living with purpose

I wake up with a sense of dread —
a sense that the world is not the same.

I can’t feel the way I used to.

The feelings that ran hot before—
the anxiety, the worry, the trepidation
over silly things from my job to daily habits—
have dissipated.

They don’t feel important.
They’re on the periphery.

They are just hanging out
in the numb abyss of things
that just don’t seem to matter anymore
when our livelihoods are at stake.

I wake up feeling a deep depression
I haven’t felt in years.

It's depression that’s made me realize
that I’m living on purpose,
not with purpose.

There’s a difference.

I’m living on purpose,
because I must get up.

The purpose is to get up,
to face another day,
to do the same things I did yesterday,
again.

It’s exhausting.
It’s stressful.
It makes me feel cold inside.

But at night, when asleep,
I dream of another way.

I dream of living with purpose.

I dream of living every day
with the purpose that I’m helping humanity
in little ways —
in ways that may go unnoticed.

But I notice.
I recognize the difference.

It’s in showing compassion
when I feel tired and worthless.

It’s in showing empathy
when I don’t have the energy.

It’s in being there
when I’d rather run away.

There’s always going to be fear.
There are always going to be worries,
anxieties and threats to my safety.

But if I don’t just show up,
but show up “with purpose” —
with the mentality that I can change
my outlook on life and that of others
even if I feel the opposite —
that alone gives me strength.

It reminds me that there’s more
to these vapid feelings.

There’s more to the mental anguish
I torment myself with daily.

There’s a purpose in holding up
what breathes,
what I can feel,
what I can see,
what I can taste.

And I wake up every day
with a sense of purpose.

For I am determined,
despite what I’m feeling,
to stand up for humanity,
even in the smallest of ways.

That is living with purpose —
for the sake of all of us.