What is it that makes me think that I have been set apart, that I am a unique, special part of the universe? That I have been created to achieve a set purpose? And yet there is also in me the despair, the disbelief, the desire to shirk this not-so-voluntary responsibility. And yet I cannot disbelieve. But, yet, what is my purpose? Faith lets me believe that I will know when I get there, but skeptical doubt has me fear that my path has slipped out from under my feet, and that I am operating on mistaken assumptions.

Regardless of what the truth is, whether every action has already been dictated, predetermined, or whether all reality is merely random chance, I know it is not in my power to discern what I ought to do before I set out to do it.

Or is it?

Am I merely dreaming again of impossible things, or have I stumbled upon my purpose?