I Found My Life’s Purpose—It Wasn’t What I Thought

Wheelbarrows Of Documentation

I did a lot of cathartic writing after my husband disappeared. Yada, yada, yada … you know, that whole ‘get your thoughts on paper so you can start dealing with them‘ drill that everyone advises you to do. Gotta be textbook Psychology 101, the first thing they teach wanna-be psychologists in school, because they ALL told me to write. So write, I did!

I wrote about everything that happened. I wrote about everything ‘those people’ had done to me. Like a dutiful court reporter, I meticulously documented each and every infraction. I described in intricate detail how nasty all of ‘those people‘ had been. I levied summary judgments about how awful ‘those people’ were.

A Veritable PhD In Taxonomy

As a result, my original essays were serious contemplative tomes, replete with dates and time stamps for the myriad injustices. Like the always-organized medical office administrator I’d been for decades, I meticulously catalogued everything—coding to the highest level of specificity—often to the fourth and fifth digit.

I have to laugh because when I first started writing, my essays were more like legal documentation for an upcoming deposition rather than the more humorous stream of consciousness projectile vomiting they would later become.

I get embarrassed just thinking my first iterations. Good boogly-woogly! Even I had to repent over some of the things I said in those scorchers! LOL

Time Passages

Then, as time rolled on and the calendar pages flipped faster and faster, my focus began to change from ‘those people‘ to me. I began to look within to identify and correct the things that were amiss within me that caused me care about what ‘those people‘ thought in the first place.

The more intensely I navel-gazed, the more it became apparent that ‘I’ had been a schmuck … ‘I’ had abdicated my own agency … ‘I’ had exacerbated so much of my own pain.

Most notably, ‘I’ had internalized one very crazy notion. That crazy notion was that my husband’s character deficit and his desire to escape real life—to flit off and live a fantasy with someone he dated in high school—was somehow due to a a fatal flaw in ME.

What’s worse, for several years I viewed that flaw as something I needed to slink away from and hide in shame. [Insert the sound of a loud annoying buzzer here.] WRONG! His choices and behavior defined him—not me. I finally had that long overdue ‘aha!’ moment.

Suddenly The Music Starts, The Clouds Part, And The Angel Sing

Nah … it was more like the imps got together, held hands, danced around in a circle, and had a raucous laugh at my expense.

Embarrassed over all the time and energy I wasted on what’s-his-hickey—I had an marvelous epiphany. Suddenly, I could see it!

Apparently MY life’s purpose was to be a very public example of what NOT do when one becomes entangled in a dance macabre with a wing-nut and a bunch of dingbats.

I Know My Truth … Just As Dr. Google

Grab your nearest dictionary or, better yet, open your browser and type in the word ‘Chump’. That’s me.

I now accept that my life’s purpose is to be the mid-life poster child for how to take something that should only have been a transient insult to the ego—and parlay it into a life-altering, career-ending, multi-year ‘Ordeal’. [The crown roars with applause.]

Well, after my glorious revelation, it became apparent to me that in order to turn my Titanic around, I was gonna need some extra terrestrial help.

The clouds had already parted … The music had already started … but something was still missing …

It raining lightly as I glanced down at my watch. Tapping my foot impatiently I looked around and asked: “Okay, where are those angels?!”


I’m calling all angels
I’m calling all you angels
I won’t give up if You don’t give up, I won’t give up if You don’t give up
I won’t give up if You don’t give up, I won’t give up if You don’t give up

I need a sign to let me know you’re here
Cause my TV set just keeps it all from being clear
I want a reason for the way things have to be
I need a hand to help build up some kind of hope inside of me

And I’m calling all angels
I’m calling all you angels

When children have to play inside so they don’t disappear
Where private eyes solve marriage lies cause we don’t talk for years
And football teams are kissing Queens
And losing sight of having dreams
In a world that what we want is only what we want until it’s ours

I’m calling all angels
I’m calling all you angels

Songwriters: Charles Colin / Charlie Colin / James Stafford / James W Stafford / Pat Monahan / Scott Underwood / Scott Michael Underwood

Calling All Angels lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

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