The Desert of Being

You spend your life thinking you’re heading toward something. Success, fulfilment, enlightenment—pick your poison. We’re all running, chasing, clawing for something we’re told we need. And if we’re not running toward it, we’re running from the abyss that opens up when we stop. But what happens when you finally get there, wherever “there” is? What happens when the noise dies down, and you’re left with… nothing?

Let’s not sugarcoat it. Nothing is terrifying. Not because it’s painful, but because it’s flat. It’s not dramatic, it’s not thrilling—it’s just there, like staring into a blank sky that neither loves you nor hates you. It simply doesn’t care.

This isn’t about nihilism, though. It’s about realizing that what we thought was life—the desires, the struggles, the endless mental chatter—isn’t the whole story. When you strip it all away, when you’re no longer a human wanting, or a human doing, what are you?

A human being.

The Illusion of Wanting

We’re conditioned to believe that wanting is the natural state of humanity. From the moment we’re born, we’re told to desire: success, love, power, validation. Entire economies are built on the assumption that you will always want more. But what if that’s not natural? What if wanting is the noise—the static overlaying something much quieter, much more fundamental?

The problem isn’t just that wanting is exhausting—though it is. It’s that wanting is deceptive. It convinces you that fulfilment lies just beyond the next achievement, the next relationship, the next self-improvement hack. But every time you get what you want, the satisfaction evaporates, and a new desire takes its place. It’s a treadmill you can’t get off because the entire system—your mind, your culture—is designed to keep you running at all costs.

But here’s the uncomfortable truth: when you finally stop, when the desires burn out and the goals lose their lustre, you’re not left with peace. You’re left with emptiness.

The Desert of Being

This emptiness isn’t some poetic void filled with potential. It’s a desert—flat, featureless, indifferent. It doesn’t care about your journey, your struggles, or your enlightenment. It’s not waiting for you to plant seeds and make it bloom. It just is and there’s nothing wrong with it.

And here’s the part nobody tells you: becoming the desert isn’t tragic. It’s not even sad. It’s just… curious. You stand there, looking at the barren landscape of your inner world, and you realise, Wow, this is it. This is what’s underneath it all.

There’s no drama in it. No grand epiphany. Just a quiet acknowledgment that you’ve reached a place beyond wanting, beyond doing, beyond performing. And in that stillness, you see yourself not as a collection of desires or achievements, but as something more elemental: a human being.

The Mirage of Purpose

But let’s not pretend this is some easy, enlightened state. It’s disorienting. Because for most of your life, you’ve been told that purpose comes from what you do. That your value is tied to your productivity, your relationships, your contributions. When all of that falls away, when you’re left standing in the desert with nothing to build or achieve, the question creeps in: Is this enough?

We’ve been brainwashed to believe that existing without a grand purpose is failure. That if you’re not constantly striving, you’re wasting your life. But maybe that’s the biggest lie of all. Maybe the desert isn’t a failure to find purpose—maybe it’s the realization that you don’t need one.

The Weight of Being an Oasis

For a long time, I thought my role in life was to be an oasis. To be the person who could provide, support, and inspire others. I poured myself into relationships, work, ideas—anything that made me feel useful, valuable. But being an oasis is exhausting. It’s a role that demands constant replenishment, and eventually, you run dry.

When the well dried up, I felt like something was wrong with me. Like I’d failed in some fundamental way. But the truth is, I was never meant to be an endless source of nourishment for everyone else. The desert doesn’t apologize for not being an oasis. It doesn’t care if people find it harsh or unwelcoming. It just exists.

And maybe that’s enough.

The Fear of Being Seen as the Desert

But here’s the difficult part: even when you’ve embraced the desert within yourself, there’s a lingering judgment. Nobody likes a desert. That’s not enough for other people. We’re social creatures, and the fear of being seen as barren, uninteresting, or disconnected runs deep.

But who are you living for? Are you shaping your life to be palatable to others, or are you standing in your own truth, regardless of how it’s perceived? The desert doesn’t conform to anyone’s expectations. It doesn’t soften its edges to make others comfortable. And maybe that’s where real freedom lies.

The End of the Journey

We like to think of life as a journey—a progression toward some ultimate goal or realization. But what if the journey isn’t about getting somewhere? What if the point isn’t to accumulate wisdom, success, or enlightenment, but to simply be?

I thought I was farther along the path than I actually was. I thought I was approaching some pinnacle of understanding or fulfilment. But the more layers I peel back, the more I realise that I’m not climbing a mountain—I’m walking deeper into the desert.

And now that I’m here, I see that I couldn’t have arrived any sooner. Every struggle, every desire, every illusion had to be stripped away for me to stand in this vast emptiness and see it for what it is. Not as a failure. Not as a void. But as the most honest state of being.

Can You Meet Me Here?

Can you stand in your own desert without trying to escape, fix, or fill it? Can you exist without the crutches of desire, productivity, or performance? Can you be enough for yourself when there’s nothing left to want, nothing left to do?

I truly think that most people will never reach this point. Not because they can’t, but because they’re too afraid to let go of the illusions that prevent them from standing here. But if you’re willing to face the desert—to really be in it—you might find that the emptiness you feared isn’t something to be afraid of at all.

It’s just you.

Not a human wanting. Not a human doing.

A human being.