Yesterday it finally hit me. I finally figured out what has been called my “mission;” the thing I’m here to do, something that brings meaning to my life.
For a long time my life (my mission) was defined solely through my children; I am here to raise three functioning adults to release into society. For 16 years they have given me purpose, meaning and the strength to hold on.
Lately I’ve been having serious trouble with depression. It’s hitting more frequently, deeper, lasting longer and it’s getting harder to escape.
The first time I noticed this progression was in relation to my mission. Last September it hit me, my time with my oldest is drawing to a close. In a couple more years he’s off to university, and then real life so my job with him, for good or ill, is almost over.
The depression that then hit was the longest and deepest of my life, and compounded with the knowledge that, absent the boys, my life is meaningless. It is but a drunkard’s walk from moment to moment, grey emptiness in between.
So, this year I determined to figure it out. I knew that, at best, I had eight years to find a mission, to find meaning. Unfortunately, life isn’t about “at best,” it’s about Murphy’s Law. I don’t think I can make it through eight years like this. Honestly, I don’t think I can make it through two.
Fortunately, I discovered the teachings of Ray Edwards and Mike Kim, and by digging deep, and reflecting on the journey that brought me here, I began to see the shape, the outline of my purpose.
It’s nebulous, ill defined, hazy, but it’s there.
Now the hard work begins.