I sometimes enjoy reading archaically eloquent expressions. Once immersed in the language of Shakespeare or in the formal banter of Victorian speech, one enters their world, their mindset. It can be a fun get-away to swim in the verbal expression of another era or to mentally join the unique ramblings set forth by another mind.

A friend once wrote, “Life’s story is neither imaginary nor written in stone, and it offends my singularity of purpose to think I haven’t the skill of the lowly oyster to modify almost any irritation.” He might have said more simply, “Problems will arise, and I can cope with them,” but the direct version lacks the art, the humour, the finesse of what he wrote. Wresting meaning from the more involved expression is fun! It tickles my brain! And I laughed out loud when he compared his ability to adapt to that of an oyster.

I wondered what this accomplished man would regard as his “…singularity of purpose.” I suspect that it is not different from my own – to fit in, to be accepted by others, yet to retain whatever it is that is special about me – to be singular, unique in my own way. And if that means I transform some irritation into a pearl, so be it!