We live such limiting lives, don’t we? Seemingly without purpose.
Ennui isn’t something new. It hits each of us in varying degrees as we grow older, come to terms with our limitations, our mortality and even our chosen profession or passion.Over the past year, it’s something that’s been rearing its head more often than I’ve deemed necessary. Oh I know it’s not something we choose and it’s not what you can really show off in a list of qualifications. But it exists.
It’s made me wonder, ‘What is my purpose in life?’
Yes, I blog. I work as an editor and I write for pleasure. And I parent and cook and clean and do all the sundry things that make up my normal, everyday existence. Nothing out of the ordinary there, if you think about it.
But there is. There always is.
In each of us, there lies a purpose. Sometimes it’s obvious. It stares us in the face when we least expect it. Other times, it hides behind layers of frustration and angst, that feeling of melancholic drudgery that life doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.
As March draws to a close and I inch closer to completing another year on this blue planet, it’s becoming clearer to me.
I must do and should do what makes me happy. So, what is that?
It’s no surprise that I love to blog but is it my life’s purpose? Somehow I doubt it. I am not hung up on a lot of things that bloggers should be concerned about such as stats and figures and influencer status. However, I do like the art of blogging- the fine nuances of putting words down for people to read.
Would I feel broken though, if I didn’t blog or couldn’t? Would I feel like a part of me is missing? Perhaps but the fact that I am not saying a resounding ‘Yes’ gives me reason to pause.
And as always, it is when my mind is at its silent zenith that the answer comes to me.
I was reading a couple of articles on depression and mental health and shared them with a couple of survivors; people I know are struggling to put their feelings into words. When one of them broke down and admitted to feeling suicidal, I felt a cold hand squeezing itself around my heart.
This was me, many years ago. I was suicidal that long ago. I was at the cusp of taking a plunge that would end my life and my pain forever. Yet, something stopped me. Back then it was the love that surrounded me and the support of those I cared.
Hearing the friend low and depressed awakened something within me, the instinct to protect, to reach out, to help in any way I could.
That was the moment I realised my current purpose in life: it is to share my story. Yes, the same story you’ve heard about for a year now. Working on the memoir is more important than ever for me now.
Not for the money or the views or the critiques. No. That’s not the reason; none of it is. The purpose is simple.
My story will help others. Of this I am certain. And I will finish it and tell the tale for those who need to hear it. They need it as much as I need to get it out there. We all need love and support and encouragement and if I can do that for one other soul, I’d think my life is inching towards its purpose. Inexorably so.
And bonus? It makes me happy. Seeing others survive makes me incredibly happy.
The best part is my mom told me this 15 years ago. Turns out moms really do know everything, including the purpose of our lives. At least, mine does.
If you’re thinking too hard about what could be your life’s purpose, maybe it’s time to step back and breathe. Relax and let the answer find you, in the stillness of your heart.
What do you believe is your life’s purpose?