just about any of us post-collegiate's can relate. you're at a social gathering, a meeting with colleagues, volunteering in your community or at your child's school. next to introducing yourself, the most commonly asked and answered question is, "so, what do you do?"
our identity is so stooped in our vocation, that next to our name, we are known as or even referred to by our job title. i'm a teacher. i'm a student. i'm a doctor. i'm a musician. to an extent, it's much easier to answer the question with "i teach kindergarten," simply because I spend between 50 and 60 hours a week devoting my life to just that.
if afforded the opportunity to expound, and granted the interest in the answer is beyond surface level asking-to-be-nice, i might share what my day looks like, the things i enjoy about it, or the challenges it presents, daily. and chances are, i will offer the courteous follow-up, "and what about you?"
to a certain point, simply stating our vocation depicts a fairly accurate description of our identity and character, but it's also strangely limiting. i am much more than a teacher. and during many parts of my day, i dream about those parts of me that are starving for the same attention i devote to teaching. granted, it might come off fairly odd to respond to that question with "i'm a dreamer. a writer. a traveler. a do-er. a child of God. an extrovert stuck in the season of introverted-ness. a server." i'm sure that would elicit a few sets of rolled eyes and potentially the end of the conversation.
i went to school for teaching. teaching is what pays the bills. education is a passion of mine, and on most days, i feel like it's where i am supposed to be.
but regardless of what our calendars or wardrobe may suggest, we can not be reduced simply to what we do as a career.
so why then, do we spend so much time and effort into developing that part of our identity, and so little to the other parts; the other parts that often make us feel more alive and like "ourselves" than our job?
we starve our passions, and we call ourselves committed to excellence in our job. we don't nourish the parts of us that refresh us, and we wonder why we are exhausted at the end of our work day. we flex our corporate muscles when what lies under the suit and tie is suffering from atrophy. we give all of ourselves to a career that leaves us feeling worn, unhappy, under appreciated, or insignificant. we get home from work, only to continue to send emails, work on projects, lesson plan, or think about nothing more than work.
exercising more than one part of the body brings your body into balance. focusing on just the arms will leave you top-heavy. focusing on just the legs would leave you weak. at risk of sounding nameste-esque, we need to bring our lives into the zen we were created to have.
you have been given unique talents and abilities and gifts and passions. maybe you're not even good at them, but you love doing them when no one is looking. dear one, exercise those things! allow yourself time (longevity) to grow into them. but first, allot yourself time (schedule-wise) to spend on them.
yesterday morning, i had a moment of peace in my busy day in which i felt joy from teaching. to be incredibly transparent, i don't feel that often each week. and at the same time when i felt a love for teaching, i simultaneously wanted to quit my job and be a starving artist or writer, holed up in a corner coffee shop, scribbling notes and ideas that allow my creative side to flourish.
I realized since the start of the school year, I have only fed and poured into the part of my identity labeled teacher. my other identities were starved for attention, and i felt the hunger pangs that were drawing me into feeding my creative side. i could hardly wait to get these words out of my mind and onto a page. not that they are ground breaking or new, but for the simple sake of writing. for the act of artistically and systematically stringing together sentences of alliterations. of expressing feelings that aren't neccessarily coupled with linguistic expression until the words trickle onto the page at the mercy of my finger tips.
American writer and essayist, Flannery O'Connor once said, "I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say." Selfishly, I write to make sense of the mess that is going on inside my heart and mind. Writing brings unity to the chaos. Words on the page are the universal language to the multitude of dialetcs being spoken and (mis)interpreted in the silent space between my ears.
Secondarily, I write in hopes that it brings sense to those that read it as well. for those yes! moments in which we feel as if someone relates. in hopes that my experiences will help reveal the mystery of the metaphors life often speaks to us.
i've never run a marathon, but i volunteered at the finish line once (and that pretty much counts). i imagine that crossing that line is like hitting "publish" on a post. it may not have been pretty. it may have taken a lot longer than you anticipated. and you may have done it just for you. but the feeling when you get when you're finished, the satisfaction of having done it, knowing that you had it in you all along: these things make the investment worth it.
so, feed yourself. and well. not the junky, fast-food version that does nothing more than make you not-hungry. indulge, even if it means making extra time to add the extra ingredients to make it extra savory. it's good for you. it makes you healthier. a healthier you is a happier you. whether that you is a dreamer, a dancer, a doctor, or a do-er. feast on, friend! i'll be right behind ya in line at the buffet!
to callings beyond careers,
xo
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