Finding purpose, in the kitchen

What do you do, when you don't know what to do?

Well, that's relatively easy. You do something, anything; twiddle your fingers, tap your toes, turn on some music and sing/dance along. The real goal is to find a way to channel that restless energy and use it to get your metaphorical engine (Or actual engine, if that's your thing) started.

I feel like I should be honest here, just earlier, and even still I am brimming with anxious energy for which I had thought I had no outlet or at least none that I could see. Now, after a long day, (And what a painfully long day it was) my mind is grinding and my chest tight with emotion, I get home and turn on some music, a 'Sampha the Great' youtube playlist, only to learn not even minutes later from my roommate, and dare I say lifetime friend (let's call him Nicolas) that I received a letter, a handwritten letter, not in the mail because it didn't have my address on it, only my name and the return information, all of which was written in cursive, admittedly, my ability to read cursive is rather lacking so it took me a moment to recognize the name, as the address was unknown to me. But dear reader, this is not the most interesting part of this tale. Once I realize from where the letter came, a friend with whom I have not spoken in some time (we'll call them Maxwell), I thought that this would just be another six whole pages of stress being introduced into my life. So, after discussing the origin of this letter with Nicolas, I lie back preparing myself for what I'm sure was going to be an anxiety-inducing drop down a rabbit hole as deep as the stars are high. So, as I begrudgingly hold the pages in my hands, feeling the weight of each word imprinted on them begging to be absorbed, I began to read the cursive script, albeit slowly, and with a mind ready to chide and dismiss, I was filled with an indignant bravado that I did not deserve.

It started with my name. Followed by well-wishes, at which I slightly mocked and goes on as Maxwell offers a brief reassurance as to the intent and content of this letter (on that I will not be going into detail), this did in turn work in softening me (the song in the background about understanding and communication may have played a small part as well) to receive the message to come. It gave me an interesting perspective, It made me feel strangely outside of myself, like the words written were for someone else entirely. Maxwell describes me in a way I would have never thought to for myself, as kind and caring, etc, the very antithesis to my believed cold, cut off and loner--esque demeanor, it genuinely gave me pause.

This letter forced me to contemplate my impact on others and gave me a view of how I show up in the world. It made me tense with grief, and smile at memories, not forgotten, but muted with time. The looming theme of this letter though was about growth, not of the physical, but the mental and spiritual. It was in part about finding one's self and purpose. This is something I've been ruminating on for a very long time, so it struck a chord in me, it was like a note that my soul had forgotten had been played ever so softly. The words held me in place, especially the sentence "I know that your words will heal I believe, rather, that your words are powerful and will affect many." this gripped me so tight that I, for a moment, couldn't breathe. The room seemed to spin around me. I had to sit with this for some time. It brought back a very vivid memory of a time when I was a young teenager.

I don't remember the exact age, but I do remember the day very well, I had gotten into a fight with my now and then ex-stepfather over a comment made towards my sister. As we spill outside my mother comes running after us and with all of her strength rips us apart, some words are exchanged, and I trod off all of my teenage angst, rage, and grief in tow. I don't make it half a mile before my mother pulls alongside me in her car and tells me to get in. With much disdain and argument, I concede. She drives me, unknowingly, to a local church that she would attend from time to time, for an afternoon service. I should say that I never considered myself the "holy" type, I stopped attending services and my faith had faded long before, but still, sat through it I did. At the end of the service, my mother brought me before the pastor for him to pray over me. What he wound up doing would unconsciously inscribe a message within me that, to this day, the gravity of his word still shakes me. The pastor had prophesied over me, he said: "You will be a prophet." Me, a prophet? I state again, I'm not the 'quick to believe' type. So, cavalier in nature, I brushed his word off, but this has been a recurring phrase in my life, though said in many different ways, such as "You should be a singer." (I can't sing to save my life) or "You have an excellent speaking voice." and my personal favorite "Do you do radio? You should." these are just a few examples of this message echoing in my life, the tune varying, but all the same rings strong.

Voice. That's it,voice is a powerful instrument, It can be wielded like a knife, or applied like a healing salve. It can be used to save or condemn. As I've said I'm not particularly strong in faith, but, I don't exactly believe in coincidence either.

Coming back to present day, as I sat with my mind running a mile a minute and in seven different directions. I was more anxious than ever and felt even more out of place, as I reflected on the words of the letter and what finding your purpose means, I took just a moment to center myself, and said a small prayer, whether it was to myself, or to god, or even the universe I whispered "Give me a sign." Just a few seconds later I hear a noise come from my kitchen, Nicolas having gone off to his room moments before I began reading the letter, I thought that it must have been the cat (let's call her cat) and scolded myself for being so foolish as to look for signs that aren't there. That is until I see the cat come out from behind the curtain of my window, stuck from disbelief, I slowly wrest control of my body and make my way to the kitchen. My apartment is a relatively small two-bedroom with a kitchen consisting of, from left to right; a fridge, a stovetop oven with a microwave just above it, a bit of counter space, a sink, and about one and a half foot more of counter space. As I look to identify the source of the noise, I glance at the fridge which has a variety of magnets scattered across it. One Nicolas got from the NBA hall of fame as well as one from the NFL hall of fame, several pizza delivery flyers held up by pizza delivery magnets, a magnet with the statue of liberty ACLU branded across it, and a couple of tourist trap souvenirs. There's one in particular, given to me by my mother a long time ago, it has a picture of a steaming cup of coffee on it and a quote reading: "I would be unstoppable, if I could just get started." nothing out of the ordinary, though I did linger on this as I often do, this time, really meditating on the meaning of the phrase. After some time passes, knowing this cannot be the sign intended, I look over the rest of the kitchen; the stove, the sink (which has more dishes than I would like to admit), counters all remarkably ordinary finally thoroughly satisfied or disillusioned for having seen nothing of note, I was convinced that I was merely jumping at false hope. I turn to go back to my room and sink into my bed when, not yet making it out of the kitchen, I see my cat standing in front of me. Kneeling to give her a quick rub on the head, I Laugh again and think "I'm being ridiculous." then I thought again while staring into the eyes of that tiny creature about the phrase "I would be unstoppable, if I could just get started." as I wracked my brain for some meaning in all of this, it comes to me, slowly at first, then all in one wave.

So the question remains. Did I find my purpose in the kitchen? The answer to that is relatively easy as well. It is a resounding Yes, and no. What I've found is that no one person has a purpose meant for them that is set in stone. Your purpose is whatever you set out to accomplish, it may change or evolve from day to day, month to month, and so on. But so long as you just do it. So long as you get started and don't let anything get in your way, you can be unstoppable. I believe that today my purpose was to receive a message and send along a few words that may hopefully, help in your search for purpose, and to just get started. As for tomorrow. Well, it may remain the same or change completely, there's only one way to find out.

Lastly, I would like to say thank you, Maxwell, while I can't honestly say that I agree with this picture of myself presented in your letter. I would like to think that I may one day live up to this character, with my name scribed in ink, and Maxwell, I truly believe that I am better for having known you.