It’s nearly 9:30 p.m. and I’m looking out my front window at
the still and quiet of the evening and the closing off of daylight as the
orange sun slides beneath the horizon.
Once again, and this time through very sad events in the lives
of others I am reminded that Joan Didion continues to be right. “Life changes
fast. Life changes in the instant.”
I also am reminded through these very sad events in the lives
of others, that I can easily be sideswiped by my own past shadows that (to
paraphrase Mark Nepo) apparently still wait in behind and are quite willing to
be background to my joy.
I guess it means I’m still ever edging outwards in healing
from my own storm damage, when life as I knew it ended and a different one
began.
Of late I’ve been wandering into territory that fellow
freelancer Wendi Stewart wrote about a few weeks in her column, “Wendi with an
‘eye.’”
She said, “that’s what writers do; we write about that which
puzzles us in the hopes some understanding will surface and we can get our
minds around the subject that is poking at us from the inside.”
I am puzzled by many things, some worth piecing together and
some, not so much. I spend a lot of time thinking about what I think about,
strange as that may sound.
I’d like to think I’d make a good life coach; someone who
through her experiences in leading an imperfectly perfect life could help
another human being to grow into their own light. A “perspective changer.” Time
will tell.
I had a question recently posed to me. “What’s the purpose of
your life, Beth?”
And much to my surprise I couldn’t answer it promptly and that
bugged me—a lot.
For the rest of that day I felt stymied in some internal way,
as if the fact that I couldn’t answer the question meant I didn’t know what I
wanted or what I was supposed to be doing with my life.
I put great expectations on myself to come up something. A few
days passed before it dawned on me that I had known all along what my purpose
was. I had written about it many times in one way or another and yet had lost
my way somewhere from there to here.
Purpose is sacred to each of us—this I know for sure—and I
respect yours, whatever it may be.
But before I shine a refresher on mine, I want to go back to
the beginning of this column and the shadows that linger as the background to
joy.
Nepo writes “That we insist on keeping old wounds alive, is
our curse.” He’s right. It’s what we focus on that manifests itself.
“When I focus on the rake of experience and how its fingers
dug into me and the many feet that have walked over me, there is no end to the
life of my pain. But when I focus on the soil of heart and how it has been
turned over, there is no end to the mix of feelings that defy my want to name
them. Tragedy stays alive by feeling what’s been done to us. Peace comes alive
by living with the result.”
What is the purpose of my life? My purpose is to be happy. I
deserve to be happy. We all do.
Somehow,
for a little while, I forgot about that.
The happiness
balance is tedious, constant work. Sometimes I do it well, sometimes I do
appallingly, but I believe in my choice and I dwell in its possibilities.
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