Trudge: to walk with purpose.

Vincent van Gogh, with his passionate religious convictions wanted to be a pastor but his unconventional approach to being a missionary appalled church authorities and they dismissed him for "undermining the dignity of the priesthood." He worked in an art dealership for a bit but his resentments at how art was treated as a commodity got him fired. In the end, he tried painting. Before he died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound at 37, he managed to sell one of his masterpieces.

Up until now, I haven’t thought much about Van Gogh. I’ve seen his paintings and I am in agreement with those that find beauty in his work. I’m not sure why I chose to read about his tragic life, but by the time I finished absorbing the details of his story, I had tears in my eyes as I huddled over a desk in the quiet room of the east side library. I identify with many of Van Gogh’s thoughts and feelings. I feel grateful to have a chance to experience a joy that seems to have eluded him in life. I left the library reflecting on his work and the gift Van Gogh gave to many by striving to find his purpose through honoring his passion, whether preaching or painting, trudging through madness, he remained authentic and true to himself.

Being true to myself is the closest I’ve come to a purpose for my life. I’ve had many discussions with others about the purpose of life. It seems part of the human condition to ask and try to answer questions about our existence. Somewhere along the way I picked up the idea of spending my life doing the things that bring me joy. What brings you joy I ask myself? Two different minds, the left-brain and the right devour the question and spit out very different answers for consideration. Both sides seem to be lying to me. I ask myself again and again. I change the question. Why do you paint? Why do you write poems? It’s just what I do. Neither brings me joy. The feeling is something completely different. Both activities take me to a place where happiness, joy, and fulfillment aren’t even on my radar. I suppose that place is clarity and resolve. Creating takes life and maps it out in a way that I can understand it.

I’m heading back to school next year and there is a great deal of excitement as to the potential of my decision. Then there is the weight of making a commitment to a direction. As of now I’m not making any decisions. I may choose to remain in this place forever. I’ve given myself permission to do so. I’ve given myself permission to get more than one degree even if one has nothing in common with the others. I consider my process much like visiting a buffet for brunch and having scrambled eggs, mashed potatoes, and chocolate covered strawberries, leaving the table feeling satisfied but wishing I had saved room for a piece of cheesecake. I often worry about leaving the table of this life without sampling a little of all the things for which I have an appetite. This has me laughing at my greedy logic and lack of enlightenment. I think to consider once more the story of Van Gogh, a man who lived a life filled with despair and disappointment dying unaware of the gift he left behind and my appetite returns to being right sized.