What is my purpose?

Am I useful at this time of my life? I am not working full-time and the only thing that I am giving back to the world is my thoughts, feelings, and willingness to share myself through this blog. Truthfully, I would love it if I could make writing this blog my job.  For years I fantasized about writing a novel, thinking that if I could create characters and determine outcomes then I would feel as though I had some control over my life, even if only through fiction. The problem has been that whenever I have attempted to create a story it hasn't worked out very well for me; it's been a real struggle. So, I'm starting to think that maybe fiction just isn't my thing.

I remember a few years ago I felt so frustrated with myself; I was tired of saying that I wanted to be a writer and yet there wasn't any evidence that I had attempted to write a story since creative writing class in high school.

 One day after work I walked into my bedroom and it was if a bright light had been switched on allowing me to see what had been previously hidden. I opened the drawer to my nightstand and noticed several decorative journals, legal pads, and scraps of paper with my writing on them. My words were literally strewn throughout my apartment; they were lovingly held in junk drawers, back packs, purses, and under my bed. How was it that I had been oblivious to all of the words that I had written? How had I been unaware that I wrote every day and had done so for years? I had told myself that I was just journaling, which I believed doesn't count as real writing.

For the past few years, I have struggled to accept that I am a journaler. Can a person make a living writing a journal? I still think that the answer is no. Now I have this blog, and I am journaling for an audience. People say that they appreciate the openness and honesty of my words. Maybe sharing my experience of my life's journey is the best that I have to offer the world. I want to believe that I have something of value to offer. So frequently I struggle with the feeling that I show up for life empty handed. I want a purposeful and meaningful life. I want to live with the knowledge that I am creating something of beauty and value and sharing it with other people. Expressing beauty and imperfection; beauty in the imperfection. When will I find my way?