The Problem with Purpose and a meme from Jesus
in which I write ‘my purpose’ too many times and leave (most of) them in anyways
I know that when I don’t want to look at myself it’s most important that I do. It’s in these moments that I can truly see myself and assess my behaviors, and how they affect my quality of life.
There’s many reasons and events that account for why I haven’t wanted to face myself recently, but I was surprised by my latest crisis, one of purpose.
Having a purpose has always been important to me. I think we are told the story of purpose and passion from a young age. If you have a purpose, you can deal with the suffering of life, right?
I don’t know. I think in some regards fixating over what your purpose may be can cause unnecessary suffering. Maybe some people have always known what they’re meant to do. Maybe some people don’t have a knack for questioning like I do. I think if I had found my purpose, I’d still question whether that really was my purpose.
In 2018 I went to college for a semester. When I left with my tail-tucked between my legs, I decided I was a writer. Looking back, I think I mostly came to this decision because I wanted to have something to tell people, not realizing that no one cared what I was or wasn’t doing. Writing was the easiest thing. It had been my hobby for years, and as a child I dreamed of becoming a published author. Writing was what I’d forgotten in the midst being a teenager and failed to remember during the attempt to escape adulthood.
I’ve been telling myself that I’m a writer since then. I’ve dreamed of being a writer. I’ve even sometimes acted on it, which is not always my strong suit. Countless drafts, denied submissions, and so many (unfilled) notebooks. I’m surprised it took my overactive brain years to truly question whether or not writing is what I’m meant to do, but when I did last week, I felt devastated. All this time, all this energy, all these ideas, and it could’ve been a lie.
I was depressed. I went to sleep. The next day, I still wanted to write, so I did.
In the grand scheme of life, it’s not that big of a deal if I never have a purpose. If I consider every action before it’s taken, trying to decipher whether or not it’s aligned with this purpose, I’ll never do anything.
I don’t know if that’s me, or if that resonates with a lot of people. I say that because I feel it comes from my belief that we never truly know anything. I don’t yet know enough about epistemology to argue that, but that’s what I come back to.
I don’t know if I’ll ever know what my purpose is, or if I’ve lived it. To me it’s always mattered more what I can feel, rather than what I know. It would be more simple to focus on enjoying my life, rather than reaching an unknowable goal.
The problem with purpose is that from what I can tell so far, there’s no way to know if we’re doing what we’re meant to. We can choose to believe we are, but if we put all of our faith into a changeable belief, how helpful is that to our long-term wellbeing?
A few ideas come to me when I consider this problem:
- Just like we create meaning, we can create suffering.
Spending so much time, energy, and resource for the intent of discovering something we may never know is exhausting. And why? So, that we can live perfectly?
2. Abandon perfectionism
I think my concern with purpose may boil down to my judgement. I’ve always been morally concerned. Is what I’m doing right or wrong? If it’s wrong, I’m a terrible person. Following my purpose felt right to me, but its caused me so much stress and inner conflict. To live my purpose meant for me to live perfectly, to live exactly as I was intended.
I realize now that I will live as intended no matter what I do. I think we fulfill our own prophecies. Predetermination happens all at once, everywhere. What you do in this moment sets the score, but the score was already written. If you’re reading this thinking that doesn’t make much sense, I get it. I don’t know how to make sense of it myself.
There are so many things I want to do that I haven’t because I don’t know the right (er, traditional) way, or because I’m not well-versed in the topic, and the excuses are endless, but they all serve the same fear. The fear that I’ll do something wrong.
I think perfectionism traps us. It coaxes us to do what everyone else is doing, how everyone else is doing it. Perfectionism is an antagonist to individuality, and to creation.
If I’m so concerned with being right and justified, perhaps I should reframe the way I see what’s right, and what I do about it. I want to refuse perfection as an act of resistance.
3. Act
From now on, if I want to write, I’ll write. I don’t need to make it my identity. If I want to share a piece of writing, I’ll share a piece of writing. Even if I got as close to perfect as possible, someone would still have something to say about it, so I might as well do what I want. If I want to… I don’t know, act in a movie, I’ll pursue acting in a movie. We can just try to do something. We don’t have to attack it with all of our willpower and force and convince ourselves that our happiness lies in attaining this one, relative goal. Perhaps our happiness lies in trying. Or, and I know this one is out there, happiness exists in having fun?
4. Fail
If fail is what you have to do to share your creation, to go after your dream, to be who you want to be, fail. Let’s be real, whole people, who try to do what’s best but sometimes fall short, who act courageously. It’s cliché, but perfect doesn’t exist. It is a scrap we are always chasing. It’s human to be wrong, to be right, and everything in between. Walt Whitman was not the only human to contain multitudes. Give yourself and others a little grace as we navigate the great mystery.
