Soul, much like Ratatouille, hides behind the promise of being a kids movie, but few films go deeper than Soul. Beneath the animation and humor lies something profoundly human, something that asks the questions we spend our whole lives avoiding. It poses that ever-elusive question of purpose, or “spark,” as they call it. What do you want to be? It’s a question that since my first conscious moment I’ve been asked. And the truth is that I want to be everything and nothing. I want to experience it all without being trapped by any single definition of who I am supposed to be.
When I watch Soul, I can’t help but think about passion and purpose, how some small, almost invisible moment can change the entire course of a life. Joe Gardner walking into a jazz club for the first time, or a group of musicians stepping onto a stage in Louisiana and creating jazz, so Art Blakly, Miles Davis or John Coltrane could discover it. There is something rare in those moments, when instinct and spirit collide. They remind us that inspiration doesn’t come from grand events or perfect circumstances but from being alive and open enough to feel something real. Maybe the real spark isn’t a thing you chase. Maybe it’s the act of being. The act of connecting. The act of breathing, listening, and simply existing within the small beauty that life offers.
We’re told from the moment we’re old enough to dream that purpose must be tied to success. That your spark is something measurable: a career, an achievement, a title. But Soul challenges that idea. It suggests that your purpose might not be some towering goal at all. It might be the warmth of sunlight on your face as you walk home, the laughter that escapes when you’re with people who truly see you, or the feeling of calm that comes from playing a single note that resonates deep inside you. Maybe the meaning of life isn’t hidden in the extraordinary but woven into the everyday moments we rush past.
And you can’t hold back or give in just because people don’t agree with you. The world will always have opinions, always try to fit you into something smaller than what you are. Follow your dreams relentlessly, because there is no other way to live fully. When Joe has that conversation with his mother, it’s the culmination of everything wrong about limited beliefs and repression. She wants safety for him, not understanding that safety often suffocates the soul. That moment between them is raw and painful, but it’s real. It’s the voice of every person who’s ever been told to be practical, to settle, to stop chasing what sets them on fire. It’s the moment you realize that no one else can define what your life should be. Don’t let people tell you what’s what.
Toward the end of the film, after Joe’s first big performance, when he tells the story about the fish, the small fish says, “I’m looking for the ocean.” The big fish replies, “This is the ocean.” The small fish looks around and says, “What do you mean? This is just water.” That story lingers long after; we spend our lives searching for something greater, some grand purpose waiting just beyond the horizon, believing that happiness exists somewhere else. But all along, we’re already swimming in it. The ocean isn’t a destination. It’s the present moment. It’s the rhythm of your breath, the smile of a stranger, the music that moves through you.
Soul reminds us that purpose isn’t found through striving, but through presence. It’s not about what you do, but how deeply you live while doing it. Joe thought his life would finally begin when he got his big break, but when it came, he felt the same. Because the spark was never the stage. It was never the applause. It was the moments in between: the ones that made him feel alive without needing a reason.
We’re all that small fish at some point, searching for the ocean, not realizing we’ve been in it the whole time. The truth is, life isn’t about becoming something. It’s about being. About noticing the beauty in what already exists. About playing a note, your note, however quiet it may be, and knowing that it matters simply because it’s yours.
