Our Real Purpose
Our Real Purpose
Perhaps our real purpose is not
the constant polishing we think
will make us who we are, but
the patience it takes to unfold
into our own slow spring, like
coneflowers whose true faces
can be seen in the green beginnings
of each blossom forming long before
both color and petal first appear.
We become ourselves the moment
we decide to move in the direction
of some pocket of warmth we can’t
explain, taking step after step
on a path that seems to be
calling our name in a whisper
just loud enough to be heard.
Some poems arrive as subtle mysteries I feel called to work with and unravel. This one began as a meditation on the idea of destiny, which I believe is not a single path, but a series of steps we feel gently, humbly called to take, sometimes making wild and unexpected turns. I’ve also been thinking lately about how it can take a whole lifetime—and perhaps beyond—to become who we really are, given that we are always changing, always cycling into new lives and selves, if we are aware enough to stay open to each unfolding. Here in Vermont, we are surrounded by so many green beginnings, as we transition into summer, but the full blossoming of things seems to take ages. Each day, I watch the peonies, and the ants that feed on nectar seeping from those seams of color on the buds that have finally appeared. Each day, I trace the progress of coneflowers outside my office window, and if I look closely enough, I can see the faces of their blooms starting to show, a distinct green shape among the now lush leaves. It seems to work like this for us too, as we struggle to keep showing our true faces to the world, stepping onto each path that calls our name with a quiet warmth we can’t explain. Maybe we don’t become ourselves in one fell swoop, all at once, but little by little, with each authentic yes, every conscious breath. For me, whether in love, creativity, or work, each time I turn toward whatever light and warmth I find nearby, I feel closer to myself, my soul, the part of me that knows patience is the truest and only way forward, one heavy foot in front of the other.
Invitation for Writing & Reflection: What does the word “destiny” mean to you? You might work with my phrase, “We become ourselves the moment . . . “ and see what unfolds for you.
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If I could, I would give each of you who have bought our new book a slice of this strawberry cake my husband Brad made . . . instead, I can share that we still have signed copies of Love Is for All of Us available through our wonderful local indie bookstore, Battenkill Books. You can order signed copies of this book (or any of my books!) through this link, and they will ship right to you. We are very grateful for all the support and loving attention for this book so far!
Local folks can see us at the Manchester Community Library in Manchester, Vermont on Tuesday, 6/3 at 5:30pm. We'll be reading with contributors Jess Bouchard and Bianca Zanella. For full tour info, click here.




I love the comparison with the coneflower. Also, I do not eat cake, but it is strawberry season and that cake looks so "pretty in pink." (yes, movie title drop:)
Thanks as always for your words, James. I’m feeling slow to unfold this spring after a long winter of isolation recovering from injury. I have felt the stirrings in the past few weeks and am grateful for them 🙏🏻💛✨