I have been depressed for awhile.  I know my depression is an indicator.  I know my age has something to do with it:  I will not live another 64 years.  I wonder what I will leave behind.  I certainly can’t take my things with me–my music, my journals, my poems.  I can’t take anything with me.  So what is there?  What is my purpose of living?  It is not the accumulation of my things.  From dust you come and from dust you shall return.  I do hope I leave the world a better place, that some people might mourn me.  And have good memories of me.  The thing about the world it goes on.  Every day someone dies, someone is born.  I am trying to figure out my purpose in the time I have left.  Not that my death is imminent but who knows?  No one can really help me on my journey.  Somehow I have to figure out what I have to do which will give me meaning so I can climb out of my depression.  There is (???are) no easy answers.