I sought my life’s purpose as if there was something Out There that had my name on it. I was convinced, in my adolescence, that there was a Right Path that was mine and all I had to do was to find it. I was so convinced of this that I changed life paths, or at least career paths, quite precipitously in the middle of my university education.
Now I see things differently. Actually, it isn’t a matter of seeing things but more a matter of knowing in my body, in some deep place of knowing that isn’t cognitive, isn’t verbal or imaginal or even conceptual. Which, of course, makes it pretty hard to describe in words.
If I am weeding this garden, then right now, that is my purpose. If I am writing this blog post, then that is my purpose. If I am helping someone to express a feeling that he or she has long held captive in the recesses of mind and body, then THAT is my purpose, right there at that moment.
Somehow, I guess, that purpose isn’t something outside of me that I have to find. It is more about doing whatever I am doing with the intention of doing it fully and with all of myself.
A Body Psychotherapist's Journal 
I realize that weeding and gardening would take on a whole new meaning if I had to feed myself from my garden. Just wandering through the grocery store today helped me realize how dependent I am on farms, on transportation and distribution systems…basically on fossil fuels to feed me as well as to keep me warm. I grow herbs and flowers and some vegetables but I would not survive on that.