I don't think it's about being happy, at least, not to be the aim of all the feelings, all the time. Or escaping work. Or boredom. Or especially not pain. But if there is something. Something to it all. Which touches on, or is even magnified by some of these experiences. Maybe. Maybe it's that deep, deepest connection. To each other. One that we rarely call out. That we rarely use to point. To encompass. To define the meaning. And the purpose. And the pull. That nagging-pulling to the inside of the middle-est of our places. The one that's in fact brought alive by pain, by sorrow, by feeling it so hard. Met, reached, felt only through the experience of love. Of being seen. Of being heard. Of seeing and hearing. Sharing and shared. I find it's those moments that are our truest, core-est, most essential purpose. For being here at all.