Purpose

Was just reading the book gifted to me from a good friend You Only Die Once and in the book there was a questionnaire that asked me to rate myself against the statement “I feel like I have a distinct purpose on the planet, like my life has some kind of meaning.”

I scored quite badly on that one. There were a couple more follow up questions, one being: Do I want to do anything about this right now?

I thought about it for a while, and though I was tempted to answer what I thought I should be answering (Yes, of course I want to do something about it) I paused and let the question wash over me, and the answer that intuitively felt most right was No.

No, I do not wish to do something about it right now. Nor do I foresee me wanting to do anything about it in the foreseeable future.

I found myself intuitively writing the following: Objectively I don’t think there’s a need, and that life doesn’t need a purpose.

And upon further reflection, I think I accept that. Though when young I always wondered what my purpose was, as I grew older (and I think I’m decently “old enough” — statistically speaking I’m closer my death than my birth) I found myself drifting away from the seeking purpose to feeling, understanding, that life doesn’t have one and that it doesn’t need one.

I’ve never felt it right that I should be born where I am, when I am, into who I am; and that others should be born into where they are, when they are, into who they are.

What purpose does the death of an infant serve, or the drawn out life of a living corpse who must exist (again, statistically speaking), somewhere on this Earth?

And how about the fall from grace of people who were once revered but now reviled? Did their lives lose meaning when popular opinion shifted?

I see no purpose in seeking purpose. Do you?