Absurd and Askew

Maybe it's my age, or maybe it's my OCD (it causes the mind to race with repetitive thoughts), but every once in a while I get into this mode of questioning my purpose. What have I done? What haven't I done? What more can I do? What significance does it have in this vast and complicated world anyway? Does any of it truly have any meaning at all? Is it enough? Will it ever be enough?

I suppose everyone goes through these questions from time to time. Maybe it's not that unusual after all. For me, however, it seems like my mind gets stuck in that gear for a while and not having the answers to those questions drives me mad.

I'm your average person, living an average life, working an average job, with an average family. So what have I truly done in my 41 years that has significance... and then, how much significance does it really have when all is said and done?

I've spent quite a bit of time on volunteer work over the years. I've worked in pet shelters and for dog rescue groups. I've organized several charity fund raising events. I've donated money to organizations I believe in. I've voiced my opinion on topics about which I feel strongly (I'm nothing if I'm not outspoken). I've used my design skills to design and sell a whole mess of t-shirts promoting pet adoption and spaying/neutering and the banning of puppymills and the like (the more people who wear them across the country, the more the word spreads).


All of this, and yet it always comes back to the one most important question for me: is this my purpose or is there something else I should be doing that I've been missing all along? I want to make a difference in the world, not just flow with it. I don't want to be a bystander. I want to be involved. I think the real question is, why do I sometimes feel that I haven't been involved enough despite the fact that I have a pretty good track record of putting myself out there and trying to make a difference?

I wonder if it really just comes down to my mind "playing tricks on me." I'm a perfectionist -- always have been -- but I'm most critical of myself. You could say I'm my own worst enemy. Maybe I'm just seeing myself as not doing enough because nothing I do is ever good enough for me.

In the days when all I did was live and breathe writing and painting, people would give me sincere compliments on my work and I would immediately point out all the flaws in it. I didn't want them to give me credit for good work when I didn't feel it was perfect enough to warrant a compliment. I finally got past that frame of mind, or so I thought. Maybe I never really got past it. Maybe it just shifted from my creative endeavors to my life in general.

Damned OCD making me obsess over stupid thoughts like this. Did I mention I tend to over-analyze everything, too. That's not the OCD in me... that's the Virgo. :)