“What’s my purpose in life?”

That question gnawed at me for years. I hunted for my purpose in the pages of books, ruminated on my nighttime dreams, observed my life like Sherlock looking for clues.

Marguerite Welter was one of my best bosses. She held a high standard and believed I could meet it. Never let me prevaricate an inch. Believed I could become the person I wanted to be.

Like all good bosses, she invested time and money in her people. We’d known each other for several years, as colleagues in one company, now as boss and direct report.

She stopped me in the hallway.

Marguerite: “Jule, I want to send you to a week-long workshop, but  I’m not sure which one.”

Me: “Oh?” (A week-long getaway! Yay!)

Marguerite: I’ve been to both. They’re excellent. Both are in California.

Me: (Waits expectantly, while thinking, California! California! California!)

Marguerite: Here’s my question: Do I send you to the one where you realize how fucked up you are, or to the one where you already know you’re fucked up and figure out what to do about it?

Me: Oh, I know I’m fucked up! (With probably more enthusiasm than the situation warranted, partly because I was embarrassed that it was so obvious and partly because: California.)

Marguerite: Good. You’re going to Will Schutz’s The Human Element workshop. I’ll get you the info.

At the workshop, toward the end—sitting on the floor because we’d previously abandoned our circle of chairs for a guided meditation—the facilitator, Will Schutz, took a chair at the front. He was older. We knew he didn’t lead workshops often anymore, and the rumor was this would be his last.

Schutz asked, “What’s the meaning of life?”

No one volunteered an answer, so he started calling on us. He’d heard a handful of answers by the time he called on me. I looked at his round, bald head and his sharp eyes, took a breath, and answered:

“The meaning of life is the meaning I give it.”

.       .       .

We each make our own decisions about how to lead our lives. My answer may not align with yours. That’s not only okay, it’s good. Imagine a world where the only flowers were red roses. Not just boring, but a real bummer for biodiversity.

My definition of meaning informs my decision about my purpose, which is the first thing that gets written on the Hand.

But first, you need a Hand!

Place your hand palm-down on a piece of plain white paper (8 ½” x 11” works well). With your other hand, use a pen to trace around it. Voilá! A Hand!

Then write your purpose in the flat of the Hand.

If you’re not sure what your purpose is, no worries, just write something that can be a placeholder for now. You’ll make many changes to your Hand as you go.

Next week, we’ll move on to the digits, probably taking them one at a time.

Chewing the Cud of Good

Thankful for spring flowering plants that smell so good.