If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
-Emily Dickinson
I have thought about this particular poem a lot over the past few days; it seems, to me, to answer the age-old question, "What is the purpose of our existence?" My musings have lead me to the conclusion that, ultimately, it is what we do for others, and not what we do for ourselves, that gives our life meaning. When a rich man dies, his eulogy does not speak of the toys and trinkets to which he treated himself, rather, the time is spent reviewing the acts of charity, of philanthropy, that defined that life. The question is must we be rich in order to fulfill our life purpose? Or, is it enough to give of ourselves, whether we have a lot, or a little?
