If we don't understand our purpose — why we do the things we do — we allow ourselves to get unnecessarily distracted.

Work has been more stressful than usual lately. Things are shifting and changing at stations much higher than my paygrade, with influences trickling down to my daily work. This is life as an employee in corporate America. Some of these changes are exciting and offer learning opportunities from skilled people whom I admire. Other stuff feels more like a power struggle happening within the shifting dynamics.

Then there are the people with axes to grind and assumptions to make who find their way into my inbox in the form of hate mail. They assign ill intent and beleaguer the processes in my daily work flow.

I don't enjoy confrontation. In the fight, flight or freeze scenario of things, I almost always land in the flight category. I run like I'm on fire. Maybe not in the "skip town" sense of the word, but I do flee. My favorite escape route is under a heavy quilt in deep sleep. Wake me up when it's over. My second favorite form is a good book. Take me down the rabbit hole of someone else's troubles — preferably with a glass of wine in my hand.

I'm a work in progress like everyone else. In the past few years, I've taken a hard look at what drives me to do the things I do. I'm "finding my why," like author Simon Sinek advises. But I'm also asking myself: Am I working toward something or am I avoiding something? Author and social scientist Brene Brown would call my shutdown and avoidance "armoring up".

One day, while taking my son to school, the final song from the "Hamilton" soundtrack popped up on the Spotify shuffle: "Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?" It was the jolt I needed. I choke up every time I hear that song. But this time it served to point out my lack of focus. I do know my purpose. I am driven to tell stories. My great ask of the universe is that I be trusted with people's stories for the betterment of our community.

The rest? It's just noise. The things that are not within my control only serve as distractions. I need to keep my ego out of it and stay focused on the stories that matter to me and that matter to my community.

With this realization, the weight lifted. Who cares about the jerk in my email? Who cares about the workplace peripheral drama?

I dropped off my son and returned home feeling a lot less stressed. Two hours later, I got a text. Someone doing meaningful work wanted to share their story. Could I stop by? Yes. I'm 100% here for that.