A Dinner with Two Doctors

Tonight I had dinner with my step-cousin and his wife at a dimly-litĀ French place in Cambridge. The food was both interesting and delicious. One memorable dish was a fried rabbit leg, for better or worse. However, our conversation over this dinner was all the more interesting.

Both my cousin and his wife are practicing doctors. Each time I see them I am reminded of what I call, “the doctor’s mindset.” There is a certain straightforwardness to their thinking. Clear reasoning. Concise simplicity. A purpose for everything. Yet, as I sat at this meal I thought about the mysticism of my life. What could I not understand? What did I think didn’t have “purpose?”

The first thing that came to my mind was my girlfriend’s cancer. What purpose does that serve? What purpose does tragedy serve in life. Furthermore, what purpose do I serve?

It’s interesting how these thoughts always come at the most unexpected moments.

I’m not sure how to answer the aforementioned questions. Yet, part of me is okay with saying that “I don’t know” or even “Perhaps there really is no purpose.” This question of purpose is a concept I am struggling with, and strivingĀ to give meaning to.


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