What a Bangkok Temple Taught Me About Finding Meaning
16 months ago in Bangkok, I stood outside a temple watching the sunset reflect off ancient tiles.
It started as another tourist checkmark. I rang the gong because others were doing it. Took pictures of the reclining Buddha. Moved on.
But then I stepped outside and stopped. The lights had just come on – golden reflections on centuries-old structures with a mosaic of different colors. I stood in silence, thinking “Who built this?”
In that moment, I felt something I rarely feel – peace. Awe. Connection to something far bigger than myself.
That’s when I realized that feeling small can drive meaning.
Feeling small will give you more meaning than accumulating more.
Every productivity guru says, “Think bigger. 10x your goals. Build an empire.”
I’ve learned the opposite: I find more meaning when I feel small.
This isn’t about being mediocre. It’s about surrounding myself with things that inspire awe. When I’m standing in front of something built centuries ago. When I’m a small piece of a community contributing to something that will outlast me.
That evening, I felt so connected to what I saw. The first thought that came to my mind was “This is what I want to do.”
Not build tiled structures that last centuries. But create things that add beauty to the world.
I had just published my fourth book a week before – Musta’s Mixtape. Standing there, I thought about the blue cover of the book on people’s shelves. Friends sharing stories about it. Not about royalties or sales numbers, but about how it might add something beautiful to or inspire action in their lives.
That’s when I understood that meaning came from contributing to something bigger than myself, not from what I could accumulate from it.
I’ve experienced this same sense of awe in nature – standing across a huge mountain, listening to waves on the beach, or looking far into the vast space. The magnitude of nature humbles you, and is a reminder you’re just a small piece to the entire dynamics of life.
Being a small piece of a bigger community creates the same sense of meaning.
I first noticed this pattern seven years ago while interviewing musicians, designers, and entrepreneurs for my book, Press Play. Every person I talked to, regardless of what they built, pointed to community as the driver. Not just for feedback or support, but as the reason they created at all.
Now I’m writing my fifth book, interviewing 20+ researchers, engineers, and entrepreneurs about finding meaning in an automated world. Seven years later, different people, different industries.
Same lesson. Meaning comes from contribution to community, not from what you accumulate for yourself.
Whether they’re making music, contributing to open-source projects, or leading data science research on autism, they all build with community in mind. The impact on others is why they do what they do.
Working in isolation, on the other hand, is draining
I’ve noticed something in myself and the founders I work with. We chase tangible targets – the revenue goal, the title, the success story. We hit them, feel a brief surge of satisfaction, then emptiness returns. That’s because the achievement isn’t anchored in contribution. It’s accumulation without meaning. The joy fades fast when there’s nothing bigger holding it up.
This is hard to sustain and usually burn out happens quicker.
I find more meaning and energy from the things I do and build when I can take a step back and see myself as a tiny piece, contributing to a bigger thing.
The question becomes: how do you contribute something meaningful when you’re just starting?
You don’t build the temple in one day. You focus on small contributions.
One application: Build for 5, not 5,000
Here’s what I’m learning on the practice ground: When I write for 5,000 people, I water down everything. When I write for one person, I go deep.
Begin with an audience of ONE.
Every article I write, every book I publish – I have one specific person in mind. Not a persona. A real person whose problem I’m trying to solve. This forces me to go into depths I’d never reach if I was chasing broad appeal.
The paradox is that writing for one person deeply creates more meaning than writing for 5,000 people superficially.
It is the starting point to meaningful contribution.
I’m testing this further.
Here’s how I’m practicing choosing smaller contributions over bigger metrics this quarter.
I recently connected with a handful of early-stage founders on LinkedIn who are wrestling with go-to-market. Instead of creating generic “LinkedIn growth tips” for maximum reach, I’m spending a few hours this month writing something specifically helpful for them – their exact challenges, their stage, their context.
Not for engagement. Not for my metrics. Just to contribute something useful to a small group I’m connected to.
What small practice could you commit to this week that serves something bigger than your metrics?
Here’s what you could test:
Pick your 5:
Who are 5 people in your network who would actually benefit from what you know? Not “potential customers” or “target audience.” Just real people you’re connected to.
Ask yourself:
What do they actually need right now? Not what would get you engagement, but what would genuinely help them move forward?
Build that:
Spend this week creating something specifically for them. A short guide. A framework. An introduction to someone who can help. An honest breakdown of what worked for you in their situation.
Ignore your metrics. Focus on the depth of contribution for these 5 people.
Track how it feels.
Then reflect on the question: Does serving a small group deeply create more meaning than chasing large numbers?
Closing Reflection:
When I stood in that temple, I wasn’t thinking about how many people would see it.
I was thinking about what it meant to be present. To be a small part of something ancient and beautiful. That’s what an inspiring environment feels like too – not the metrics, but the belonging.
And you have something inspiring to contribute.
Yours truly,
Nifemi
P.S. If you got this far, reply with “one word” of what this article made you feel.
