I stopped looking at writing as my life's purpose

on why clinging to goals for meaning was not it for me

As October rolls through, the usual excitement envelops me for the quiet that the fall season brings, the softening of the sun overhead, the beauty of nature turning as she goes to sleep to start over fresh again in the coming year. And of course, my birthday.

At the moment of writing this, I’m 10 days away from turning 39 years old.

Let’s just say that I’m turning 39 with an ease and acceptance way ahead of what I felt 10 years ago. Turning 30 had me in its cold, death-like grasp, tighter than a rope on a bungee jumper. For 3 years I didn’t breathe as I awaited that terrifying number to overcome me.

jplenio via pixabay

I was 29 and had not, at least by my beliefs at the time, achieved anything worthy of mention. I had no vision for my future except to get through the next day.

If I were to look back on my journal entries of that time, I would find page after page of me rambling about having no purpose. About being a lump of meat on this earth. About possessing no real significance. About bringing nothing to the table.

I wanted to travel. I wanted to write and publish a book. I wanted to be a successful writer. I wanted to feel my worth by doing something meaningful. But upon opening my eyes every morning, the first thought that would pop into my head was “What is the point of being alive if we’re just going to die? What am I even waking up for?”

I needed purpose, and I needed—for my life to make sense—to fulfill that purpose.

But how and where to find it?

For most of my life, I’d been made to understand that my worth only amounted to what I could show for it. To what I could accumulate, whether that was financial, material, academic, or even just good opinions.

And I had none of that. Zero. I worked a dead-end job that I hated and as for writing, I’d only ever written and published fanfiction.

But writing is the one thing that ever gave me some sort of value. Writing was the one thing in this widely diverse universe that I knew how to do confidently.

So I promised—swore to myself—that I would write and publish a novel if it was the last thing I did.

My 29th year was a pretty low point in my life. Without going into many details about the things I went through, and the ways in which my mental health deteriorated, I’ll say just one thing: I’ve always sworn by therapy and the gift that psychology is to humanity. I sought out the help I needed and got down to doing the work.

I cannot stress enough the big hand that therapy played in helping me get through that period. It’s been a long process, but I was able to take a step back and look at my life and decide what I really wanted out of it and how to go about achieving that.

I’ve had my small and big wins since then. But most of all I’ve expanded my understanding of what it means to have a purpose and whether that’s necessary at all to have a fulfilling life, to be happy. I’ve finally reached an understanding more important to me than any other, and it has changed my outlook on life completely.

I, and only I, define my own worth.

And if I say that I’m worth my existence in spite of a lack of accolades, then my word is all I need for that to be true. Because the only person who has any say in what I am is me.

Not even all my passion for writing or wanting to publish a book can steer me away from this new outlook I have on myself.

I’d like to say that I’m now, at 39, a person who has fulfilled all my dreams. That I’ve achieved everything I ever wanted to. But I’m very much still a work in progress, and the best part about admitting that is that it doesn’t bother me one bit.

I’m no longer ashamed about not having published a book or having given something back to the universe in a big way. I’m not embarrassed by my quiet life, where I have a just handful of close friends, a small garden, an unkempt backyard, and a mostly unknown editorial business.

I’m not running towards my goals anymore like they’re some flag at the end of a pole that I need to fetch.

I still have all my dreams. I still have goals I want to achieve. But I think of them now as places where I’d like to spend my energy. I want these goals to feel good while I work on them. I don’t want them to be a race. I don’t want to become the predator of my own dreams.

I enjoy long car rides. I’m probably the only person I know who doesn’t lose her wits when traffic is backed up bumper to bumper. I love being stuck in traffic because there’s absolutely nothing else to do but observe your surroundings and listen to some tunes. And if you have a fun passenger with you, hilarity is likely to ensue.

This is what I aspire for my life to be like now. A slow drive where we can’t worry about the end in sight. We don’t know when traffic will let up; we just gotta stick it out and make the best of it while we’re making our way there.

Because satisfaction is not at the end of the journey. Satisfaction, happiness, peace—they’re all happening now, if you stop long enough to let it in.

I’ll be 39 at the end of this month, and I’m very grateful just to be able to live and see the wonders of the earth. The turning of the seasons. The way nature just always knows what to do without any indication, without prompting, without strategy, without rushing, without desperation.

Autumn will turn the leaves brown and they will fall, but Mother Earth will not grieve for she knows that’s just the way life is. She’ll go to sleep to wake again next spring to bloom new flowers where they’ve never grown before, to push forth rain clouds where the soil gets too hot, to stretch tree limbs just a little further. And she will micromanage none of it. She will simply spread her seeds where her winds will carry them, then sit back and watch what flourishes.

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Small wins

I’ve lived most of my life in terror of being myself for fear of judgement. After doing the work, I’ve begun losing this fear. A couple of weeks ago, this song came on the radio while my husband and I waited for food in a very public parking lot. Now, if you’ve heard “Little Lion Man” before and you’re into this kind of music, you know the energy of this song is not subtle. My husband and I proceeded to have a dramatic (there were air guitars, head banging, fist-pumping, finger-pointing, and very offkey singing) karaoke session with the song blasting within the confines of our car. People walked by and smiled. Some ignored us. Others frowned.

But the husband and I have a core memory now. And the energy of how good we felt in that moment still inspires me.

So follow that spark when it comes to you. Let your weird flag fly. You will not regret it.

Do you have any small wins this week? Go ahead and share in the comments. This is a safe place of encouragement. No win is ever too small.

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Book quote of the week

The first thing that drew me to Jesse Q. Sutanto’s Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers was the cover. It tickled me in a way that made me want to find out more, and then I couldn’t stop thinking about this book until I decided to get it.

In a year where my pile of DNFs is contending with my pile of TBRs, this book was sent my way by the book gods. I don’t remember the last time I laughed this hard, or even out loud while reading a novel. There were so many funny lines I wanted to share but settled on this one instead. It felt relevant to this post, but also, the book is full of so many heartwarming nuggets such as this one.

If you’re looking for an easy, cozy read, and would like to support diverse authors, you can’t go wrong with Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers.

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Hi there, I’m Maria! I’m a freelance fiction editor assisting women writers in amplifying their voices through their writing. You can find me on Instagram @theintuitivedesk. Or visit my site
www. theintuitivedesk.com to find out more.

I’m also a writer currently working on too many novels at the same time. You can read some of my past writings here.

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