Living for something bigger than yourself

Living for something bigger than yourself (Photo: iStock)

A life lived solely for oneself can leave a strange emptiness. It creeps in quietly, masquerading as freedom or success, until one day you realise that, despite having achieved everything you set out to do, something essential is missing. You’ve climbed ladders, collected accolades and perhaps even curated an impressive-looking life. Yet the stirring inside your chest grows louder. Is this all there is?

Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is one of the most referenced psychological models of human motivation. It’s a neat pyramid outlining what we need to survive and then to thrive, from food and safety to love and self-esteem, with self-actualisation at the peak.

Many people stop here. They pursue authenticity, personal growth, creativity and a career that reflects their passions. However, what Maslow realised later in life and what many never discover, is that self-actualisation is not the ultimate goal. There’s something higher.

He called it transcendence.

While self-actualisation is about becoming the best version of yourself, transcendence is about losing yourself in service, awe, connection or meaning. According to the psychologist Viktor Frankl, human beings are driven by purpose, not pleasure (as Freud claimed) or power (as Adler argued).

When that purpose extends beyond the self, we enter the realm of what Maslow described as ‘peak experiences’: moments of profound fulfilment and unity with something greater than ourselves, be that humanity, nature, art or the divine.

Interestingly, many ancient philosophies arrived at this idea long before modern psychology did.

In Hindu thought, dharma is about living following a greater cosmic order and fulfilling one’s duty out of alignment rather than ego. In Buddhist practice, the path leads to anatta, or ‘non-self’. Even Stoic philosophy, in its secular form, encourages relinquishing personal obsession in favour of virtue, duty and community.

Throughout these traditions, there is a subtle undercurrent: the self is real, but not final.

Even in the Hebrew Psalms, the voice shifts from asking ‘What is man that you are mindful of him?’ to an awareness of something deeper: belonging not to oneself, but to something older, vaster and more eternal. Similarly, in the Gospel narratives, it was not necessarily those who had everything who found meaning, but those who gave: their time, their oil, their coin, their presence.

But let’s take this out of the abstract. What does transcendence look like in real life?

Sometimes it’s a parent staying up late to help with a school project despite their exhaustion. Sometimes it’s a nurse, a teacher, an artist or a writer giving more than they’ll ever receive recognition for. It’s the quiet, unmarketable work that holds society together.

At other times, it’s an internal choice: choosing forgiveness over vengeance. It’s about choosing to stay soft in a world that hardens you. It’s the moment when you stop asking, ‘What do I want to be known for?’ and start asking, ‘How do I want to contribute?’

This isn’t about sainthood. It’s about shifting the focus of your life outwards. It’s about realising that your personal fulfilment may be tied to someone else’s well-being. And that can be deeply sobering.

Because transcending the self doesn’t always feel good. It can feel costly, disorientating and even lonely. There are no likes for compassion at midnight. There is no applause for inner surrender. But what it yields is quiet integrity, deep peace and a strange kind of joy. This is not something you can fabricate. It’s something you stumble upon, often when you’re too busy caring to notice.

Maslow didn’t romanticise transcendence. He saw it as demanding. It pushes you beyond your sense of identity. However, he also believed that it was essential for human wholeness. Transcendence is not the opposite of ambition; it is the maturation of it.

It’s a shift from ‘I want to be great’ to ‘I want to be of use’. Perhaps that is the deeper crisis we are experiencing now. In a culture that is obsessed with personal branding, self-care, self-promotion and curated social media feeds, we are burning out not because we are doing too much, but because we are doing too little that matters. Too little that connects us to others. Too little that leaves a mark on someone else’s life.

Living for something bigger than yourself doesn’t erase who you are; it roots you in something enduring. It means stopping asking ‘What can I extract from life?’ and beginning to ask ‘What can I offer?’

Not because it makes you holy, but because it makes you whole!

Eve Waruingi is a counselling psychologist.