I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the purpose of life. Increasingly, I can’t see that my life has purpose. Which is confusing at best, as without the courage to kill myself I am merely drifting along aimlessly. Two purposes I’d like to have are: 1) work, with the caveat that my boss and anyone else I have to deal with in the course of my employment not be an arsehole, and; 2) female sexual and emotional companionship, with the caveat that she be comfortable with my socially awkward and more often completely unmotivated nature. But I’m not optimistic that either of these two purposes will come along any time soon. Or perhaps ever again.
It’s important that we differentiate between the word “purpose”, and the word “meaning”. I don’t believe there is meaning, in a spiritual sense, to my or anyone else’s life. But there can be purpose, either to oneself or others or both. Work is purposeful because it achieves things for people who give you money so you can pay people for things you need. And female companionship is purposeful because it creates more life. If you’re into that sort of thing. (I’m not.) Plus it fulfills emotional and sexual desire. I’ve not had good experiences with work, and I’ve had too few experiences with women at all, let alone good ones. I want good experiences with both, but am tired of instead experiencing the bad.
I’ve also felt poorly treated by many people in my life. In fact it’s getting to the point in which those negative experiences are weighing so heavily upon me, the only way I can think of so as to not add to the weight is to avoid contact with other people as often as possible. Obviously this is difficult in the face of work and female companionship. I don’t know where to from here. Obviously. Because I have no purpose. Just sought after purpose. I guess you could argue that sought after purpose is as good as purpose. But it’s really not, because it holds no promise of reward. Just more searching. It’s an empty feeling, having no purpose. It drains energy and creativity and passion. There’s little to be done about it, though. Either I’ll find my purpose at a time I’ll likely find surprising, or I will never find it and the world and its people will hardly notice.
Most of all, I’m tired of feeling pressured to justify an existence I didn’t choose.