TINY IMPERFECT FICTION 09

Epilogue 

Julia was glad to be unpacked and settled at home again. It had been quite a month. 

She sat on the bottom step, took off her running shoes, and rubbed the sore tendons. She examined the worn sneaker treads. She looked at her dog, panting at her feet. She examined the slightly aging and freckled skin on her hands, her strong thigh muscles, a small dust bunny at the base of the stairs. The tranquil quiet of the early morning was good. She felt whole and peaceful. 

After four objectively successful career chapters, two higher degrees, countless seminars, conferences, therapy sessions, and a library full of psychology books to find all of the answers, Julia was still searching for more purpose. 

But while sitting on the step that morning, she saw something. She noticed how most of the the time she was looking for  a “thing called purpose.” She attached the idea of movement and direction to it, thought that “purpose” was just ahead of her somewhere, if she kept looking for it. She thought that as she ran each morning, did her to-do list, worked intentionally and moved directionally, she was moving toward her purpose. 

Then suddenly, Julia saw that maybe purpose isn't about movement or direction. She saw that she found purpose, and had all that she needed of it, when she was still, motionless, and just being. On the step.