I sank to the floor and stared in shock at the confusing mess on my bed. I felt completely crushed. I had expected a beautiful, magical castle, and instead I’d gotten a pile of plastic parts. Now my dreams would never come true. I began to sob the deep, hopeless sobs of someone who has decided the world is a cruel and unfair place.
Just then, my mother knocked on my bedroom door, and when she heard me crying, she rushed in and took me in her arms. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked with a concerned look on her face. “Aren’t you happy with your presents?”
“It’s, it’s the cc … cc … castle,” I stammered. “It’s not right.”
“What’s not right about it?” my mother questioned. “Here, let me take a look.” She got up and stood over the bed. “Let’s see, they included glue, five colors of paint, good … brushes, and here’s the instructions. Honey, everything looks O.K. to me.”
I listened to her in bewilderment. How could she say the castle looked O.K.? “But Mommy,” I sniffed, “the castle is all in little pieces. It’s not pretty and fixed like the picture on the box.”
My mother pulled me toward her and took my hands in hers. “Barbara,” she said softly, “There’s nothing wrong with the castle. It is supposed to come in pieces like that—that’s the whole idea. It’s a model and you are supposed to put it together. See, honey, here’s the instructions, they show you how to stick the pieces that fit onto one another. And then you put a little glue on them so they will stay that way, and when it is all glued together, you paint it with these paints, and you’re all finished, and the castle will look just like the one on the cover.”
“But I thought it was supposed to come already made!” I shook my head in disbelief. “You mean I have to put the whole castle together myself? That ruins the whole thing—it will never be as good as the one in the picture. And besides, because I’ll know I put it together, it won’t be magical at all!” And then I burst into more tears.
Putting the Castle Together
I don’t remember how long I ignored my castle. I know that I put it back in the box that night and left it on a shelf in my closet. I was furious that it hadn’t come already made, that I was expected to do something to make it work. I decided that Betsy-Wetsy was the one for me after all, and spent my time pouring water into Betsy’s mouth and waiting for it to come out the other end so I could change her diapers. I soon grew tired of cleaning her up—after all, how many times can you change a rubber baby before the thrill is gone? So one afternoon, I found myself taking the Enchanted Castle out of the closet and placing it on the bed. I opened the instruction booklet and began to read.
It took me several weeks to build my castle. At first, I was very frightened. “What if I make a mistake?” I thought to myself, “and glue the wrong pieces together? What if I can’t figure out what goes where? What will I do if I can’t understand the directions?” It wasn’t long before I found out the answers: I did make mistakes, and had to unglue dozens of little plastic pieces and reglue them in the right place. I did get confused at certain points, and had to ask my mother to help me out. But as the days passed, and I could see the beginnings of a castle forming before my eyes, my fear turned into excitement, the frustration turned into challenge. I would race home from school so I could work on the castle. I would secretly stay up way past my bedtime gluing and assembling, and when it was almost finished, painting.
And then one day, it was done. I sat on my bed and stared at my Enchanted Castle in its place of honor by the window. I knew that it didn’t look exactly like the castle in the picture—the paint was smeared in a few places, the glue hadn’t always dried evenly. But it looked beautiful, and it looked magical. And even more miraculously, I felt magical: I was completely happy and fulfilled, not just because I had an Enchanted Castle to play with, but because I had helped to create that castle. And the castle meant much more to me this way than if it had come ready made, perfect, leaving nothing for me to do but admire it. For the real magic of the castle was that even though it looked like I was putting it together, it was putting me together.
It has been almost thirty years since I made that trip to the toy store. In the decades that have passed, I’ve faced many challenges, trials, and crises, both personally and professionally. There were times when my life looked nothing like the picture I’d always had of how things would turn out for me, but instead, resembled a confused pile of little pieces similar to that castle spread on top on my bed. And at these moments, I often felt angry, frustrated, and frightened, just like I had when I was seven: “Why do things have to be this way?” I’d cry. “Why does life have to be so hard?”
But each time I’d experience these feelings, I’d remember my castle. For just as the ad on the box had promised, my Enchanted Castle did help me learn how to make my dreams come true, my highest dreams: It taught me that life was about putting myself together, and not coming already “finished.” It taught me that the purpose of my life wasn’t to make everything look perfect on the outside, but to grow on the inside as the events of my destiny worked to teach me patience, courage, and self-acceptance.
What Is the Purpose of Your Life?
I share this story with you because it illustrates one of the most important points of this book—that when we don’t understand how something is supposed to work, if we aren’t clear about its purpose, we can incorrectly conclude that there is a problem where there isn’t one at all. When I was nine, I thought the purpose of getting that castle was to take it out of the box ready made and enjoy it. I didn’t understand that its real purpose was to teach me certain skills and lessons, and ultimately, to give me a sense of self-confidence I never would have attained if I hadn’t been forced to put those pieces together. This same principle applies to every part of our lives—if we don’t understand the purpose of what we’re going through, then we can misjudge the experience and even the outcome.
So what is the purpose of your life? Have you ever asked yourself that challenging question? What is the purpose of each year? Of each day? And how do you know whether or not you have fulfilled that purpose when you go to sleep each night, or on New Year’s Eve each year as you evaluate the twelve months past, or at the end of your life as you look back over how you have lived? How do you know whether or not your life has been successful?
Each of us has our own answers. Maybe you feel one of the purposes of your life is to get married and raise a family, or to create a comfortable lifestyle and a beautiful home, or to have a stimulating and rewarding career, or perhaps something less personal and more global, such as to contribute something valuable and lasting to society. And there are subpurposes and goals, as well—for instance, that you want to travel, or to make sure all of your children graduate from college, or to build up your business so you can leave a large inheritance to your grandchildren.
These purposes become what I call your “shoulds”:
I should be happily married by a certain age.
I should have children and they should turn out a certain way.
I should have the home I’ve always dreamed of.
I should have a rewarding career.
I should do something with my artistic talents.
I should be making a certain amount of money.
I should be helping others.
I should weigh a certain amount, and no more.
I should be more successful than my parents were.