I have stopped counting since how long I’ve been looking and waiting to find the real reason of my life…the real calling…my real passion, my real drive.
I’ve lost count of how many times I feel that I’m in the wrong profession. Once a day, twice a day…don’t know.
I’ve come a long way from doubting the choice of profession, then making myself believe that this is the one for me, to doubting it again.
Now, I am on the point where I believe this is not for me.
Now, what next?
Every time the thought clouds me, shroud me, I make conscious efforts to find out some trace or proof, that tells me, that could answer me, on what else could be my calling.
Could it be teaching, since I like to guide/counsel and talk and meet new people?
Could it be interior designs, since I like fabrics and designs and trends so much? Especially, coz it involves creativity and aesthetics.
Or, could it be entrepreneurship? A new company, or multiple ventures, small but successful.
I remember thinking about archaeology too. I always loved travel, history and the mystery around the times gone by.
Then, there was public speaking…something I found a way towards too. A real person who could lead me, guide me to make a mark, in the field. But, since I don’t feel driven enough towards it, despite the means and the end clearly in front of me, I feel maybe it is not the real calling still. Coz, if it was, I wouldn’t have abandoned it because of hurdles.
Well, it’s not completely true that I abandoned it. I still think on it. But…
I want to get into my next field ready with my knowledge and learning. I don’t want to dabble and fail at it.
I can’t take another failure now. The stakes are so high now, that if I fail, I doubt if I’ll ever be able to muster up the courage to start afresh.
Sigh! Fear is always the first step towards Failure.
I wish I could try each of my options one by one. I could just give them a try and then see what is meant for me and what’s not.
Just like they do in the novels. I never thought the novels were just a piece of fiction. They are as true and as possible as my own life story written in a book.
What differentiates a novel and a real life story is that someone thought it and believed in it to go for it. You didn’t, in your real life.
I want to be the doer than the talker. But, I have started feeling that perhaps, I’m just the talker. And, never the doer.
Will I die a death where I regret having not found my passion? Will my life end like this? Will I never be able to venture out and find out the real answers?
Or, will I learn to believe that this is the truth and there’s no other truth out there? Just like I’ve learned to believe so many other things about the life, the world, the society.
No, I don’t want that. I don’t want to believe in something I don’t have a proof of. And God, if this is the truth, you give me proof of the fact.
Otherwise, you know better.