Why the French Don’t Obsess Over Purpose

A softer kind of ambition, where work is not your worth and satisfaction counts more than success.

At my wedding - in a château near the Loire, my (American) brother raised a toast, mentioning how much I loved my job and how dedicated I was to it. At the time, I was the marketing director at the Paris-based e-commerce company Monnier Paris, and I really did pour my heart and soul into it.

But I remember feeling a little self-conscious. It’s not the kind of thing people usually bring up in a wedding speech here. Was I already that French?

Later, after the champagne wore off, my French husband teased me about it. And still today, some of our friends bring it up with a smile. Not unkindly. Just amused. Because in France, that’s not what comes to mind when you describe someone you love.

It stuck with me.

I don’t think I ever heard the word purpose growing up in France. I’m not even sure there’s a proper translation for it. Raison d’être — literally “reason for being” — comes close, but it doesn’t carry quite the same meaning. It feels more practical, more utilitarian. Not the almost existential, soul-searching sense that purpose carries in English.

I spent every French school holiday in the U.S. with my dad — the more career-driven of my parents (which tracks, since my mom is Belgian and my dad is a pure-bred American from Michigan). So I grew up with both models.

Still, I don’t think most French people think about purpose the way Americans do.

What’s your purpose? What are you building? What are you here for?

They’re good questions. But in France, they’re not humming in the background of every conversation. Most people I know don’t define themselves by what they do for a living. And if they work in a corporate setting, there’s often this quiet trust that things will evolve. No need to panic about your life path. Just do your job — and enjoy your life.

Work is one part of the equation. So is your social life, your hobbies, your weekends away. I had a friend who took painting classes every Tuesday night. I used to schedule my barre au sol class for Wednesday at 6:30 pm, making sure I wrapped up work on time. Of course, things shift as careers evolve, but the instinct to protect your non-work identity never disappears.

In the U.S., the idea of having purpose is everywhere: in books, on podcasts, in LinkedIn bios, even in casual brunch conversations. There’s this constant pressure to align your job with your passion, your calendar with your goals, your time with your values.

But what if your purpose is simply to build a good life? To raise kind children. To cook a little better each year. To read a few excellent books. To notice the seasons. To build meaningful relationships. To help others. To give time - and money if you can - to causes you care about.

Isn’t that what people will remember anyway?

In France, there’s no guilt in doing a job because it pays the bills. Or because it gives you your evenings. You can be excellent at what you do and still have no desire to talk about it over dinner — which is very much the case with my husband, who bans work talk at the table. At first, it felt strange. Now I love it. We talk about where we want to go next weekend. What we’re reading. What to cook.

When I moved back to Paris as an adult, I was struck by how much people here were just… living. They weren’t building personal brands. They weren’t trying to optimize themselves into more perfect versions. They worked, they took real holidays, they cooked, and they went to the theater. They had long conversations about everything and nothing. And they rarely used the word productive.

Running late, hair likely not brushed. A moment that reminds me: your job isn’t your identity.

For a long time, I felt uneasy about not knowing exactly what I was meant to do. (And, to put it in context, that feeling was amplified by motherhood — something I wrote about at length here.) But now, I think the French have it right: you don’t have to know. You don’t even have to ask.

What they value instead is curiosity. Culture. Taste. The art of paying attention. Of being present, not just purposeful.

That doesn’t mean people are passive. But the energy is different. Life is more about living well or profiter de la vie.

It took me time to unlearn the habit of measuring everything by what it might lead to. What goal did it served? What version of myself might it create? I’m not fully there yet, but I’ve changed.

I still care about my work. I still make plans. I still have ambition. But I no longer believe every moment needs to be part of some upward trajectory. Some days, it’s enough to spend the weekend with my family — visiting an exhibition, taking the kids to a play, or (let’s be real) racing from one birthday party to the next.

Maybe that’s enough. Maybe being fully alive is its own kind of purpose.

I don’t know that I’ll ever stop caring about meaning. But I’ve stopped needing to declare it. What I want now is to live with intention, even when there’s no obvious reward. To build a life that’s full, not optimized.

The French didn’t teach me to stop dreaming big. But they did teach me that dreaming big doesn’t have to come at the cost of living well.

That’s what I’ve been learning, little by little.

I’d love to know — has your relationship to work and purpose shifted over time? I’m always curious how others make sense of this in their own lives.

Thank you for reading.

A très vite,

Pamela

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