Purpose. When it’s lacking, it becomes the elephant in the room. Focused and driven, the concern of having purpose does not arise, for you churn through the hours toward a goal. Without purpose, you can drift into and out of activities. A sense of ennui can underlie most motions. This malaise vanishes as you endeavor to complete some task or another. Momentary distractions can supply one’s immediacy. Flare ups of drive can move us forward to accomplishing minor goals. Yet, a critical mind might view this motion as moving from Point A to Point A more than traversing towards a more meaningful Point Z.
Kelly told me yesterday that she needs some goals during this pandemic. Home sequestration provokes a yen to accomplish something. Don’t misunderstand the situation. For, her plunge into exercise since this worldwide crisis began has been remarkable. HIIT workouts are daily, sometimes occurring twice a day. A series of yellow stickies next to our pull-up bar have provided weekly targets. This succession aims at 280. Core workouts intertwine with three runs each week. As of a few days ago, she plans to complete 50 burpees a day for 30 days. Before long she’ll be bench pressing the couch.
And, it’s not like exercising is her sole activity. For she’s been sewing a dress, conversing with friends, cooking through numerous cuisines and baking multitudes of sweets, and blowing through books. I’ve managed to recruit her for games even. We go on evening strolls, on occasion. She, and we, fill our days, each one feeling quite full, so that what we never manage to complete all that we wish to do. Most nights see a new rum cocktail grace our table, one theme followed ginger through various permutations.
Despite these efforts, Kelly indicates that she could do more. My read, which could be wrong and does not reflect how I would label her efforts, is that these activities are functions, she’s merely running scripts that pass the days. That most of these workouts serve as substitutes for her customary source for strength gains and caloric consumption; that is, to say, climbing. Thus, they don’t “count” in the big picture sense – something bigger could accrue, some appreciable difference to point at and say, “if not for COVID-19 I might not have had time to accomplish X.” X being the enigma. That elusive variable we label as “being productive” thereby turning it from mutable form into a constant
I can relate. At times, the most pressing thought I have is whether or not to shave my beard. Part of me never wants to remove it again. This craving resembles my hankering to grow out my hair. Apparently, I quest to become a shaggy Muppet. How they fling up their arms and flail about amuses me, which means every glance at a reflective surface could become quite entertaining. There Dave is again, gyrating his hands as if grasping at the heavens, all while grinning with head uplifted.
Though, given a touch of balding, the character of my hair, and my generally tendency toward being slovenly, I suspect long hair would equal appearing scuzzy. Further, my desire for change means long hair would never last. The urge to cleanse my face of its beard strikes weekly, and I suspect even were split ends to reach my shoulders that their eventual culling would involve more than a mere touch up.
She points to this blog as me being productive. “Dave has been so busy, he’s blogging, writing, etc.” The thing about being productive is that you can always point to what you’re not accomplishing, all of which keys back to the concept of “purpose.” At the moment, my purpose seems to be to fill my days with meaning, laugh with and support friends, maintain my fitness, perform well at work, and explore the peripheries of new hobbies, whether they involve blogging, learning how to film (vlogging?), expanding my breadth of knowledge of board games, and losing myself in the hours spent alongside Kelly as we serve as co-captains of this bizarre suspended animation state of living in which we’ve become embedded.
And, damn, when we release ourselves back into the world, my goal is to shake things up, to get outdoors more, to be kinder to friends, and to rethink where I live, how I live, and where I shall live, for all of these things can be adjusted, fine-tuned, and it’s all going to be exciting to explore, especially considering we are going to be insanely fit, for this month equals 50 burpees a day. I suppose we’ll be doing 100 of them a day, if not more, by the time this COVID insanity all resolves.
None of these days are that bad, at least while we continue to dodge being sick and jobless. Looking back, the terminal years of being a teenager were in some ways harder to navigate, even if it’s absurd to have felt as I had felt given how easy life can be as a child when compared to the days that have followed. However, at the time, boredom had become a theme. And boredom takes an insidious toll on a person’s emotional health. Across my bed I’d lie as I stared at a TV, hours melting into each other, accruing as a congealed mess of visual drivel. The remote would take me past shows like Saved by the Bell, terrible offerings that I saw as vacant representations of my listlessness, as if its form and function had become one in the guise of a terrible sitcom. Oftentimes, the late hours meant Speed Racer provided visual fodder. I recall nausea would build as my languor continued. Eventually, sleep would save me from this self-disgust.
No extended period of time since then has resembled that nadir of melancholy. Though I had friends, an isolation did perturb me, as if I understood that, even though I lacked the words to convey this concept, everything that formed my life would recede, and thus I was awaiting a life ahead rather than living the one at hand. Looking back, not much of what might define me today links with this former incarnation of myself, though, of course, the underlying traits remain intact, for humans rarely change all that much.
We can squash negative behaviors and direct our efforts toward different pursuits, but some core principles of who we are remain indelible. Remarkable, though, is that because we remain quite the same, should we witness ourselves heading down a path from our past, it is possible to recognize the dominoes as they tumble and correct ourselves before everything crashes down. On an individual scale, we can dodge the doom of our historical cycles. Which is to say, we gain the knowhow and tools to prevent our failings from undoing us ad infinitum.
I’m good with having had stretches in my past that I found to be difficult. If not for them, this current spell under which we’ve all been thrust would feel much more difficult. I’m fine with constructing meaning, that is purpose, with whatever tools and toward whatever ends bring me happiness in terms of the immediate as well as the future. When we’re capable of defining our narratives, of telling our stories on our terms, or at least in words that are largely our own, well, that’s something to celebrate. So, in this way, purpose is as purpose does, and I don’t plan to stop doing. Meanwhile, I recognize some minutes spent staring at a TV aren’t horrible; though, with Kelly around, it means that we’ll be on our mats working out as the video dramas play out. Which isn’t bad either.