You do not need a life purpose

It is everywhere. Books, films, podcasts, the woman at the next table. Find your purpose. If you cannot find your purpose, find your passion. It seems everybody has one.

I think mine is hiding behind the grey wool sweater my Aunt Betty gave me for Christmas in 1994. It is tucked away in the closet, next to the jacket with the Michael Jackson shoulder pads. (Really. What was I thinking?)

The pressure gets worse after 50. The children are launched, the big job is winding down or gone, and people start asking what you are going to do now, in a tone that suggests the answer had better be impressive.

Should it be grand? Should I be flying somewhere to build a school? Running for office?

It is hard to feel adequate when so many people are proudly telling you what their life is for. I have never had huge ambitions to be on a stage or held in high esteem. I have never had one burning thing that gets me out of bed.

If that sounds like you, good. I finally worked it out.

The smaller question

Every morning I wake up and ask: how can I make a difference today?

Nothing grand. I do not have to fly across the globe, join a demonstration or cure anything. I can be kind, which is available to me every single day without a plane ticket.

• I can smile at someone.
• I can say good morning and mean it.
• I can spend time with a person even though I am busy.
• I can make someone laugh.
• I can share something I know.
• I can give someone the benefit of the doubt.

You do not need a sign in neon on the Vegas strip that reads Here Is My Life's Purpose. Kindness brings joy to the person on the other end of it and to you. A joyous life seems like a damn good purpose to me.

Try it at the grocery store

Today, pick one. The mother trying to manage three children in the checkout line. The man in the next car, pounding the steering wheel because he is late. The woman counting out her change slowly while the line behind her fumes.

One smile, one small patience, and you have changed that person's day.

How powerful are you and I?

From the archive. First written for my journal years ago, and rewritten for life after 50.