Fit Check

It was April 4th 2024, a date I’d been anticipating for weeks because it was the day my crush moved to New York City.

Christine and I met at a conference a few months prior. After an afternoon workshop, we had some downtime, so we explored a nearby WWII Museum together. Inside, there was a small, empty theatre showing a short documentary. We were the only two people in there. Once we sat down, I moved closer to her until there was no gap left between us. Our legs were now touching. When we came out, I had no idea what the documentary was about. All I thought about was her.

We walked around the museum until closing. As we were leaving, she realized she had dropped her keys in the theatre. We asked one of the veteran volunteers for help. He hollered into his radio, “I have a couple here that lost their keys!” My guy was shipping us. I couldn’t help but smile. I looked over to her and she was smiling too.

We went to get dinner afterwards. Over tacos, she told me about life growing up in the Bay Area. She asked about my writing and how I balanced a demanding job with my creative life. As we talked the night away, I looked deep into her eyes and saw her pupils dilate.

Before Christine, I had a simplified mental model of purpose. I thought of purpose as singular. But for many of us, purpose is multifaceted. Think of purpose like a table:

This is the Table of Purpose. Each leg represents an aspect of your life that supports your purpose: social life, career, hobbies, spiritual practice, etc.

You’re the carpenter of your Table of Purpose. When you have a balanced, elegant table, it’s attractive and others want a seat at it.

My Table of Purpose when I met Christine.

At the end of the trip, I told her to hit me up if she ever wanted to visit NYC. A week later, she texted me saying she wanted to come in April.

The countdown began; April couldn’t come sooner.

My early adulthood romantic resume was littered with heartbreak and rejection. That was until I met Christine.

We planned on going out to dinner in Williamsburg for her first Friday in New York. We stayed at the restaurant until closing, then we walked to Domino Park where we caught the sunset view of the Manhattan skyline. I saw her shivering. I offered my jacket. “I’m Canadian, I’m used to this,” I told her while trying to hide my chattering teeth. After, I walked her to Bedford Station where we parted ways.

I’ve never done hard drugs before, but Christine’s the closest thing to it I’ve experienced. We started hanging out regularly and her validation felt like an intense high. We’d hang out from 6pm-2am and it felt like only 5 minutes had passed. Slowly but surely, I was hooked. When we weren’t together, I experienced withdrawal symptoms. I’d get anxious thinking of where she was and what she was doing.

Like a drug addict, my life started to twist around her. Gradually, I started removing legs from my Table of Purpose.

I wrote less.

I hosted less.

I hung out with my friends less.

Eventually, she became my one and only purpose.

I was young. I was naive. I was down bad.

One Saturday evening, we were at Book Club Bar in East Village. We sipped wine on a red leather couch while flipping through a photography collection of NYC storefronts.

She was showing me something on her phone when I caught a glimpse of a familiar app with a black “H” on a white background. She quickly turned her phone away from me, knowing that I saw it.

For a second, my mind went numb.

Why, why did she have Hinge on her phone??

My mistake was assuming we were exclusive. We never explicitly talked about it.

We left Book Club Bar, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I think we should talk.” We sat down on a bench in Tompkins Square Park.

“I saw that you had Hinge on your phone.”

“Oh, I… I didn’t download it. My friends set up my profile. They’re trying to set me up.”

“Did you go on any dates?”

“I went on two dates but they were horrible.”

I sat there silently, processing what she was saying.

“I just got out of a six year relationship. I feel as if I missed out a lot of my twenties because of that relationship. I feel like you’re looking for a relationship but I’m not looking for anything serious right now.”

I still said nothing.

“James, you’re a great guy and I hope you find someone else.” The last thing I want to hear is reassurance from her.

She stood up, hugged me, and I watched her walk away.

I never saw her again.

:(

The next morning, my alarm rang at 8am. My eyes were extra crusty from crying through the night. I wanted to sleep in. I wanted to spend the day grieving.

But I couldn’t.

I was supposed to host an Olive Tree Writing Club event at 10am.

For a second, I thought about cancelling. But that wasn’t a realistic option; 25 people had already signed up and paid.

I dragged myself out of bed and left my apartment at 8:30am. I arrived at Verci for setup at 9am.

I dedicated that writing session to Christine. Last night’s heartbreak was still fresh, my open wound bleeding onto the page as I wrote.

The writing session from that morning.

I shared my piece with my small group. After I finished, there was silence. My group was still processing what I just read. My friend commented, “For what it’s worth, I broke up with my ex last year and I started my gym arc. Now I can bench two plates.” I laughed. For the next hour, we talked about dating and relationships.

In times of grief, the real ones will be there for you. And when you’re ready, they’ll help pick up your table.

That’s how I felt during writing club. My friends listened to me, comforted me, and cheered me up. I didn’t even want to go to writing club at first, but ironically, showing up was just what I needed.

Slowly, with some help, I picked up my table and started rebuilding.

“In times of grief, the real ones will be there for you. And when you’re ready, they’ll help pick up your table.”

Breakups. Getting fired. The death of a loved one.

No matter how sturdy you think your table is, it’ll inevitably collapse. And it’s in these moments that you’re most open to change.

Over the next year, I repaired my Table of Purpose. I was writing, hosting, and nurturing my friendships again. I was seeing other people too.

Eventually, I met a girl who became my first girlfriend. But I wasn’t going to make the same mistake. Instead of making her my singular purpose, like I did with Christine, I kept my Table of Purpose together and added her as another leg.

Now, my well-being wasn’t solely dependent on this relationship. This meant that I could love from a place of abundance rather than scarcity. When we fought, my other legs kept me steady. When I was let go from my job, my other legs, including my girlfriend, kept my table upright. Each leg reinforced the other.

I’ll often see friends treat their partners as load-bearing legs on their Table of Purpose. When you expect your partner to satisfy your emotional, physical, and social needs, you throw away your standards. You avoid conflict, tolerate bad behaviour, and settle for less because the alternative of a fallen table is much more painful. Instead of finding a partner to “complete” you, the goal is to build a life you love.

Eventually, when that special someone comes into your life, you must lean into the different things that give you purpose; don’t lean away. When you do find the right person, they’ll make your table more stable, help you pick up your table if it falls over, and make your table more beautiful.

George Nakashima’s Frenchman Cove II Table. One of the most coveted tables in the world.

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