I haven’t written metaphorically in a while, and I want to remedy that with some thoughts about purpose and life.
A lot of us go through life wondering what our purpose is, why we’re here, what reason we have for being alive. I don’t mean that to sound depressing. What I’m saying is, in an existential sense, there may not be a strong, set-in-stone purpose to our lives, and that might be a good thing. Isn’t it better to be free of a greater obligation, so that you can determine your own course in life? Though our lives are, in no small way, impacted by our location of birth, race, gender, sexuality, and a host of other factors, I’d like to believe in the perhaps fairytale-like dream that we still live in a world in which you can freely pursue (but not necessarily achieve) whatever career or profession you want. I completely understand that that may not be true for everyone, especially those who are wrongfully and tragically persecuted and judged by the intolerant, but I will persist in delusion for the time being if it’s my sanity at stake.
Some people, when confronted with this dilemma, look to religion and bolster their faith in a higher power, while others look inward and reflect on the lives they’ve touched, the bonds they’ve created, and the worlds they’ve visited and explored. I don’t think either option is wrong, but I think, at least for me, I’m looking in the latter direction, personally. I like to travel, I like to socialize with people who are good listeners, and I like to reflect on my experiences. I think those things alone are meaningful and significant to me, and I can find purpose in living, knowing that my experiences are meaningful in and of themselves.