Anita Testosiero, "Immersion" Oil On Board 30 x 30 cm


Having a purpose. I just returned to my office from having lunch with my friend and colleague, John. We have lunch once a week, at noon on Mondays, at our favorite coffeehouse, for an hour. It has become a ritual. A ritual for two men nearing fifty who are always looking for meaning and purpose. What is the purpose of men our age?

What is my purpose? One thing I know about myself that may surprise many who have read this blog and/or know me personally is that I don't think of my children as my purpose. Fathering is a role that I have been exposed to (like exposure to a virus, as I explained in my last piece). But it is not my purpose. I enjoy this role tremendously, learn from it about myself and the world. But I cannot come to any sense of internal congruence by thinking that fatherhood--or grandfatherhood for that matter--is my purpose.

So much for what I feel about my purpose. The more difficult part is understanding what my purpose may actually be. My purpose almost feels like a person, like a being with a sense of self and its own integrity. What I know about it is that it has been watching patiently while I have been so very much immersed in the role of father. It is standing by, looking, nodding at times, waiting its turn. At times there is a glimpse of what that that "turn" might look like. It always has to do with a felt sense of deep comfort with what I'm doing. This is a comfort I normally don't feel when I'm responsible for others (including my children). Such responsibility can give me a feeling of accomplishment, a sense of productivity and getting things done. But it does not match the comfort of a purpose that is very much driven from within. In fact, writing for this blog comes much closer to this sense of purpose than any of the things I "do" every day.

I used to feel such comfort in the context of making music when it was often accompanied by a sense of obliviousness to time passing. I also would routinely get into that comfort of purpose while watching the goings-on in my aquarium. I still feel it when I ride my bicycle. It often comes when I sit with the men of the group I am a part of. I also feel it when I put on my gardening clothes and go out into the yard, even if it's just to pull weeds. As I am writing this down I realize that the comfort of having a purpose is very much tied to these things: immersion, loss of sense of time, absence of responsibility.

I guess I am realizing that "purpose" is more (or less) for me than simply having something to do or being needed. Too much of those feelings is tied up with doing things because others would like me to do them. Purpose means that "I choose." It means that my Self is involved by using its poetry, pleasure, sensuality, desire and longing to find out what that choice might be. Finally, having a purpose means to me that poetry, pleasure, sensuality, desire and longing are all present as I go about living.

The issue is not that I just want to be there for myself. I thoroughly enjoy the company of others. Rather the issue is how "responsible" I feel in my need to be for others.