I’m sitting on a beach side cafe, in Tossa de Mar at the coast just north of Barcelona, enjoying my morning espresso(s), and recovering from the night before.

I’ve been a bit lost of purpose lately, which has felt unusual for me, since I had a very clear goal guiding a lot of my decisions for the better part of a decade after graduqtion.

I began challenging the notion, or habit, of continuing on my previous path during and after a trip to Ecuador last christmas. My host family there, had showm me more care and concern than I can frankly remember feeling from my own family since I was a young child, and I think it was this that originated the idea in my mind: that I might not have been taking good enough care of myself for quire some time, maybe throughout my adult life, and that my previous purpose might have been both, or at least either, a source and a hindrance to my general health and wellbeing.

I decided on some exposure therapy to challenge my fear of ditching a project that I had invested so much time in: I would not work on it for the full month of January, to see, by way of experiene, not thought, that I would indeed not die, even though resigning your believed purpose might feel existential at times.

February arrived, and I was still breathing (turns out it wasn’t a matter of survival after all).

The spring went by in a fluctuation between ecstatic newfound freedom and depressive directionlessness. New thesis for purpose were tried along the way, including leaning into purposelessness, but nothing really stuck, or seemed true over time.

I moved my belongings into storage in May, and went travelling.

It’s been almost three months now.

About a week ago, I picked up writing. I had met with a friend of mine, who was working on an essay fpr his blog, and felt enticed. Later that night, I set up a blog of my own to have a place for my texts and the act og writing.

It has been transformational: I write almost everyday, often several times a day. Thoughts I’ve been stuck on for years, have been processed. A span pf thought that I’ve remembered having before and longing to recover, has seemed to grafually returned. Perhaps the tool og writing, has actually extended how much I am able to grasp at a time – how complex my thinking can be.

I think perhaps the last time I was operating at anywhere close to this level, was when I was finishing my masters in mathematics. But that was different: my thinking was about the conceptual; this time it’s human.

I feel freed; empowered.

It spurs my thoughts into the future, where for a long time I was stuck repeating the past.

I write prolifically.