Redefining Ambition: When Work Loses Meaning and You Find Yourself Again

I was born and raised with a mantra:
“Work so that one day your labor works for you.”

It was written on a wooden plaque above my father’s entrance. He made us recite it over and over again until it became part of us. My father himself is the embodiment of that quote. Coming from a modest background, he built businesses with strong determination. He worked tirelessly, and today, his labor truly works for him.

From as far back as I can remember, I have always loved working. I never viewed it as something difficult; instead, it fueled my curiosity. The concept of starting from scratch and bringing a project to life has always felt fulfilling to me. I have learned that this is a privilege: witnessing the fruits of your labor.

I grew up watching my grandmother, who worked endlessly: sleeping after midnight, waking up at five, feeding everyone, going to the fields, carrying wood home on her head, fetching water, cooking again, and collapsing into bed exhausted. Did she enjoy that kind of work? Probably not in the same way I did. Because I am not talking about survival work. I am talking about the work that nourishes you.

Indeed, there is a difference. Some people work for pleasure, for growth, for fulfillment, sometimes as they can actually enjoy the fruits of their labor. Others work to survive, to feed their families, to simply keep going. And when they can no longer continue, they are called lazy. Is that what work is meant to be?

After my divorce, that distinction became painfully clear. For the first time, work was no longer a pleasure, it was pure survival. I was juggling everything: my diploma, my job, my children’s school, a new culture, life itself. Somewhere in that chaos, I lost my connection to my work. And, to some extent, I lost my ambition. I used to be creative, constantly starting new projects, full of ideas and drive. But then something changed. The energy that used to fueled me faded. I couldn’t see the results of my efforts anymore. One day, I asked myself: what’s the point of all this? I couldn’t find an answer, so I stopped altogether.

I know both sides of work: the beauty of creation and the exhaustion of necessity. In this world, whether you are privileged enough to work for pleasure or forced to work to survive, work remains inevitable. And when I could no longer find pleasure in it, I started longing for a simpler life, maybe a life closer to the earth, to community, maybe even a village life like my grandparents had, or may be a life where work has meaning again.

But then I think of my grandmother, and I know her life wasn’t simple at all. She worked harder than I can imagine, with little rest or reward. So what is it I’m really longing for? Maybe not the work itself, but the security that world offered the right to a home, to food, to water, to dignity. The things that now feel like luxuries we must endlessly earn.

I keep going back and forth between my grandparents’ world and my own, because that contrast has become foundational to how I see life. My grandparents’ world wasn’t fair, especially not to women. Yet it held something that ours has lost: a sense of belonging and dignity. My grandparents didn’t need money to have dignity. When someone became an adult, they had the right to choose a piece of land, and the whole village helped them build a home. They could drink water directly from the source. They could cultivate their food in their own garden or field. Maybe what I miss isn’t ambition itself, but the kind of meaning that comes from knowing your labor sustains life not just survival. And maybe it’s also an act of resistance against the idea that our worth must always be earned through labor.

Recently, I had a conversation with a person who spoke passionately about his goals and projects. As I listened, I felt something… envy? maybe; or nostalgia. I remembered how it used to feel to look forward to creating, to nurturing and building. And I miss that place. I am learning to build again, but this time with intention, seeking work that aligns with meaning, creativity, and purpose.

“Be you. The world will adjust.”