If you’re alive, you have a purpose. What that purpose is, only God knows.

But I’ve come to believe that each of us is here for a reason, one that may not yet be clear, but will reveal itself in time. For me, discovering that purpose means moving beyond the narrow definitions society imposes, beyond careers, achievements, and roles.

At its core, our purpose may be utterly simple: to love.

To be gentle, compassionate, and to care for ourselves and others. It likely has far less to do with finding the perfect job or checking life’s boxes, and far more to do with embodying the love that already exists within us all.

**

Having been raised Catholic, the idea of Original Sin was planted deep in my subconscious. It has taken me a lifetime to loosen its grip. 

These days, I think less about humanity’s fallen nature and more about our inherent goodness.

We may struggle to live up to it—burdened as we are by cultural conditioning, selfishness, and ego—but beneath it all, I believe we each carry the potential for limitless grace.

What the church might call sainthood lies within every one of us.

**

My wife and I recently spent a weekend at Fall Creek Falls State Park in Tennessee, and it was an unforgettable experience, especially standing before the state’s tallest waterfall, a breathtaking sight. 

But what lingers with me most from our trips through Appalachia and the mountain regions of Tennessee and Virginia isn’t just the beauty of the landscape. It’s how that beauty transforms after dark.

By day, these places are stunning, serene. But when night falls, the mountains seem to shift, taking on an eerie, otherworldly presence.

Few things unsettle me more than sitting in a remote cabin deep in the woods after sundown, imagining what might be watching from the shadows, hearing the strange chorus of unseen creatures. 

Maybe it’s just my overactive imagination—or perhaps too many late-night horror films—but in those moments, the forest feels alive with secrets.

**

What is consciousness? Perhaps it is God herself: the ground of all being, the boundless energy that sustains everything. This question has been on my mind often lately, and with it has come an unexpected sense of peace.

The world feels astonishingly alive. And when I allow myself to truly embrace the idea that we are all part of an interconnected, cosmic web, my anxieties about the material world—and even about what lies beyond this life—begin to dissolve.

In their place is a quiet trust, a sense that something far greater holds us all.