When You Know You’re Meant For Something More

I was talking to my sister last week. She’s a realtor, successful by any measure, and she said something that made me pause: “I just want to make money. I don’t need to leave a legacy.”

She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe for her it is. But hearing those words felt like looking at a completely foreign species. Because I’ve never been able to think that way, not even when I probably should have.

Then she turned the question back on me: “What do you want?”

I actually stopped for a second. Not because I didn’t know the answer, but because saying it out loud felt so exposed. “I want to build a brand, a legacy,” I said. “I’m not sure exactly why.”

And that’s the thing that’s been haunting me since: that pause, the admission that I don’t fully understand my own deepest drive. Here I am, organizing my entire life around this need to build something lasting and I cannot even articulate why it matters so much to me.

The moment she said it I was back on a plane at seventeen. Middle seat, somewhere over the Midwest, staring at nothing in particular. I had this gnawing feeling in my chest—not anxiety, not excitement, just this persistent sense that I was meant for something more. I couldn’t have told you what “more” meant in those days. I had no business plan, no clear talent, no family connections. Just this bone-deep certainty that whatever life I was supposed to live, it was bigger than anything I could imagine from where I was sitting.

I never told anyone about that moment. For the longest time, I kept that feeling hidden, like it was something to be ashamed of. Who was I to think I was meant for more? What made me so special?

That feeling has never left me.

I’ve carried it through every decision I’ve ever made. It’s the reason I can’t just settle for the easy path, even when the easy path makes perfect sense.

I see it most clearly when I’m around women who are genuinely content being stay-at-home moms, or who go to their jobs and clock out at five and don’t want anything more. They seem so at peace with their lives, so satisfied with the rhythms they’ve created. And I sit there thinking: why can’t I just be content like that? Why does something in me always need more?

There’s a part of me that looks at their contentment with genuine envy. What would it feel like to wake up and not have this constant hum of “you should be doing more” running in the background? What would it feel like to not constantly question whether you’re living up to some undefined potential?

But then the imposter syndrome kicks in. What if I don’t succeed? What if I’m just deluding myself? Who am I even, anyway? Do I actually think I’m going to be the next Mel Robbins? Maybe I’m just someone who is too restless to be happy with a normal life, convincing myself it’s about purpose when really, it’s just about ego.

Because living with that gnawing feeling isn’t always comfortable. It’s the voice that keeps you up at night when you’re scrolling through LinkedIn, seeing people in “regular” jobs posting about promotions and bonuses, wondering if you’re just making your life unnecessarily complicated. It’s the pressure that builds when family members ask when you’re going to “settle down” and get a “real job.” It’s the self-doubt that creeps in during lean months when you’re building something meaningful but uncertain.

My sister doesn’t have that pressure. She can look at a house sale and see a commission, period. She can measure success in closings and square footage and market comparisons. Clean, quantifiable, straightforward. No existential weight, no pressure to leave a mark, no sleepless nights wondering if you’re living up to some undefined potential.

But I can’t “unfeel” what I felt at seventeen. I can’t pretend that making money is enough when every cell in my body is telling me I’m here to build something lasting.

The thing is, this feeling shows up everywhere once you start paying attention to it. I see it in people who could make more money doing something else but stay where they are because they know they’re making a difference. I see it in creators who keep creating even when the numbers don’t make sense, because not creating feels like dying.

We’re the ones who can’t separate work from identity, who need our careers to mean something beyond the direct deposit. We’re the ones who get physically uncomfortable when someone asks us what we do and we can’t give an answer that captures the full scope of what we’re trying to build.

A friend once told me, “I get tired just hearing about your day. I want none of that.” And I sat there wondering: Why do I want so much? Why does the thing that exhausts her energize me? Why can’t I just be satisfied with simple?

But here’s what I’ve learned about that seventeen-year-old on the plane: She wasn’t being arrogant or unrealistic. She was picking up on something real. That gnawing feeling isn’t a burden to overcome, but vital information, an internal compass pointing toward something that matters more than comfort or quick wins.

The challenge is that this feeling comes without a roadmap. Nobody teaches you how to honor that future vision while still paying rent. Nobody explains how to build a legacy while everyone around you is optimizing for quarterly earnings. You have to figure it out as you go, making mistakes, second-guessing yourself, sometimes wondering if you’re just making everything harder than it should be.

I think about conversations I’ve had with people who share this feeling. We’re all a little crazy by conventional standards. We’re leaving money on the table for reasons that are hard to articulate. We’re choosing the harder path because the easier one feels like a betrayal.

And maybe that’s the point. Maybe the people who feel meant for more are supposed to choose the harder path. Maybe we’re the ones who push boundaries, create new possibilities, and show others that there are different ways to define success.

My sister will probably retire earlier than me. She’ll have less stress, fewer late nights wondering if she’s on the right path, fewer moments of doubt about whether she’s making the right choices. She’ll make her money and live her life and be genuinely content. There’s real wisdom in that approach.

But I’ll keep chasing something I felt at thirty thousand feet when I was seventeen. I’ll keep building something that outlasts me, answering to that persistent voice that says I’m meant for more. I will keep striving to help people build the kind of life they can be proud of by resolving conflicts, making tough decisions, and creating meaningful change in their lives.

Neither of us is wrong. We’re just operating with different equipment, different internal wiring, different definitions of what constitutes a life well-lived.

The question isn’t whether it’s realistic to want more than money. The question is whether you can live with yourself if you settle for less than what that voice inside of you tells you you’re capable of. For some of us, ignoring that voice feels like slowly dying. For others, it’s just background noise they will never recognize.

If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself, know that you’re not alone. Know that the feeling that keeps you up at night, wondering if you’re doing enough, building enough, becoming enough is not a bug, it’s a feature. It’s what drives innovation, creates art, changes the world in small and large ways.

The seventeen-year-old girl on the plane was right. She told me that I was meant for more. So is the voice inside of you that is telling you that you’re meant for more. The question is what you’re going to do about it.

If you’ve ever felt that quiet but relentless pull—that you’re meant for more but have no idea where to start—I am hosting a workshop that is just for you. Over four weeks, I’ll guide you through personality assessments, career tools, and vision planning to help you get unstuck and into motion. You’ll walk away with clarity, direction, and a personalized game plan.

If something inside you is saying this can’t be all there is—listen to it. That voice is your signal. And this workshop is where you begin. Reach out for more information. You can email me at [email protected] to join my all-new Career Path Workshop. Let’s make great things happen! 

Tamara Gestetner is a certified mediator, psychotherapist, and life and career coach based in Cedarhurst.  She helps individuals and couples navigate relationships, career transitions, and life’s uncertainties with clarity and confidence. Through mediation and coaching, she guides clients in resolving conflicts, making tough decisions, and creating meaningful change. Tamara is now taking questions and would love to hear what’s on your mind—whether it’s about life, career, relationships, or anything in between. She can be reached at 646-239-5686 or via email at [email protected]. Please visit TamaraGestetner.com to learn more.