Meaning Isn’t the Prize at the End. It’s the Moment You’re Actually In.

Written By Neil Erickson

In a recent episode of Guy Kawasaki’s Remarkable People podcast, Guy sits down with Dave Evans, the Stanford educator, Apple mouse designer, Electronic Arts co-founder, and co-author of Designing Your Life. Their conversation centers on Evans’ latest work around a question that feels especially relevant in a region full of founders, builders, artists, students, and people trying to figure out what comes next: what actually makes life feel meaningful day to day?

Evans makes an important distinction early in the conversation. He is less interested in answering “What is the meaning of life?” and more interested in helping people ask, “How do I get more meaning in my life right now?” That shift matters. One question can feel abstract, impossible, and almost paralyzing. The other brings meaning back into the present moment, where we actually live.

For Evans, meaning is not only found in impact. It is not just about changing the world, building the company, winning the award, or reaching the next level. Those things can matter, but they are not enough. He points instead to experiences that make us feel fully human: wonder, flow, coherence, and deep community. Meaning can come from standing on the Olympic podium, but it can also come from being fully present at dinner with people you love, noticing the taste of homemade teriyaki chicken, or losing track of time while doing something that absorbs you completely.

That idea hit me hard.

Six years ago, I decided to focus my career on music. At first, it felt like the dream. I was playing constantly, sometimes five or more gigs a week. But slowly, something changed. The songs became repetitive. The joy became a schedule. And please, for the love of everything holy, do not ask me to play “Valerie” again.

Music had once been one of the clearest sources of meaning in my life. Then it became work. Then it became a grind. The constant search for gigs, the fatigue of playing to rooms where no one was really listening, and the pressure to turn every performance into income started to hollow out the thing I loved.

Eventually, I moved deeper into the wedding and event business. That brought its own kind of success. Bigger events. Bigger budgets. Bigger opportunities. But it also pushed the transactional mindset to the extreme. Music became a resource. Events became a revenue opportunity. The question was no longer, “How do we create a beautiful moment for people?” It became, “How much can we make in one day?”

That is not an evil question. Businesses need to make money. Artists need to survive. Communities need economic engines. But when money becomes the only measure, something gets lost.

Evans talks about the difference between the “transactional world” and the “flow world.” The transactional world is where we chase results, measure output, optimize the next move, and ask whether the needle is moving. The flow world is different. It is where we become fully engaged in the present moment. Evans describes flow as the place where challenge and ability meet, but he also argues that we do not need to wait for some rare, perfect task to enter it. We can practice flow in ordinary moments, too.

That tracks with my own life.

Flow can look like Klay Thompson scoring 37 points in a quarter, completely untouchable for twelve minutes of basketball. But it can also look like me doing my best low-level pickup basketball impression, hitting three threes in a row and feeling, for one brief moment, like I have cracked the code. It can look like spending hours in the studio chasing a sound that did not exist before. It can even look like writing this article and feeling those journalism muscles wake back up.

The point is not the size of the stage. The point is whether you are actually there.

Recently, I hosted a free backyard concert for about 50 people. No big campaign. No tickets. No phones. We asked everyone to put their phones in a bucket and be fully present. I played my original songs, stripped down, for my people.

From the moment the music started to the moment it ended, I was completely in it. I was not thinking about the perfect setlist. I was not thinking about the money. I was not thinking about whether the content would perform later. I was just playing.

And honestly, it was the best I have ever sounded.

That is the part of Evans’ message that feels so important. Meaning is not always something you ascend toward. Sometimes it is something you return to. Sometimes the work is not finding “the thing” or “the calling” or “the big it.” Sometimes the work is taking something you already love and removing all the noise that has attached itself to it.

Evans also introduces five mindsets for living with more meaning: wonder, radical acceptance, availability, full engagement with calm detachment, and creating your own internal narrative. Radical acceptance, in particular, stands out. Evans describes it as a commitment to living in reality as it is, not as we wish it were. Availability takes that one step further: once reality is accepted, what is the invitation inside it?

That idea feels especially useful for anyone building anything in Santa Cruz County.

Founders know this. Artists know this. Nonprofit leaders know this. Students know this. Small business owners definitely know this. The plan changes. The funding falls through. The event does not sell the way you expected. The gig is not what you hoped. The campaign underperforms. The thing you thought would make you happy does not quite do it.

The question then becomes: can you accept the reality in front of you quickly enough to still find meaning inside it?

For me, that means bringing music back into my life in the right way. Not as a pure profit engine. Not as a ladder to something else. Not as proof that I am becoming more successful. But as a gift to myself, to the people I play with, and to the people who get to listen.

As I approach finally releasing new music again, I am trying not to attach it to some giant campaign designed only to maximize streams. I want to make the music. I want to make the content that feels good and actually reflects the songs. I want to share it in a way that still lets the music breathe.

That does not mean ambition is bad. It does not mean impact is meaningless. Santa Cruz Works exists because impact matters. Startups matter. Jobs matter. Innovation matters. Community-building matters. But this conversation is a good reminder that impact without presence can become empty. Achievement without aliveness can become just another transaction.

Something bigger than you is often what makes you feel most like yourself.

Sometimes that something is a company. Sometimes it is a community. Sometimes it is a song in a backyard with everyone’s phones in a bucket.

And sometimes, meaning is not waiting at the finish line.

Sometimes it is already happening, if you are available enough to notice.

Listen to the Episode

Listen to What Actually Makes Life Feel Meaningful Day to Day with Dave Evans on Guy Kawasaki’s Remarkable People.

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