𓆝

Do notice one thing: goal, not purpose.

Purpose sounds like something mythical waiting to be discovered, as if the universe in its marvelous marble glory hid an answer underneath a rock along the empirical shore and my task is to flip the correct one to find it. A goal is something I choose. My decision. My everyday practice of service.

I don’t mean heroism, by any stretch. I mean reducing, where I can, the amount of unnecessary heartache in the world I happen to inhabit; miraculously, at that. A conversation that leaves someone less alone, a kindness that interrupts shame, a piece of art that gives another person a few minutes of air as fresh as unburdened sky.

Making life bearable is not a consolation prize for happiness insofar as it is the condition that allows happiness, grief, love, work, art, and lovely ordinary mornings to continue existing at all.