Missions are stupid. I have no mission. No one has. And it's a terrific relief to realize you are free. Free of all missions.
                                 —Milan Kundera

I wish I'd learned this earlier, much earlier. I have no mission. What a relief! I've been repeating this to myself for a week. I smile into the darkness. I'm free. Free of all purpose, of a need to be. I simply am. Through no fault of my own, I'm here. I didn't want to be, I wouldn't have chosen to be if I'd been given the choice, but that is beside the point. Up to now, it's always been the point. But no more. The point is, I'm here. And for no reason. No reason at all. And I don't have to make up a reason. Or worse, accept a reason imposed on me by someone else. I don't have to justify my existence. That's been the secret I've been trying to uncover my entire unhappy life. The secret is that there is no secret. There it is: out in the open. And, just like that, I'm unhappy no more.