the most essential aspects of human experience - love, beauty, presence, joy, authentic connection - can't be measured but are what actually make life meaningful.

So when I encounter these questions now, I mostly feel understanding. I recognize that I'm talking to someone whose conditioning has temporarily covered up their connection to their own aliveness.

What I Believe About the Goal of Life​

My personal belief about the goal of life is this: I think we are each born with a unique set of characteristics - not just our physical DNA, but our energetic and creative nature - that points toward something we're here to do or become. Some kind of authentic contribution that can only come through us.

The more energized and vibrant I feel doing something, the more I sense I'm moving toward whatever that authentic contribution is. Our aliveness seems to be a kind of compass pointing toward our true path - not the path our parents wanted for us, not the path society says we should take, but the path that emerges from our deepest nature.

But discovering this path requires going through all the conditioning I've accumulated. I need to examine the beliefs and traumas that are covering up my authentic impulses. I need to consciously choose what to keep in my worldview and what to release. I need to distinguish between who I really am and who I've been taught to be.

I don't want to live a life by default - just following whatever programming I happened to receive based on my family, culture, and historical moment. I want to discover what wants to emerge when I'm actually connected to my core nature, when I can respond from awareness rather than react from conditioning.

Where Movement Practice Fits​

This is where the kind of movement practice we've been exploring in this book becomes relevant. When I dance consciously, I'm not just moving my body for exercise or entertainment. I'm doing something much more fundamental.

I'm reconnecting with impulses and responses that come from beneath the social programming. When I let my body move without trying to look good or do it right, I start to feel what wants to happen rather than what I think should happen. I'm processing emotions and experiences that have been stored in my tissue. I'm accessing states of awareness that remind me who I am when I'm not performing a role.

I'm practicing being present with whatever arises - fear, joy, confusion, clarity, boredom, ecstasy - without immediately trying to fix it or change it or make it fit into some story about how I should be. I'm developing the capacity to stay open and responsive rather than defensive and reactive.

Essentially, I'm learning to respond from that core awareness rather than from all the layers of conditioning that have accumulated on top of it. I'm developing what this book calls becoming a virtuoso of the present - someone who can access their full range of human capacities when life calls for them.

Once I start to reconnect with my authentic nature, I need a practice that helps me stay connected to the creative potential available in each moment. Life keeps happening, challenges keep arising, opportunities keep presenting themselves - and I want to be able to meet all of this from my full capacity rather than from a narrow, conditioned identity.

These practices give us tools for what I think of as engineering ourselves back to ourselves. They help us find the energy and inspiration to create and discover our unique contribution to the world.

A Different Way of Living​

This process won't appeal to everyone. Our culture is organized around keeping people in predictable roles - it's more stable, more manageable, more economically efficient when people follow scripts rather than discover their authentic nature. But if you're reading this, there's probably something in you that suspects there's another way to live.

So what do people who do this inner work actually contribute to society? What's the real "added value" of someone who has learned to access their authentic nature and creative potential?

People who are connected to themselves in this way contribute things that can't be easily measured but are desperately needed:

  • They bring a quality of presence that helps others feel safe to be authentic
  • They approach problems with creativity because they're not locked into conventional thinking patterns
  • They have emotional intelligence that helps navigate conflict and build genuine relationships
  • They have resilience that allows them to meet challenges without breaking down or burning others out

Most importantly, they model what it looks like to live from authenticity rather than obligation. They give others permission to explore their own aliveness. They create ripples of awareness that spread in ways we can't track or quantify.

But maybe the most significant contribution is that they stop adding to the unconscious suffering that comes from people who are disconnected from themselves trying to force life to match their unexamined beliefs.

The Quiet Revolution​

What I'm describing isn't a dramatic revolution. It's something much quieter and more personal. It's individuals waking up to who they actually are and starting to live from that place.

Every person who breaks free from automatic living and starts responding from awareness gives others permission to do the same. Every person who learns to meet their emotions with presence rather than reactivity helps calm the collective anxiety. Every person who accesses their creative potential reminds the rest of us what we're capable of.

This work isn't selfish - it's deeply generous. The world doesn't need more people performing productivity. It needs more people who are awake, present, and connected to what actually wants to emerge through them.

I don't know if this will resonate with everyone who reads it. These are just the discoveries I've made through my own exploration. But if something in this speaks to you, then maybe the practices we've explored in this book can serve your own journey of waking up to who you really are.

Because in the end, that's what this is all about - not becoming someone else, but removing the layers that are covering up who you've always been. The world needs that person. We all do.