Perhaps it is my “Christian” heritage, but I am not scared of big words like suffering and sin. I am scared, however, of the rigid hyperbole of the personal mission statement. Mine came to me the way people come to the idea for their first tattoo: suddenly, epiphanically, inevitably.

I use “suffering” broadly, lightly, profoundly; in reference to the physical, emotional, social, financial, intellectual, the spiritual. Suffering is Gaza, is living through antisemitism, is the anger holding together the manosphere. Suffering is intergenerational racial trauma, is being stuck, is the FOMO experienced by a middle school tween.

“Suffering” is a question I ask: should I comfort my afflictions, or afflict my comfort? Should I counter the hurt I see, or find a way to look it in the face? A daily repetition that applies to the inane as much as it does to the profound.

I like this mission because it’s a never-ending story. The journey is the purpose, the means are the end.