Tonight’s musings centre around the common problem we encounter on a daily basis in all walks of life, that of purpose.
Somewhere between the nostalgic memories of us as innocent children, and the stark realisation of the burdening adult responsibilities, we surrendered our ambitious dreams. We allowed ourselves to fall into the rut of security, the place where we count down days to the weekend, where we yearn for a holiday to escape the chore that has become existence.
Every once in a while we will find a moment where it almost feels like we’re alive how we were back as children, and then a torrent of worries, concerns and fears resurfaces to shatter our illusions. Somewhere, most of us lost our way. I’m sure that for many others, as I, it happened so subtly, that we obliviously allowed ourselves to become cogs in a machine of routine.
Most of people I know have so little in their lives, that their greatest joy is being able to go out and get drunk at the weekends, to party and take drugs, and most of all, for one night to not have to care. But then the very next day with a sore head, and an empty wallet, they reluctantly fall back into the systematic countdown to the inevitable next time. I won’t judge, until I had children and a little perspective, the aforementioned routine was all too familiar.
Even now though as I sit typing this, almost feeling preachy, I know that my life is not without fault. I have my daughter and Godson now, and I have a little more purpose than most I know… however time not spent with them is often time wasted. Too often I sit meandering aimlessly through the days, unproductively, and without substance. I have aspirations that I consciously subdue, rather than pursue; things that would be more beneficial to my life and the world around me than what I currently call my mundane life.
And yet I sit at work counting down the hours until I can go home, and then I get home and count down the hours until I go back to work, ticking off days in my internal calendar, counting down to those few precious moments with my children, the few hours a week where my time has a meaning.
For most of us life is for the most part pointless; we work to live doing jobs we don’t enjoy, and then what little time we have to ourselves, we often fritter away on inane retreats.
I feel like my life currently only has a purpose for 12 hours a week. Needless to say, something needs to change before I wake up one day, and another decade has crept by without me realising it.
I think Nathan Scott sums it up beautifully:
"It’s the oldest story in the world. One day you’re seventeen and planning for someday. And then quietly and without you ever really noticing, someday is today. And that someday is yesterday. And this is your life."
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Somewhere between the nostalgic memories of us as innocent children, and the stark realisation of the burdening adult responsibilities, we surrendered our ambitious dreams. We allowed ourselves to fall into the rut of security, the place where we count down days to the weekend, where we yearn for a holiday to escape the chore that has become existence.
Every once in a while we will find a moment where it almost feels like we’re alive how we were back as children, and then a torrent of worries, concerns and fears resurfaces to shatter our illusions. Somewhere, most of us lost our way. I’m sure that for many others, as I, it happened so subtly, that we obliviously allowed ourselves to become cogs in a machine of routine.
Most of people I know have so little in their lives, that their greatest joy is being able to go out and get drunk at the weekends, to party and take drugs, and most of all, for one night to not have to care. But then the very next day with a sore head, and an empty wallet, they reluctantly fall back into the systematic countdown to the inevitable next time. I won’t judge, until I had children and a little perspective, the aforementioned routine was all too familiar.
Even now though as I sit typing this, almost feeling preachy, I know that my life is not without fault. I have my daughter and Godson now, and I have a little more purpose than most I know… however time not spent with them is often time wasted. Too often I sit meandering aimlessly through the days, unproductively, and without substance. I have aspirations that I consciously subdue, rather than pursue; things that would be more beneficial to my life and the world around me than what I currently call my mundane life.
And yet I sit at work counting down the hours until I can go home, and then I get home and count down the hours until I go back to work, ticking off days in my internal calendar, counting down to those few precious moments with my children, the few hours a week where my time has a meaning.
For most of us life is for the most part pointless; we work to live doing jobs we don’t enjoy, and then what little time we have to ourselves, we often fritter away on inane retreats.
I feel like my life currently only has a purpose for 12 hours a week. Needless to say, something needs to change before I wake up one day, and another decade has crept by without me realising it.
I think Nathan Scott sums it up beautifully:
"It’s the oldest story in the world. One day you’re seventeen and planning for someday. And then quietly and without you ever really noticing, someday is today. And that someday is yesterday. And this is your life."
If you enjoyed this post, please consider sharing it with your friends on social networks using the buttons below, and please leave a comment with your thoughts;
I love hearing from my subscribers!
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