But What About Purpose?

I have spent quite a lot of my time recently, in the last year or so, thinking about purpose. I have (many) people in my life that insist I will go crazy in retirement, and come running home to jump back into the rat race. All for the reason that our lives will lack the drive and reward we receive from our fundamental addiction to purpose.

As it is defined by our capitalist climb-the-ladder society, anyway.

I struggled with this for the first six months. At times I slip unwittingly back into the struggle with it, but only occasionally now, and a lot, lot less. It never ceases to amaze (and annoy) me how deeply our brainwashing is entangled into our consciousness – to the point that the threads of purpose weave the magic carpet on which we soar safely above the denial of our crumbling mental health .

For my entire life (I was taught this early-on) I thought I needed that purpose to stay mentally healthy. I was led to believe that purpose was directed only towards service of society, of others, and to deviate from this was ultimately to be seen as selfish. That purpose, and the blind productive drive that comes from it, are what kept me from thinking too much, kept me focused, productive, and moving forward in life. It was what kept my demons at bay, safely locked away and ignored in their cells back in the dusty recesses of my consciousness. It was what kept me a functional component of the narcissistic society that I was a part of. It was how I was taught to define my success and my value.

It turns out that wasn’t my definition though.

It was the definition of a society that no longer has that degree of control over my life, so is no longer valid to me.

There was a spell where I thought to myself:

“Hey self! What if this purpose thing has been directed outward too long? What if the definition I have been force-fed in my life was only to distract me? To keep the chains around my ankles fastened tightly to the machinery of the world grinding incessantly along around me? To keep me from getting to know and love myself for who I am (demons and all)? What if the purpose of purpose was to keep me from thinking too much about what purpose truly means to me?

(Yes. I have these conversations with myself at times).

But this conversation with myself did the trick. I started to look at the idea of purpose a lot more personally – inwardly – and started to ask myself “what is my definition of it?”

So I made a list of what was important to me.

A very short one.

On the list was my mental health and my physical health, and the same two items for the people I love.

And the knowledge that I have bitten the apple and tasted every last delicious drop while living the shit out of the only one guaranteed thing I will ever get in my life: my life.

Okay, so now I have a list of how purpose should fit into my life.

Easy peazy perspicacity squeezy, right?

Actually, when I sat with it and gave it’s due, it really was pretty easy. And it is getting easier every day.

I am living again; experiencing. My eyes are open wide and I am soaking up every wave (particle) of light, every wave of sound, and every molecule of smell and taste that I can sense. I feel all the feels, good and bad, that my beat-up old brain and body goes through every day. I am not hiding from the experience of being alive anymore.

This feels like the right purpose to me.

My new personalized definition of purpose means I no longer feel guilty about not working (I have worked hard enough to get to where I am), or subjecting myself to guilt about being focused on my own personal health and wellness. My demons are out frolicking about with me on beaches (it turns out that they really weren’t such bad guys after all, I just didn’t understand them). We surf together, kite together, and they have never been more at ease with themselves. I meditate again. I wear myself out physically almost every day, and I nap and lay around on the few days there is no wind or waves. I have no guilt about it now. As a matter of fact, the only thing missing in this whole process is the guilt. I feel good. And healthy. Inside and out. Outside and in. I go to sleep exhausted, and if I’m not I stay up as long as I want. I am not anxious about insomnia because I don’t have to worry about getting up early, and I don’t have insomnia anymore anyway. I actually have found that, for the first time in my adult life, I enjoy laying in bed in the dark with nothing but the silence and my own internal (infernal) family there for conversation as I drift back off to sleep. It is now comfortable to be in my own skin.

It has been a while since I have been my own friend.

I am more at ease than I have been in a long time, and I have a long, long way to go, but I have realized my purpose now. My purpose is to get every last bit of experience I have left in the little time I have left, to explore, to learn, to grow, to evolve, and to focus on my short list of those things that are important to me: to be the best me I can be both physically and mentally, to love like crazy and allow myself to be loved, and, mostly, to be awake and alive every day in this life.

This is enough for me.