My Purpose

I don't really care about myself, at least in the sense that I know that what'll happen will happen. I'm good with that. My purpose is to help others. Always has been. I want others to know the peace that I can usually attain for myself. I want them to have hope.

It's a thankless task, usually. I find those who are really down. Really ruined. 
Like a mother hen, I collect bedraggled little chicks under my wings, 
and usually they only half notice. They notice that the rain's been blocked, 
but not by whom or what or why. And that's okay. Eventually they do, eventually they do. 

Rarely do I hear the words myself, but I can tell. It's the 
little things, like, "I was this close to losing it today, and I don't know
what I would have done,but I could hear your voice in the back of my head saying
'Just stop, breathe, don't do that', and... I did"; or "I was going out with the
guys last night and it was getting kind of stupid, stupid like I think you'd 
think was stupid, and I was like,'what the fuck am I doing here?', so I left".
I've been told by a once-good-friendthat I ought to be a motivational
speaker. I've obtained the title of "my nagger" from another. Sometimes I get
called or messaged or intercepted just to be toldthat "I done a baaad thing",
like I were a priest and the poor kid has to confess. I'm always taken slightly
aback when that happens.

It's hard to strike the right balance between lecturing and rewarding. You can't expect a miracle. You start slow; you have to change someone's mind before you can change their actions, and you have to convince a person that they have to change before you can do even that. It's a complex technique of ego-stroking, severe logicking, debating, reassurance,  implied dissapointment in dissobedience, and overt declaration of "I 
love you even if you fuck up". Because there are far too many people who don't know 
what that's like.

Agape: sometimes I think I can't handle it. People are precious, and I do love 'em, the little fuckers. Ignorance needs love to cure it. And so that's why I do what I do, and that's why I don't mind-- much. Oh, I mind the heartache and the worry and the frequent dissapointments as my fledgelings plummit from the nest, or outright refuse to leave it as they begin to learn to take off. But in the end?

It's all that really matters. When I can have someone say to me:

----: i cant even put into words how much i want to hug you right now

then all I can think is: you don't need to, I know. I feel it myself all the time. My children.

Or when I can get a child-- especially an adult child, to say in all seriousness and with more soberity than I thought they were capable of:

----: okay
----: did you know
----: that you are like, one of the most influential people in my life
----: thanks for that

...?

Then I know. This is what I'm here for. This is what I'm doing. This is why I'm needed today.