The Wall

I used to think purpose was something you discovered and then lived into. Now sometimes it just feels like a list of demands. Get the kids through the day. Pay the bills. Keep the house from becoming a biohazard. Answer the email. Show up to the thing. Don’t completely lose your shit in front of the children. If that’s purpose, it’s a pretty low-glamour version. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe purpose in certain seasons is ugly and practical and unromantic. Still, I miss the older kind. The kind with shared dreams in it. The kind that had future-tense excitement instead of pure obligation.