The Man in the Red Bandana and the Question of Purpose

Last week, YouTube’s algorithm suggested a video: Man In The Red Bandana. It’s a documentary about Welles Crowther, a 24-year-old equities trader and volunteer firefighter who saved 18 people during the September 11 attacks in New York — and died when the South Tower collapsed.

I was deeply moved by his heroism, and by his family’s strength. But more than anything, it made me reflect on my own life: Welles lived only 24 years and created a legacy that still inspires. I’m in my mid-fifties — what have I accomplished? What about my parents, my friends, my wife, or the countless “ordinary lives” we rarely hear about? What is the purpose of a life, and how do we measure a legacy?

For years I stressed over this question. I felt the clock ticking while my accomplishments seemed small: not an expert in anything, modest material means, not socially visible. Just a regular Joe.

Then I realized something: age is completely relative. J.M. Barrie, in Peter Pan, makes that strikingly clear:

“All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, ‘Oh, why can’t you remain like this for ever!’ This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end.”

J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

In a way, we’re all dying. Sometimes I imagine answering “How are you doing?” with: “I’m good, but I’m dying.” I can picture the startled look: “What? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know!” To which I’d smile and say: “Well, you know… we’re all dying. Only some of us faster than others.” 🙂

According to Wikipedia, average human life expectancy is about 72 years. So imagine my surprise reading in the Urantia Book that Adam lived to the age of 530. Yes — 530 years! Can you picture it? And here I am already complaining about gray hairs.

It sounds outrageous, but it raises an interesting question:

How would you live your life if you knew your body would work perfectly until age 300? What would you do differently right now?

That kind of thought experiment eventually leads to the topic of immortality. Personally, I believe our bodies are just temporary vehicles for a spiritual being that is potentially eternal (potentially, because in my faith, immortality is a choice).

If that’s true, then “young” or “old,” “early” or “late,” stop mattering so much. We have eternity to figure it out. In the meantime, we can follow the clues our talents give us. The things you love to do, the things you can spend hours on without tiring — those are signposts. And often, they’re tied to serving others.

Which brings me back to Welles. In his final hours, he chose to put the lives of others before his own. That’s an extraordinary legacy. But legacy isn’t always measured on that scale. My late grandmother, for example, left me with Sunday morning memories in her Caribbean kitchen, teaching me to make delicious treats. That gift of love and joy still shapes me. That too is legacy.

So if you haven’t found your life’s “big purpose” yet, take it easy on yourself. You may already be living it. Purpose isn’t always dramatic. Often, it’s simply serving others with the gifts you’ve been given. And that, I believe, is enough.