At lunch today at Spinelli’s, I spied an attractive young woman at the next table, doing homework. She had spread her work across the table meant for four. Her work consisted of sketches and drawings and clippings from a dozen fashion magazines she had stacked on the table as well.
As she frowned over her work, the sun peeked through the grey skies, the glass roof and the skinny trees and onto her. She changed seats. The sun followed. She changed seats again. And again, till she ended up full circle back to where she started.
Today in blogdom, there was discontent aplenty. People were bored and appalled that their own blogging had perhaps turned into a panacea for ills that they did not quite understand. One actually thought her blogging so much meant she was lacking ambition. Another thought of taking a break from blogging.
Others were bored, and frustrated by the futility of their work, and of their existence. So how, like that? A friend drew a very long bow, suggesting a reason as to why it’s all out of our hands anyway.
Well, whatever it is, the reasons are out of our hands whaaat. Someone said that the seemingly endless succession of dramatic moments in some people’s lives is merely a substitute for true purpose in life, but it is a powerful substitute. Especially useful when you really don’t have or can’t figure out a real purpose in life.
I say don’t waste time trying to figure it out. Unless, along the way, you have excellent adventures which turn into excellent stories for to tell the whole world. Why? Because the rest of us enjoy it if you tell them well.