the thing I am meant to do
It's not that I don't know my life's purpose, it's that I do
I decided to answer the Proust Questionnaire. I started with the first question: What is your idea of perfect happiness? Then I looked at question number two: What is your greatest fear? I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer that one out loud.
Of course, my greatest fears right now are situational and involve the safety and well-being of the people in this country. But this question is getting at something else — the deepest fear, the one that is ever present, beneath everything —the fear I carry around in the pit of my stomach, the one I have carried for decades.
Fifteen years ago, my mother asked me to join her on a trip to England. I hadn’t flown since 9-11 and couldn't fathom stepping onto an airplane again, let alone flying across the ocean. I made an appointment with a hypnotherapist to see if she could cure my fear. I tried to allow myself to be hypnotized during the session, but became hyper-aware instead. The therapist said, gently, “I’m also a psychic. Are you open to hearing what’s coming through?”
Of course, I was.
“You’re not afraid of flying,” she said. “You’re afraid of leaving the planet before you do what you came here to do.”
I knew she was right. I was already afraid that I’d failed at my mission, and squandered my opportunity to do what I was meant to do – and that was fifteen years ago. Imagine how I feel now, still not having done it.
I understand that phrases like life purpose, mission, and soul contract can be troublesome. I also understand that when a person is outspoken about their desires, their dreams, or their true self, they are often met with anger and resentment.
When I was living in New York, I had a friend who was also a recent transplant, an artist who had moved to the city to pursue a career. They told me another artist friend asked them, “What makes you think you’re so special? Why do you get to move to New York and make art?”
I once saw a comment on an Instagram post. The photo was of two middle-aged men sitting on the front stoop of their brownstone, dressed in colorful, unique outfits. They looked beautiful, happy, and original. Below the photo was a comment that read, “Look at how arrogant you are. What makes you think you’re so special that you dress like this and call attention to yourselves?”
I believe this bitterness originates from the commenter’s own failed dreams and sense of self. If I can’t do that or be that, if I can’t express myself, why should you? At the heart of it, all humans want the same thing: To feel that our lives have meaning and purpose, to do work that matters, to love and be loved.
I could philosophize for days about life's purpose and conclude that the purpose of life is life itself; we are here simply to be here, to experience. This may very well be true, but it does nothing to assuage the gnawing desire I have carried my whole life, the longing to do the thing that I feel - perhaps irrationally - that I am meant to do.
What is it about me that makes me think I have this purpose? This mission? Why should I be able to do the thing that so many - and so many with more intellect and talent than I - want to do?
I don’t know. I just know that I know. I have always known that I was going to do this thing, that I needed to do it, that it was my thing to do.
I was on track to do this thing. I had all the tools, support, and confidence then… something happened. I started to feel like I was trudging through quicksand, pushing against a locked door. My life did what life does, directed me down detours and false starts, across swinging bridges and trap doors.
When I was a girl, I had a recurring dream. I was at the bottom of a deep tank of water. I could see the surface above me, and I was swimming as hard as I could to get there, but no matter how hard I swam, I couldn’t make any progress. I could feel the pressure in my chest. I knew I wasn’t going to make it. I was going to run out of air before I reached the top.
That sensation, my lungs collapsing, is the sensation I live with when I think about the novel I haven’t finished and the other books I haven’t started writing.
My greatest fear isn’t failure. It’s that I’ll leave this planet having swum and swum and swum, and never broken through to the surface.
But maybe the fear is also a compass, proving my desire still matters.
If I follow the fear, I’ll rise to the surface and breathe the air before I leave here.
What about you?
Is there something you feel you’re meant to do?
I’d love to know.
✨My name is Lori-Lyn. I write this journal, share a monthly love list of links, and publish my spiritual memoir, Cosmic Heart, one chapter at a time. I’m so glad you’re here. If you liked this post, please heart it or send it on to someone else, and please consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Thank you for reading, and thank you for being.✨