I grew up with religion. I grew up in churches with stories about fate, and destiny, and every human’s part in God’s plan, but I don’t believe in that anymore.
There is no purpose for any of us, not one we come into this world bearing anyway. It was a hard pill to swallow, but now that it has gone down and been digested, I feel better.
Humans need a purpose, though, and when I found I didn’t have one, I made one up. I found one or two that agreed with my interests and drives, my values and my hopes, and I got to work. I told myself the sweetest lie. I have a purpose.
Does a purpose after the fact count? Is finding a few things to inside a hand-made decorative bowl you impulse bought from Target the same as having a reason for existing?
I was sprung into existence on accident, and I figured while I was here I might as well make myself useful. I know this, and it doesn’t matter one bit. I don’t need fate or divine purpose. Meaning I made up, just for me, is enough to get me through this life happy and fulfilled.
I made meaning out of a life that might have been nothing at all.
That is magic.
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Written in response to Kate Motaung’s Five Minute Friday prompt: Purpose
Featured image via Unsplash