Should I realize a midlife-purpose crisis?
Or should I just remain content?
Is my middle-aged complacency killing a love for calling?
I sense my purpose is being euthanized by the dutiful daily grind.
As I look inward, questioning this while witnessing activism on many fronts, I juggle an I’m too tired, rational response with one which seems to want to inject energy back into me–a sort of middle age viagra. I worry of death bed regrets filled with “I wish I would have”.
It’s waaaay to easy for me to stay inside my gated community of “sameness”, comfortably protected from others; I have a decent life. I can repeat my mantra–batten down the hatches, the enemy (people different than I) is out there. I’ll watch the “same” news channels, to justify my position and surround myself with the “same” people.
Don’t think I’m not compassionate; I told you yesterday that I threw a dollar in a street beggers cup. Today I will give an offering to my church.
BUT, to continue my life purpose suicide, I must refuse to look into your eyes filled with life-pain.
Please help me!
Look into my eyes tell me your story; mine is lulling me to sleep.