A Brick and a Purpose

Today I'm looking into the deeply human need we have for purpose. What does it really mean to live a meaningful life? And why do we sometimes feel so lost without it? 

Transcript

Richard: 0:00

And hello to you. It's bonus episode day. Something short and sweet, but I hope meaningful. I've been thinking a lot about purpose lately. Not in that big life defining way necessarily, but in the small quiet sense of it. The kind that gets you outta bed in the morning makes you feel like you're not just treading water. Because the truth is purpose isn't always loud. It doesn't have to be about curing diseases or writing novels. Sometimes it's just about knowing that something you do, anything, makes a difference even if it's only to you. And that brings me onto a story I wanted to share, a true story and a powerful one. It's about a man named Eugene Heimler. Heimler was a Hungarian Jew, and during the second World War, he and his entire family were deported to Auschwitz and his family were murdered, and he was kept alive for one of the Nazi's, so-called experiments. Now, this wasn't the kind of experiment you'd want to survive. It wasn't about medicine, it wasn't curing anything. It was about hopelessness. The Nazis wanted to see what would happen if you forced people to do something completely and utterly pointless every single day? Would it break them? Would they give up? So they made this group of prisoners dig a hole at one end of the camp and then carry all the soil to the other end where they'd dig another hole. And bury it. And then repeat again and again, backwards and forwards day after day. Nothing would ever come of it. No goal, no end. Just meaningless repetition. Under armed guard. And of course it did break people. That despair that it created, the futility of it all got too much and lots of the prisoners were throwing themselves at electric fences and provoking the guards hoping to be shot. Because if nothing you do matters, then what's the point in surviving. But Heimler found something, a small, almost silly thing, but it saved him. One day while digging, he came across a broken brick, just a scrap of something, and he and another prisoner made a decision. This brick would be their secret mission. Every time they moved soil in the wheelbarrow, they'd make sure that this brick always sat on the top of the pile. Always on the top, always unnoticed by the guards. Now, I know that sounds a bit ridiculous, doesn't it? But it gave them something to focus on, something that felt like it mattered, even if it was only in their minds, it gave them control in a place where everything had been taken from them. And they made it into a game. They would time the journey. They would estimate the angle of the brick on the top of the rubble and stuff. They would do little mental calculations, anything to stay mentally active, but it all hinged on that brick. And that to me is one of the most profound examples of purpose I've come across. Because what Heimler learned is that purpose doesn't have to be big. It doesn't have to change the world. It just has to keep you going. And that was enough to save his life. And later on he became a psychotherapist himself. He used that experience to help others find their own sense of meaning, especially when everything felt hopeless. So if today feels a bit flat, if this week feels a bit heavy, maybe ask yourself, what's your brick?'cause it doesn't have to be dramatic. Maybe it's just checking in on someone. Maybe it's walking the dog or planting something in the garden or making a Spotify playlist for a mate. Purpose is anything that says, this is why I do what I do. And it doesn't need to impress anybody. It doesn't need applause. It just needs to feel real to you. And, if you can find even one small reason to keep going, one tiny brick to carry with you, that might be enough to get you through the day, and that's a win. So I'll leave you with that thought. Keep hold of your brick even if it is just metaphorical, in fact, especially if it is to be fair. You take care of yourself and I'll speak to you again soon. See ya.