Unless we are out of town, you’ll probably find me teaching class on Sunday morning. I volunteered to fill in five years ago and got hooked on having a regular audience. At first I was positively terrified. Getting a room of adults to find interest in and discuss the same old book they’ve been reading since childhood is not always the easiest. I’m no stranger to thousand-yard stares that may or may not be battling the after-effects of a late Saturday night. We are Methodists after all.

After literally sweating through many awkward moments of silence in the early days, I realized that the necessary skill inherently was not in communicating new information. Talk at people long enough and you lose them. The key to success was asking the right questions so folks would open up and explore the topic. People love to talk about themselves. Sharing is therapeutic. I love talking about myself so much that I’ve typed it all out for you to read.

Through our time together, I’ve grown more comfortable asking the tougher questions to my class. They have stuck with me through surprise meditation sessions, optimistic reading assignments, and even a four-part series involving Kathy Lee Gifford. Admittedly, a few visitors have not returned.

On a recent Sunday, I challenged our group with a question that my 7-year-old had laid on me just days before while walking into a Milo’s. While my mind had been doing the math on how many extra sauces would be required, Libby so casually inquired “Daddy, what is our purpose in life?

Needless to say, I was not ready for this. A mere twenty steps from ordering cheeseburgers and my kid turns into Aristotle. It felt like one of those moments I didn’t want to sear improperly into their beautiful heads, so I sputtered for a second then asked to reconvene later at a less beefy establishment.

Then naturally, I forgot until Sunday when I realized I could once again saddle the class with my personal challenges. What did they think was their purpose for being on this planet?

With little hesitation, my buddy Steve broke the silence and piped up. “You know, it’s funny you ask, because I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately too. Here it goes.”

…

My paternal grandfather died at the age of 48. It’s an unspoken rule in our family that you don’t get too certain about one's future. Tomorrow is not guaranteed. This hits harder each day, as my forties seemingly pick up speed. I recall my father and uncle being this age - having a crazy look in their eyes while chasing tornadoes and playing chicken on jet skis.

Since I was only four when my grandfather passed, my mental image of him has been slowly reconstructed through the relics and stories that live on. Judging by these alone, one can only picture a full and amazing life. In storage behind the underground home he built, I would stumble across the wildest stuff. It was par for the course to find a parachute, an antique crossbow, race car parts, a suitcase full of knives or something equally awesome. The stories that inevitably followed would be told through a smile, and always included a chuckle.

With a keen eye, you begin to see his sense of humor woven through everything. There’s a treasured photo of my grandparents as young sweethearts. It’s the quintessential fifties scene, two young lovers holding hands on a swing set, keeping their chastely distance. But when viewed at close range, you’ll see that there is a pair of painties hanging in the foreground of the picture. The story goes that Ed found them in the woods, but in either case, I’ve spent hours upon hours laughing at his artful execution.

And that brings me to the point.

Steve told us that, in this phase of life, his purpose is to do everything he can to facilitate a happy and safe family. Simple as that. He has career ambitions, hobbies and cooks excellent desserts, but the thing that matters most above all else is delivering the next generation to adulthood with good heads on their shoulders.

I enjoyed hearing this perspective. It was refreshing and frankly pretty badass for a dude to say that out loud. We go through seasons that ask different things of us, but the foundational requirements are generally the same. You can’t fake being a good father just like you can’t fake happiness. Working for the benefit of something larger than yourself, and doing so in the right spirit, inherently helps you understand your own why.

Being honest, I totally punted that day at Milo’s. I promised my little ladies that we would discuss Libby’s question in an environment less beefy. It felt like one of those moments I didn’t want seared improperly into their beautiful heads. I started by admitting to them that I can’t tell them their exact purpose, but that I’d be happy to share mine and maybe that would help.

The last eight months have been a rollercoaster of freedom and fulfillment, but hanging over all of it has been a heaping pile of guilt. I’ve been so fortunate to have this opportunity to figure myself out a bit. Until recently, it was hard to shake the thought that this whole thing is entirely selfish. Each day not spent toiling away at a profitable or hugely impactful enterprise was seemingly wasted. But Steve’s insight helped put things in perspective. What if instead of trying to wrangle some complicated existential meaning from life, I simply live it the best way I know how?

It surely isn’t a coincidence that everything that puts a smile on my face also tends to involve trying to put one on others. Teaching, cooking, throwing parties, playing music, writing stories about how dumb I am - it doesn’t take a thorough psychoanalysis to see what gets me going. For better or worse, I feel like I was put here to show people how fun and funny life can be. Taking things too seriously makes Chappy a dull boy. Besides, I genuinely love being in a place where the bad days at least make for great stories.

So much worry over the last ten years has been devoted to doing all the right things for my kids, as if there are boxes to check. That all felt pretty hollow in moments when their concerned faces wanted to know why I rarely smiled for a long time. What my children (and I would argue all humans) really want is to be around people who are enjoying life. I’d rather be the one dancing like an idiot, hosting tricycle races and pushing the boundaries of sandwich innovation. I’m here to show y’all a good time. That’s my purpose.

“If you are happy, all of us will profit from it. All living beings will profit from it.” -Thich Nhat Hanh