What does it mean to be indispensable?

For most of my life I've asked myself that question. Maybe not in those words exactly. But I've always had this feeling that there was some purpose to my life uniquely destined for me and me alone.

I can remember as a young man in my early twenties sitting under a tree, my back propped against the trunk, gazing out at a forest. I was in Woodstock, New York, during what some call the "Woodstock years." Days of pondering life and destiny. Of feeling free and unfettered. Of infinite possibilities.

I was young, single and without children. Money was inconsequential. Either it was easy to acquire or it didn't matter much.

I wasn't a religious person then. Not in any formal way, anyway. But, I was a spiritual being. Even in childhood I was a closet believer in a secular household. But still, compared to now, I can't say that I was religious, though I was definitely interested in communing with a universe that transcended my puny little self.

And in that moment, the creature of G-d's creation that offered itself for my contemplation was this tree under which I was sitting, the one whose trunk now supported my back. So, I sat there thinking about this tree and I began to envy it. I envied its lack of confusion. I envied it for not having an identity crisis.

This tree seemed to know exactly what it was about. And its purpose seemed not only clear, but also beneficial to the world around it, including me, the one whose back was being supported by its trunk, whose head was being shaded by its leaves, and whose body was enjoying the cool black earth and green grass that had been sheltered from the blistering sun by its leafy canopy.

And so I did what any young man in my position would do: I began a conversation with G-d. I was not a stranger to these conversations. I didn't have them on a daily basis like I do now, but I had them regularly and they were always quite moving and profound.