On Purpose

I've been thinking about this question for quite some time, so I appologize in advance if this seems disjointed, incoherent, and maybe more than slightly self-serving: what is a good life?

Is it, pace Conan to revel in death and destruction and the Governership of California?

Is it, pace Monty Python a nice house with a white picket fence and a shrubbery?

Is it, pace John Hinckley, some variety of infamy, to become a durable footnote?

I feel that this question tends to hinge on the definition, slippery though it may be, of "vocation" versus "job." "Profession" versus "occupation."

The simplest example, I'd think, would be "I work at Walmart" versus "I used to be an investment banker but now I'm Secretary of the Treasury"

But that's simple. I don't think "purpose," variously defined, is confined to resume-enhancing postions (the infamous unpaid internships, etc.) or exalted positions richly redolent of prestige. Purpose can be quieter, a silent resolve to pick up trash when encountered, or to volunteer, or to do God's work, quietly, by making the rich richer. Purpose is simply another name for the grim determination that drives people (not so for the lazily complacent pot-heads that float, listlessly, through life on their opiated lily-pads) towards their goals, no matter how small or inane: painting stamps for the post office, wood carving, stamp collecting, mistress collecting, art collecting, organization-founding, robber-baroning, shipping magnating, et cetera.

Purpose is another name for grit, which is another name for stubbornness, which is another name for crazy.

And we should all be a little crazy.

Wow, what a year!

Folks,

I'm not sure what to say, except, uh, "wow!"

A lot of things have changed in the past year: I've moved (a mistake), moved again (a great decision), I've met new and (rather) interesting people, I've taken the MCAT, yep. My life is vastly different now than I remember it.

And, disgracefully, I've not been blogging. But, I've got my computer back, I've got a nice new monitor (having given that giant IBM P96 the ol' heave ho) and I'm slimmer, trimmer, and hopefully a better writer.

I always wonder, at the point where I really want to start something (serious) whether I've lived enough to do it. I doubt Faulkner or Hemmingway or Joyce or Shakespeare felt that way, but maybe they did.

I can leave you with a promise to start blogging more (promise!) and a conversation I thoroughly enjoyed.

Aidan: you know, you should be proud you make up words, after all, Shakespeare did it.
K: George Bush makes up words and people think he's a dolt!
Aidan: I guess context matters, then.

So there you have it. Context matters. And I've got new context to go with the content.

And so, I welcome you all to AidanBlog version 3.0, appologies to Thomas Friedman.