Years ago I discovered my purpose in life here on Earth.  I read books and conducted informational interviews and took classes and danced with death and asked strangers on the bus to help me identify my purpose.  When it was finally revealed after much suffering, I will admit I was terribly disappointed.   I was told my sole purpose in life is to be of maximum service to God and my fellows.  Snoozer!  What like - picking up litter?  Volunteering my time, talents, resources at no charge?  I mean, how many community service hours is required to fulfill this goal?  Certain there was an oversight in the doling out of purposes, I continued my search for something a wee more glamorous.


Fame? I can sing and dance and act beautifully - in my living room.  No producers have knocked on my door yet.
Money? My get-rich-quick schemes are not so quick and they end up costing me more money than I make.
Power?  Nope.  Turns out, I am powerless. 


Fast forward to present day.  Apparently, glamorous isn't my destiny.  And without my permission, without feeling like it, without wanting to - being of service brings me joy.  Being of service allows me to feel useful in a way I could never manage before.  Being of service quiets my head, settles my nerves, fills my soul.  Answering the phone when they call; reading to them once a month; organizing that gathering every second Thursday; listening when I am busy; saying yes when I am thinking no; driving when I want to stay home; complimenting instead of criticizing; speaking up when passivity seems easier; hugging when punching is an option; loving no matter what.


I learned a long time ago that wanting to and feeling like it are irrelevant when dealing in service work.  I rarely want to and I hardly ever feel like it and yet - I do.  Fulfilling my purpose isn't about me. Shocking! and beautiful at the same time.

Sexy is so out of my league.  I only know this because I have friends who are, what I consider to be, sexy. The kind of woman who turns heads - not from her beauty but from her essence, allure, smile. The kind of man who makes you want to hold in your stomach and freshen your lipstick just in case he looks your way.  Sexy is a confidence, state of mind, attitude.  Sexy is a walk, a look, a stance.  Sexy is so not me.


I have been noticing how I walk down the street.  I walk like I am being chased by the boogeyman.  I walk to get there - now.  I walk with purpose.  Clomp.  Clomp.  Clomp.  My head down, eyes on the three feet of pavement ahead of me until I reach my destination.  Sexy is no where on my radar when I walk.  I have a sexy friend - let's call her Christine.  She walks like she has a secret to share with the world - and that secret is hidden in the sway of her hips.  She has a swish and a swagger that can hush the buzz of a coffee shop when she enters.  She takes each step as if she is being watched - and I promise you she is.  I hate walking next to her.  I feel like Ethel must have felt walking next to Lucy - exposed.


I have noticed the shoes I wear do not help me in the sexy walking category.  Different color clod-hoppers.  Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.  Christine wears heels with jeans and looks perfectly normal - like jeans were meant to be worn with high heels.  If I wore heels with jeans - well that's just ridiculous.


Christine is the woman who men ask on dates while she waits for her morning latte.  She has kids and a job and a busy life just like me.  However, she looks available and sophisticated and worldly when ordering her drink while I look - like I have kids and a job and a busy life.  Again, I am Ethel standing next to Lucy who attracts the international Latin musician while I attract Fred.


A friend of mine challenged me to slow down, look up and smile at everyone I pass by during the day.  Sexy is a nice idea but if sexy is smiling all damn day it's just not for me.  A swish or a sway every now and then is fun. Hilarious actually considering Christine has a bum to swish and sway with while my saggy britches are comedy relief.  But I believe Lucy wouldn't be Lucy without her unsexy friend Ethel.  So I will continue to clomp and occasionally sway and smile each time sexy walks by.