I cannot say that this week has been one for calm, enriching thoughts in one’s head — at least, not if you want to talk about subjects that are clear, well-defined, and have answers.   A beginning, a middle, and an end, like an 80s sitcom where everything gets wrapped up by the end of the show in a neat, satiny bow complete with hugs and family moments.

That was not this week.

I am plagued.    Assailed by my thoughts, whipped by my doubts, slapped by the unknown, and terrorized by the future as it looms over me, cackling in the way that it does.   It enjoys the idea that I don’t know how to deal with it, I think.

Professionally, Myself is found adrift in the sea of uncertainty, floating from idea to thought, trying to nail down what I’m supposed to hold onto tightly and what I am to release.   How can I determine a direction to go when there’s so many and I have no idea if they’ll pan out or be a big, giant flop?   How do I know what effort to expend, what portion of my life to burn on my career, if every fire I’ve lit to date has done nothing but fizzle?

I’m a little rowboat, jostling amongst the multitudes of so many other, larger ships, gazing at them in awe and, at the same time, in curiosity — how did they get where they are, and why does the effort they expended seem so much less than my own?   Whereupon I instantly feel that my flounderings are nothing more than a drowning man’s floggings and I am simply ineffective — and much more worthless than I think.

I grew up being encouraged in my development — strongly — by those who loved me.   In many ways I appreciate it, but in so many, I regret it as well, for if I am all that everyone imagined, why do I feel like I am nowhere at all, and Sisyphus’ mountain rises high above me, and the rock is so large?

Stagnation is my nemesis, but he is a clever, tricky fellow.    He’s almost impossible to see, difficult to detect, and a swarthy opponent to fight.   Paired with him, in a tag team, is the Unconcentrator, the king of all things flighty and unreliable, impossible to pin down and equally hard to wring out anything of worth.    They circle me, swords drawn, and I am armed only with this keyboard.    I cannot fight them both; I cannot avoid their thrusts.   Is the best strategy to go out as a martyr….or to lay down the sword and let what slices come?

And then I sit back and try to wedge this circle-shaped block into a triangular hole in the great Table of Life — for, in the end, I do not want to say that I have contributed nothing.   That I have not somehow reached my old age, time has run out, and I have left no mark upon the world as a whole.   I fear more than anything of reaching retirement — reaching the age of inability — and finding that the life I lived was nothing more than a fart in the wind, like so many lives that have lived over the past thousands of years.   Ineffective.  Unimportant.  Non-influential.   Unnoticeable.   Forgettable.

That doesn’t mean I know what would fulfill that criteria.   Of course I don’t — that’s just the shards on the tips of the cat-o-nine.

Many times I step back and look and go, “Bah!   You’ve got years and years ahead of you to figure this out….honestly, why the bellyaching?   You’re only 34, for Constantinople’s sake!”   And then the dark tide flows in and the truth hits:   You’re 34.   You’re almost halfway done.   And you’ve done…..what, exactly?

Moreover, I cannot guess the chess game that I am playing, and fear grips me as I consider the board before me, the huge myriad of factors that I must answer to, make decisions about, and try to reason with.   I can only see one, maybe two moves ahead, but beyond that my vision fades, the lens is fogged, the ball grows dark as ink.   How can I possibly anticipate the moves made today that will put me in check tomorrow, let alone 10 or 20 years from now?  What if I sacrifice a piece and then sit there, weeping for lost rooks that can never be retrieved, when I hit 50?

I wish not to be a mere statistic — a mere blip on the radar, alive for 80 years, influential in the short term but, by the century’s flip, dead, forgotten, and good riddance.   There are so many blips, like a sea of candles in a hurricane.   Are we destined to ultimately be nothing?

Or am I only getting started?

Or am I already done?

Bueller?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about business and its purpose not only in the world but in my own life, and musing about how it influences me and my environment right now — and how I would like it to be present in my life.   Given things like the current crappy state of the economy, world financial system problems and issues, and protests such as the Occupy movement and just general discontent about how business, finance, and industry relates to us as a people, I don’t think the reflection exercise is misplaced at all.

I think we can all agree that business is necessary.   Not only from a make-a-living standpoint, but to generate the various things we need — or want — to survive.   But where that business falls in terms of its motivations, goals, and means is on a wide spectrum between two points:   Pure Philanthropy and Pure Greed — you do it for the betterment of the world, or you do it for the money, or as more often happens — a combination of the two.

This, then, has been the key point that I have been thinking about:   What combination of the two makes me happiest and most fulfilled?

It surely isn’t Pure Philanthropy — I am not employed because I feel a sense of having to better the world with my work; at least, not in a pure sense.   But even more so, I don’t ever envision myself working for a primarily-philanthropic business where the goal is to “do good things” vs. anything else.    This is because I have enough things of my own goals and volitions that I would happily accomplish if I didn’t have to earn a living.   Since I must do the latter, if it ever comes down to, “don’t work or work for a social benefit company”, I’ll probably opt for staying home and completing my own goals.

This is not to say that I’m incharitable — it’s simply to say that I don’t ever see myself being able to have the time and availability to engage in such purely unselfish activities with my time and efforts.    But, I do see myself volunteering in my free time for such things, and I think that’s where my contributions will emerge from.

On the reverse, I could never be simply money-grubbing.   There’s no soul in it, no conviction, no trust, no heart.    When your only god is the almighty dollar, your means become whatever they must to get it, no matter the associated non-monetary costs.    I won’t sacrifice my family, friends, sense of goodness, heart, mind, soul to the cause.    Those with the most toys don’t win, they just end up with a playroom full of toys and nobody to share them with.

That all being said, I don’t work for my health.  (Indeed, my health suffers rather greatly from having to work!)  I work because money, like it or not, makes the world go around, provides for almost everything in this post-industrial world, and is a necessary evil for so very many reasons.   So while I’m not a whore to the system, I am still planning on trying my best to earn as much as I can, advance my career as far as it can go, and to rise in the ranks of the business world so I can get the funding to accomplish everything I’d like to be and do.    I worry all the time that I’m not doing enough, fast enough, good enough, big enough, and the top of my career is looming ahead of me and that downhill slide to retirement is getting ever closer.   I fear it so much it makes me ache at night sometimes, simply because I know that I only get one shot at doing this the right way and I hate the idea of pulling out at 70 and saying that I had a mediocre run of it.

So, I don’t think either side of the equation is fundamentally evil — I have to be doing a job where I am earning money and being successful and I also have to be doing something that ultimately creates something of worth for the world as a whole, even if it’s a limited audience.   There are times when it’s perfectly fine to say, “Let’s to X because X will generate us a metric buttload of money.”   Likewise, I need to always be looking at the things I’m doing and say, “Is this really worth the money?   Will I hate myself in the morning/5 years/later?”

The balance must, ultimately, be struck.   Money, life, and everything in between.

Where does that line fall for you?

A lack of sleep means a loss of focus.

A lack of food means a short temper.

A lack of touch means impaired learning.

A lack of water means hallucinations.

A lack of sex means a strained relationship.

—

Fulfill the physical and the mental follows; like a puppy panting in the desert, it comes.    The crude supplies the foundation for the fine.    The biological drives the logical.   Our art is propped upon piles of vegetables, feces, and pillows.   Technology is powered by the passion excreted by a thousand sweaty bodies, humping and gasping,  filled with water and steak and wine.

—

I am amazed at the ways in which our physical state affects our mental.

I am also abhorred by the same fact.

When will we break free?

And…what do we do in the meantime?

You are not here for a Reason.

There is no inherent Purpose to your life, existence, or presence.

You’re not here to fulfill any particular duty, perform a service, bring meaning to someone’s life or situation, teach a lesson, provide a basis for change, revolution, or stimulus.    In no way are you charged with a mission or quest; you are not abiding by any master’s wish or mandate.   There are no giants and tilting at windmills will, at best, earn you a concussion.

You are not here for any reason at all — and BOY am I getting tired of people who think they are.

“You are not an accident.  Your parents may not have planned you, but God did.   He wanted you alive and created you for a purpose.  Focusing on yourself will never reveal your purpose.  You were made by God and for God, and until you understand that, life will never make sense.   Only in God do we discover our origin, our identity, our meaning, our purpose, our significance, and our destiny.” — Dr. Rick Warren

The above, printed on a Starbucks cup (because they are the bastions of profundity, you realize), seems to indicate that there’s some sort of reason for all this being what it is — which, if you were the author of, The Purpose-Driven Life, you’d certainly hope so; your book sales depend on it.

It replaces responsibility with destiny and destroys our ability to be flexible to many different points and ideas.   To say, “God ordained it!” incites within us a fear of the Almighty, a yearning to learn “his plan”, a pressure to question at every turn whether or not you’re doing “God’s will” or your own, and how could you be missing The Plan so badly?  How can this disaster, this death, this disease, be part of THE PLAN!?    I must need more faith!!

To present life as if destiny had a hand is raising false expectations and stripping people of their ability to take charge of their own lives and actions.  Warren and others shovel piles of this neo-religious offal into a crowd of desperate faces in the hopes of giving Hope, but they succeed only in cultivating a crop of people who are confused, misdirected, and maligned towards some sort of hidden reason for their existence that doesn’t even exist.

Despite all this he did, however, get one sentence right:   “You are not an accident.”    You aren’t; you are the result of biological life, a system of chemically-driven rules and laws which has been chugging along for millions of years and will likely keep on doing so assuming we can come up with a good use for Styrofoam.   Sperm + egg + timing = you, and that’s no small feat considering the myriad of dangers and factors working against it, but it’s nothing even close to being a purposeful event, let alone a miracle.   You are certainly not an accident, but you’re not unique; being a part of about 200,000 births every day of the year ensures that there’s an awful lot of life happening that isn’t you.

Don’t fall for the trap of thinking you’re special.   You’re not.

But this is not the end.

You have no purpose for being here — but that does not mean that you cannot have a purpose.   Your presence is not mandated by some cosmic force or grand plan, but that does not in any way lessen the impact you can render on the people around you and the world as a whole.   There is no one scheming in the background to use you to affect anything in particular while you roam this hurtling ball in space; it is up to you to make that happen, if you wish.

It’s a wide-open field, really.   You could choose to become a rather average human being, unspectacular and normal.   Living day-to-day, doing what’s necessary, making your way.   Many folks do and they’re welcome to it.   A hermit’s life is perhaps appealing instead, isolating from society, taking and contributing only when needed.    Or, maybe the flashy life is for you; Hollywood, girls, cars, money, sex — a fountain of riches and smiles and parties.    Whatever you choose and work for, you can probably accomplish.

But what is the purpose in all this, besides simply becoming a cog in the gears of the world?   Another human kicking out 80-ish years and then becoming another slot in the ground for eternity?

This is where the real, “Purpose-Driven Life”, comes into play.   Your ability and freedom to take your life and make it more than the average — more than just the minimum. To effect real change in the world.   To reach out to people and connect to them in new, intimate ways; ways that are more real than the facades we erect and the white lies we tell.    To love and cherish and value that which is true and right and good and to banish that which is clearly evil and destructive, cutting down the walls of destruction and prejudice and taboo and culture so we can lay bare that which is right.   To ensure, whether locally or globally, that your presence will be felt long after you are cold in your grave and the generations have moved on.

That is your possible purpose.    Perhaps.   There’s nothing saying you must.

In the end, nobody can direct you where to go or what to do, or even insist that you generate anything meaningful at all.   Millions of people all over the world, every day, die and leave behind very little in the way of contributions, affecting only a few friends and family members, and generally being forgotten after two, three, or four generations.   This is the way of the world and our lives and it happens all the time.   Nothing unique or special or purposeful.

But, if you feel that perhaps you’d prefer to make a stronger statement, a bigger contribution, a larger Effect — then make a purpose and strive for it with all your heart.

You may not have come into the world for a reason, but don’t leave without having made one.

The other night I sat down with my 2-year-old son at his little half-height table and cracked open a brightly-colored four-pack of Play-Doh.  As the lid came off of the first can to reveal the cylinder of raw creativity within, the familiar scent of the popular toy caressed my memories like a favorite old sweater.   Even being probably 20-odd years since I’ve played with it, the smell and feel seemed to be the same as it was back then when I was younger, smaller, and less on my mind.

I shook the blob out of the can and into my hands and then worked it up a bit before gently laying it out in front of my son.  “Touch it,” I urged him, smiling as I watched him press a finger into it.  For the first time he connected with an extremely classic toy as a complete newcomer — and I think he was instantly hooked.

As we pressed out shapes with cookie cutters, smashed the Play-Doh with our palms, pressed out our handprints, curled “snakes”, and rolled balls to make snowmen of unrealistic colors, I reveled in the simplicity of our playtime.   Like other classic toys — blocks, Crayons, puzzles — Play-Doh is only a barebones medium for what your mind can envision; it is still up to you to create something from the shapeless mass.

In some fashions, the ability to take a material like Play-Doh and shape it into anything at all is analogous to our abilities in life.    The situations, people, and opportunities we face every day are very often shapeless forms; how we perceive them, interact with them, influence them, and build them into something else determines how we function and where we go.

This doesn’t always apply, of course — life is also full of cookie-cutters.     They are the forces that shape and pre-define limits and boundaries to the events we interact with.    This can be problematic; we may have a star-shaped hole to fill and can only find a rectangle piece; we try to massage it into the right shape, but we may very well end up with a shapeless mass that is even worse than useless.

There is at least one property of Play-Doh that we do not, unfortunately, get very often — the ability to SMASH.   Create a crappy-looking car out of dough?   Grab it in both hands and squish it back into a lump from which can emerge something new.    Screw up and blow the job interview?   They look poorly upon people smashing their offices in an attempt to change the situation.    Time does not take well to do-overs.

Three hours later we finally packed up the Play-Doh into its cans and put all the cutters away.   Keston cried when we finally put it away, saying that he wanted to keep playing with it.   I explained that it was late; we really needed to put it away, go to bed, and get some sleep, but maybe we could play more tomorrow?    He was thoroughly convinced that this was the prime time to be playing, but we eventually got him redirected and back to a happy mood for a trip upstairs to bed.

I wonder what he thought about this first experience with being able to make something out of practically nothing; of directing his own input into an unbounded matter.    Did he feel empowered by the ability to make whatever he liked of the situation?   Scared to have a lack of definition and instruction on what to do?  Or did he find it amazing to make a mistake and then to simply — erase it?

It will be years before he makes these same associations and analogies, but as we fell asleep that night, I hoped that he will always find in himself the ability to create, to change, to influence, and to shape the world and his reality to a new and better day.    If he’s lucky, that will occasionally include yellow cans of squishy-soft blobs in bright colors and a familiar smell that will always bring him home.