"Animal rescue." These are the words I've written in my pretty notebook, which I grabbed in my excitement to capture what has happened. Hmmm. They don't seem to quite cover it. "Animal rescue" doesn't quite embody the purpose for my life. Oh, did I mention that I've just discovered the purpose for my life? Notice I don't say "of" my life as if it is some pre-determined thing I have simply had to uncover. No, this is purpose for my life, for my life. This was chosen for me, by me, after forty seven years of being me. This purpose will keep me alive, honor me, better me, give me a reason to keep on keeping on.
Mother, mother ocean, after all these years I've found
My occupational hazard being
My occupation's just not around --
Jimmy Buffet, "A Pirate Looks at Forty"
I love about five Jimmy Buffet songs and that is one of them. Occupation's just not around indeed. Figuring out what to do with myself has come close to killing me. Ruined relationships as others, even though they loved me, could not understand the struggle and grew disgusted with it. "Just get a job and stick with it." Oh, I tried. But I needed my purpose for my life as truly and viscerally as sex or food or sleep. My rational arguments to the contrary were worse than nothing to me as I internalized the message that I was messing up. I've been suicidal, I've been very sick (and still very much in the early stages of healing.)
Mother, mother ocean.
I filled my days and nights with occupations, occupied always, but it was never what I needed. Barking up that proverbial tree while the squirrels lounged behind me noshing on nuts and saying to each other "get a load of this" until, in a moment of clarity as simple and complicated as life itself, it came to me. Not occupation. Purpose.
This first post is dedicated to everyone who has given me their love when I have been lacking in self love.