Life has been great. After what seemed to be a slow creep, my career is about to be launched. I feel like a fledgling, perched on the nest’s edge, waiting for mother bird’s gentle nudge. I know my wings are ready. So many years have been spent strengthening them for the long flight. But now, as I get ready to take off, I tremble and feel a pang of fear.
Can I do it? Do I truly know which way to go? And when I finally am able to settle which direction to pursue… is it really what I want?
These are things I dare not share with others for fear of being ridiculed or accused of being a sloth. I dare not because I am not so sure if the ridicule and accusations really are untrue.
I feel this strong urge to do something on my own. I long to break free of structure, of the chains that bind me to my career. I envy people who are able to work from home and manage themselves. I long to be creative. To write as I want. To read as I want. To play music. To be read. And to be heard.
I feel envious of Leo Babauta (of Zen Habits and Write to Done) who is able to support his family because of the blogs he writes. He stays home most of the time and seems to be in utter control of his schedule. He runs. He lives the minimalist, uncluttered life. And best of all, he appears to be very happy with the life he has chosen to live.
I give myself time. I may be feeling this way only because starting out is never easy. And the easiest thing to do when one faces a brick wall of resistance is to turn back or change one’s directions. I ask the Lord for strength to climb past the big wall so that I can enjoy the green fields that lie beyond. And, if I am not meant to climb such, I ask for the grace to discern the direction I should take.
Countless articles have given this single important advice: to know which path to take, one has to know his best strengths. His talents and gifts. And so I pause, I ask myself, and once again, I am completely dumbfounded.
I do love to read but I cannot think of a way to earn from this love. I write but my capacity is far from being extraordinary; surely one cannot earn a living from writing such as this. I play the guitar and can shoot pictures, but my skills are not far better than the next Juan or Juana. What to do, what to do?
And then I think of all the years of preparation that brought me to where I am. Years of training, countless hours of hospital duty and out-patient clinics, research papers, presentations and lectures, and examinations. All amounting to significant time away from my loved ones. Time away from hobbies and personal pursuits. I guess I know now what I have been called to be and to do. I am called to become a doctor, an _____ist, a ______logist. To make sense of all the blood, sweat, prayers and countless buckets of tears that helped me through all of the difficulties, I have to be one. A good one.
What to do with this restlessness and feeling of lack of direction?
I pray to God. As I type this, I beg Him to take hold of my hand, let me not stumble, and show me the way.
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