I have come to a realization -- my purpose on this Earth. Some were put here to create, others to destroy -- and some, it seems, for no purpose at all. I was put here to consume. That is right; I was put on this Earth for the purpose of becoming, and being, the consummate consumer. My purpose here is to shop.

You may think this shallow and/or ridiculous and/or pathetic. I do not care, so true is my purpose, and so firm is my belief in this purpose. I was put here to do a job, and so do it I must.

How did I come to realize the true nature of my existence? It came to me, an epiphany, whilst I stood in San Francisco's Union Square on the day after Thanksgiving, gazing up at the modern mecca of consumerism that is Macy's enormous Union Square store. The sun had just set, but the falling darkness was eased by a warm, soft glow that bathed the entire downtown area. In each of the Macy's numerous windows was a brightly glowing Christmas wreath, the multitude of which emanated a magical glow in which I was bathed. There, staring up at those wreaths, and at the brilliant tree around which they were displayed, I came to realize the nature of my being, the very core which kept me alive. I was here to spend. To buy. To purchase and consume, and I was about to do it with the fire and fury that drives anyone who has realized his reason for being.

And so, with a new sense of childlike wonderment I rushed towards the radiant glow that beckoned to me. I was oblivious to everyone else around me, for though they came to shop, they did so only out of want, not out of the need that drove me. I pushed toward the light, cutting an easy swath through the mass of people as though they were not even there.

And soon, basking in the glow of both the Christmas lights and the knowledge of my true purpose, I stood at the entrance of one of the largest centers of consumerism in the Western world, ready to unmask my now-realized potential, ready to show the world of what I was made. My hand reached for the door, and my face broke out into a wholehearted smile as I tugged at the entry.

The next few hours are a blur, marked only by fast and furious flights up escalators, a wanton disregard for my own person, and the swooshing swipe of plastic as it carelessly departs my eager fingers.

And now, the morning after, I slowly tally the fruits of my purpose -- in their most vile form, that of the receipt. And as I check this tally against another of its kind (my paycheck) a new consciousness comes -- not in the form of the sudden, swift epiphany but as a slow, thudding realization. My purpose in life is very draining, and I mean this in the most spiritual sense. It seems I'll have to keep a tight rein on the exploration of this purpose, and only indulge in it when most necessary. Like the day after Christmas.