My therapist asked this week what I thought my purpose was – that people are supposed to have purposes. And, I had to say “I don’t know that I do any more” in a weepy way, not a suicidal way. My purposes found me, even if they didn’t last, I never sought them out. These last few years, I’ve looked for a purpose – latched on to something for awhile and then . . . . . purposeless again.
It’s a conundrum for someone who believes we are each born with a purpose; but do we ever know what that is. Am I purposeless now because the hands that guided me, abandoned me, or am I frightened and fighting them. No more gut-kicks, no more purposes.
Can I live without a purpose – again metaphorically? When I was pushed towards a purpose, or was chosen by one, did I fail because the purpose was pulled away? How much responsibility need I take for being purposeless now.
Does purpose come from the heart, the spirit, the soul? Has my void, my black-hole wound sucked all these in.
If a purpose does not come for me, what do I do? Seek it out? Live without one. Manufacture one.
Or just be purposeless. Can you enjoy life without a purpose? What do purposeless people do?
Unless, those guiding hands appear, or a purpose calls for me, I guess I’ll stumble along and find out what purposeless folks do.