Someone asked me the other day about "The Point." Why bother. . . starting a painting, talking to people, washing the dishes, combing your hair, getting out of bed . . . if there's no Master Plan? If it makes no difference in the greater scheme of life, why bother? And why live?
Inherent in these questions are more questions: What is a meaningful life? Why am I here? What is my specific purpose? Will it make me happy? What will be my legacy? Will anyone notice?
These ruminations usually stay neatly repressed when one's a workaholic. But give yourself a little time off (or be forced into it by someone else) and suddenly life isn't so tidy.
My short answer to the question was that I don't believe there is a Point. Or rather that there is no one out there administering and assigning Points.
On the other hand, as long as we're alive, and if we're to do better than struggle through however many days our healthcare system keeps us here, then it seems prudent to devise our own Point. We have to create our own meaning for living: Grab a cause, develop a mission, set a standard. Or hang on the coattails of someone else who already has this in motion.
When even the coattails idea seems too daunting, then let this noble purpose be our default: to be a steward of the Earth and all that inhabits it.
Failing that, the best and least any of us can commit to is the paraphrased Hippocratic Oath: "Above All, Do No Harm."
Of course, just doing no harm will require a change of habit and mind for some folks. But it beats the alternative. And even if it isn't noticed, the fact remains that those who adhere to this directive really do make a difference—however obscure—in the world.
And that, I suppose, is exactly the Point.