Why are any of us here?
I was out of town from last Wednesday night until Monday morning, back to E’s hometown for his high school reunion. Our arrival was delayed as we waited for severe, tornado-spawning weather to pass through so we could land. It was the same weather that killed 4 Boy Scouts that day.
E suggested recently that I now have a "fascination" with death. I told him that it’s not so much a fascination as it is a deep and urgent desire to know as much as I can about this thing that took my sweetie away, and about where he’s gone, and what it means for us as human beings. I likened it to A moving away; if he’d moved to Timbuktu, I’d be "fascinated" by all things Timbuktu, too. But as I read and watched the coverage of the tornado that went through the Boy Scout camp, I thought perhaps he may have a point. Nevertheless, this is where I am right now.
It’s a strange thing, to read obituaries of the very young. They’re different, in that there is no long list of accomplishments, no resumé. They seem more essential, in that they describe the personalities of the children and what they liked, and are more about who they are rather than what they’ve done, because they haven’t had time to do much yet, and now never will. That said, I’m not sure that’s not a better way to go about an obituary. Does it matter what jobs I’ve held? When I die, I hope mine says that I loved well and deeply, and had a curious mind. (I suppose if I ever get around to writing it as I intend to, it will.) But I’d like to think that others would concur.
The next day, we visited E’s 92-year-old great-aunt who makes no secret about the fact that’s she ready to go. She has outlived all her siblings and her spouse, and probably uncountable numbers of friends. She is pretty spry for 92, and wonders what she is going to die of, because nothing seems to be in the offing (so to speak). She asked us (rhetorically, I have to assume, as who has the answer?) what the point of her hanging around for another year or two would be. I don’t know; I don’t know what’s left here that she has to learn or do or whatever. It does seem like she’s just waiting to die. She doesn’t seek out new experiences, knowledge, or people, so if there are insights still to come to her, they will have to come from within. I suppose the important ones always do.
Of course, I couldn’t help but wonder what scheme is in play that kills 4 13-year-old boys when they no doubt had no desire to die that day, and preserves a 92-year-old who seemingly is tired of waiting to take her last breath. I knew a 60-year-old widow who felt the same way. I told her, and I believe, that the fact that grief does not kill most of us indicates to me that there must be something else we’re meant to do here. It cannot be just luck. What it is, I’m not sure.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about what my personal purpose is in life. I think that the purpose of life is living, over all–that we are here to be here and take in as much as we possibly can. But I also think we have personal goals, a mission, if you will, and I haven’t been able to figure mine out. I’ve been pondering it as I consider, yet again, a change of career to something that seems more meaningful. I want to do something that helps others and also feeds my soul. I have an idea, but it’s just an idea at this point. As I looked back on my life, though, a motif appeared, and I begin to think that it is my purpose to encourage others in achieving whatever it is they want to achieve, because I have found myself in that role over and over again; what’s more, it’s a pretty comfortable one. I am content to do the things I do at the level I do them; I am far more interested in assisting someone else any way I can to get their book published than in writing one of my own. I buy my musician friends’ CDs in support, but have no interest in recording one of my own. I sometimes wonder if it’s fear or laziness that stops me from doing these things for myself, and of course anything’s possible, but it doesn’t really feel that way to me.
If that IS indeed my purpose, to be an encourager of others, then it could be that I’ve been living my life’s purpose all along, even as I believed I had no idea what it was. If that’s the case, I’m relieved; I don’t have to look so hard, because while it’s not flashy as far as life purposes go, it’s certainly not a bad one.
Do you know why you’re here? And how did you figure it out?