Do you remember in the Steve Martin movie, “The Jerk,” when Maven discovered his “special purpose?” My good friend, Helen and I have often joked over the years about it. In Maven’s case, there is, of course a double entendre involved, but one of the meanings has given many of us fits for many, many years.

I believe we’re all put here for a specific purpose. Whether you consider it the meaning of your life, or something you must achieve before you slip your earthly bounds, it’s a question I’m fairly you’ve asked yourself many, many times. I ask it myself quite often, as a matter of fact.

I used to think my “special purpose” was only to provide a comfortable, loving home life for my family. You know, a nice, warm home, sufficient food on the table, and taking the time to insure everyone was as healthy and happy as possible.

I also used to think my calling in life was to create as much joy as possible in as many people as I could. Certainly a lofty goal.

I think I’ve been fairly successful in both, for the most part, but as of late, there have been many times when I’ve felt certain there’s something more. Multi-millionaire, able to spread joy to others financially? Or, do something for the greater good with that money? That would be nice, but I don’t see it as my “special purpose.”

So, for months now, even at my “advanced” age, I’ve been looking at ways I can identify that ONE THING as Curly said in “City Slickers.” I’ve read tons of books, surfed various sites using all types of related keywords, and even experimented with my life a bit. But, that one thing just hasn’t surfaced yet.

Steve Pavlina wrote a wonderful blog post on how to find your purpose, and I’ve gone through the exercise several times without experiencing the physical indication I’d found it. Limiting my list? Perhaps. Not digging deep enough? No doubt. After all the books, all the web sites, and other resources, I think Steve’s method rang the truest to me. Just, in my case, no results yet.

So, on occasion, I break out the notebook, draw a line down the middle of another page, and start writing. Perhaps one day before my friends throw me in a hole in the ground and toss dirt on my face, I’ll find it. I just hope it doesn’t come with the same timing experienced by Charles Foster Kane.