Not everyone knows what they are meant to do. I discovered my purpose after much trial, and some suffering. Life is good, but, I am aware that it is difficult.
I have spent most of my life waiting for my savior to come rescue me. Belief in God gave me a fundamental structure to guide my morals and guide my purpose throughout my life. I am flawed, I have made enormous mistakes. My hopes and dreams have also changed as I've grown older. Maturity isn't guaranteed, despite aging. Wisdom just doesn't happen, it is earned, often by horrible lessons.
I have begged God to give me a sign. Over the years I floated about life, not knowing what my purpose was. I didn't want to live a life for the survival of it. I wanted to have a life with meaning. I was educated. Master's degree in History with a minor area of Political Science gave my life perspective. But it didn't give me a job, or did it open many doors. Knowing things doesn't matter, especially if you haven't worked in a field. I did work in 30 + jobs from 1982 to 1998. Most of those jobs were dead ends. The one job that I enjoyed changed in time, my friend there died of brain and lung cancer, and the owner died in a tragic accident.
But I am happy to say, the two jobs I ended up with gave me purpose, hope and goals to achieve. My wife wanted to have a child. Our efforts to conceive involved two ectopic pregnancies, a great deal of sorrow, and finally, we were blessed with our son. I was a stay at home father, and I was a very good father.
When my son went to school, first preschool, then elementary school, I still had the same duties, as a father, but I had 6 hours of time to write. And by doing this I found my second job that I was good at. I began as journalist, and that metamorphosed into being a writer for print. All my life I'd been a poet, but, the thought of publishing my work was frightening to me. Thanks to the internet my work could exist.
I realize now, more than ever, that I need to write.
My Amazon Page
My published works, including works outside of Amazon
My Poetry Blog, with 1750 poems, and growing
My son took these photos of my darling Katya. I speak about the love I have for my cats often. I love how they have personality, aren't needy, and who do not automatically love you. You have to earn it.
My cat Katya is very affectionate, and, bright, and funny. I have never had a cat so lovely in spirit. And she saved me with her love. She has given me love when life was unpleasant. She came to me when I got the call that my mother had died. She was with me when I got the phone call giving affirmation that I had cancer. And, when life had placed some obstacles in my marriage, she loved me no matter what I was. I adore her, and if I was ever to say there was a template for the perfect cat, she'd be in every aspect of that cat.
“A cat has absolute emotional honesty: human beings, for one reason or
another, may hide their feelings, but a cat does not.” Ernest Hemingway
“Throw a stick, and the servile dog wheezes and pants and stumbles to
bring it to you. Do the same before a cat, and he will eye you with
coolly polite and somewhat bored amusement. And just as inferior people
prefer the inferior animal which scampers excitedly because someone else
wants something, so do superior people respect the superior animal
which lives its own life and knows that the puerile stick-throwings of
alien bipeds are none of its business and beneath its notice. The dog
barks and begs and tumbles to amuse you when you crack the whip. That
pleases a meekness-loving peasant who relishes a stimulus to his self
importance. The cat, on the other hand, charms you into playing for its
benefit when it wishes to be amused; making you rush about the room with
a paper on a string when it feels like exercise, but refusing all your
attempts to make it play when it is not in the humour. That is
personality and individuality and self-respect -- the calm mastery of a
being whose life is its own and not yours -- and the superior person
recognises and appreciates this because he too is a free soul whose
position is assured, and whose only law is his own heritage and
aesthetic sense.” H.P. Lovecraft