I do! I do! I do!

I find myself between a rock and the proverbial blade of an oncoming bulldozer. (This is called foreshadowing.)

Here's the deal:
I believe in magic. I do. Period.

I believe in following your bliss, tapping into your destiny, unleashing your purpose. I do. I believe.

I've spoken of it here before. "Could the court reporter, please read back the transcripts?"

I'll even go so far as to say that I believe with all my heart that we are all here for a reason. I mean a specific, custom-made, unique and individualized purpose. Each and every one of us. And I'm not talking about being here to shove someone out of the way of an oncoming bus one day on the way to work. I mean the way we are to spend our life's energy during our time on the planet. What we are to do with the life we are given. 'Given,' as in gift.

THE thing we would do endlessly even if no one ever paid us to do it.

Painting, dancing, teaching, cooking, photography, supporting, writing, singing, martial arts, acting, skating, nursing, sculpting, walking, cartoon drawing. The possibilities are without end. I believe this is so.

I know that I know that I know. . . . that there is something for which each one of us is here. What would you do with all of your spare time if money weren't an issue and you knew you could not fail? If nothing were too crazy or outlandish?

I don't care if it's kite building, mushroom hunting, pinball repair, bowling pin painting, chimney designing, restaurant reviewing, cave exploring, travel writing, professional book reader, classic movie critic, gourd painter, clam digger, french fry taster, glass blower, furniture re-arranger, thrift store shopper, ice cream flavor inventor, hat knitter, room service mystery shopper, truffle chef, Ghostbuster quote memorizer. Underwater basket weaving, which is a class I actually took in high school.

There's something that revives your spirit. Something that stirs your blood. I believe there is something that each one of us could do endlessly because it would never rob us of energy but instead refill our tanks.

I took a class at PLU many years ago; it was for adults returning to school. The objective was writing a portfolio of 'learning essays' to make a case for college credit we believed we should earn for our life experience.

The evening of the third class, we were to narrow our desired field of study within which the academic panel would later 'judge' our portfolio. So if you felt most of your life experience that might be deemed worthy of college credit had been in the field of computers (laid off Microsoft employee) or aero-dynamics (Boeing), this is what you would declare.

During a class break that night, I was walking down the stairs with one of the instructors as we were talking about my indecision.

The practical, responsible, left brain side of me knew I should aim for a major in business. I have always had a clear sense of systems. Like organizational systems for offices. Layout design, work flow, filing, furniture arrangement, processing. What works and what doesn't. What helps and what doesn't. It comes quite naturally to me even though I've really had no desire to work in or run any type of office.

The dreamy, giggly, happy-feet, right brain side of me dared to hope that maybe, possibly, pretty please, I could be a writer someday. To tell stories that people would love to read. Pay to read. That people would ask for more of.

I knew the stable, secure decision was a business degree of some type. This was the grown up, smart, pragmatic choice. Sensible, prudent, judicious. (Try saying such words as these with a big fat grin on your face.)

As we descended the stairs to the vending machines, juggling the possibilities of business or potential bestseller-hood, Marie stopped at the landing between floors and looked at me. "Which one would you LOVE to do?" she asked.

"Writing." Without hesitation and with a little chill up my spine. "Writing." Like this was the stupidest question ever asked. Writing, what else? WRITING. This was a moment for me. I haven't for one second considered a career in business since that moment. (Thank you Marie! God bless you.)

Somehow, somewhere along the line we got sucked into the 'collective dream' concept. The collective American dream. Was this some Ozzie and Harriet episode that ran away with our senses? Was there a subliminal message fed to us via Gilligan's Island or The Wonderful World of Disney? Who on earth decided that the ultimate dream is universal in practical terms: family, home, college education, money, 401K, nice car. Like there is something inherently wrong with us if we opt out of one or all parts of this dream. Is there something sinister in the drinking water?

It may be that your heart longs for children. Something you've always known. Your soul's desire. A deep knowing that you were meant to have children. Great! I celebrate your dream, your passion, your calling. But to suggest that this should be the dream for one and all, is ludicrous. I want to know, "Says who?" Our ancestors? Our neighbors? The fucking television? Because writing is my dream, I should assume and push it on those around me? How arrogant would that be of me?

It feels crazy to me that we are all so much alike that success would be defined for us all by one set of standards. This seems like a recipe for misery. And I think if we look around us in this society we can easily spot a good deal of misery. Or the alcohol in attempt to numb the misery.

For how many of us is a healthy retirement account, the ultimate dream? That if you could do anything with your time, and you'd do it for no pay, it would be to build a retirement fund?

I don't think so. What are you building the retirement fund for? What will you be so happy and relieved to do with your spare time when and if you get to retirement? Travel? Garden? Chainsaw wood carvings?

So your dream isn't really the retirement account, it's the wood carving. Why wait? What if you don't get to that arbitrary age of retirement or independent wealth? Start something today, right now. Even if it's just five minutes of classic car restoration a day to begin. Even if it just starts with some research online. Start. Period.

We are all going to spend, use up twenty four hours today. This does not seem negotiable. By this time tomorrow, twenty four hours will have passed whether you've spent it trudging through another day of a job you can barely stand or begin to indulge your soul in some dream fulfillment.

Isn't this why we need to zone out at the end of the day? In front of the TV, the computer, the video game or the bar? To unwind and get over the fact that we spent another day doing something we hate? Or at least that we certainly do not LOVE? Aren't these activities poor substitutes for finding and pursuing our passion?

You know the truth. You've heard it before. No one ever gets to their death bed and utters 'I wish I'd spent more time at the office, on the job, at work.' (Unless of course you are one of the fortunate few who discovered and HONORED their passion for a living.)

I know what your responsible, adult, left brain is yelling at me right now:

"But you have to make a living. You need money to buy that chainsaw."

"Top of the line clown shoes do not just grow on trees, there Missy!"

But I really believe and I do not think you can prove me wrong, when I say that if you let go,let go with both hands, magic will happen. It cannot help but happen. Like the irrefutable math formula. It just is.

Follow your bliss and the magic will happen. The money will follow. The universe will rise up and support you somehow. Probably in a way your left brain could never have imagined. It's when we try to keep a fist in both worlds that it falls apart.

Do you think the man who runs his own hot air balloon service in Juneau Alaska went for the practical choice? I think it's safe to say Bill Gates, Oprah Winfrey, Dale Chihuly, JK Rowling, Charles Schulz all let go of the responsible, prudent path at one time or another. And maybe again and again.

Excerpt from an interview:

BILL MOYERS: Do you ever have the sense of... being helped by hidden hands?

JOSEPH CAMPBELL: All the time. It is miraculous. I even have a superstition that has grown on me as a result of invisible hands coming all the time - namely, that if you do follow your bliss you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. When you can see that, you begin to meet people who are in your field of bliss, and they open doors to you. I say, follow your bliss and don't be afraid, and doors will open where you didn't know they were going to be.

For more on Joseph Campbell and Follow Your Bliss: http://www.jcf.org/new/index.php?categoryid=31

I do not believe any force in the universe would put us here with a profound desire unless we were meant to fulfill it. Unless it was prepared to support us in this dream.

I believe. I do, I do, I do.

If you truly honor and follow your heart's dream, how can you possibly be a failure?

What activity in your life lifts you up? What gives you more energy the more you do it? What do you hate having to stop doing?

What something have you secretly dreamed about, what are you afraid to utter aloud? Would it be ballroom dancing? To tour all the great roller coasters of the world? To live in a cottage by the shore? To travel the globe in search of the best cannoli? Be a professional cribbage player? Caretaker in a National Park? A race car mechanic? Driver? Deep sea diver?

We are raised to believe that we are responsible for our lives.
But I believe we are responsible to our lives. To exist is a gift. How can we best show our gratitude for such a priceless opportunity? In fact, isn't it the only way to truly express our thanks. If we waste the time in life working our ass off for the reasonable, rational 'goals' that others tell us we should pursue, shame on us. Shame on you. Shame on me!

It's very late at night and this post will have to be continued soon. Don't forget where we left off.... I need to get back to that bulldozer thing.

Can I tell you that this blog post is nothing like I'd planned?

Well, I just did and it's true. I came here to vent and sort out my difficulties and mixed emotions about Aaron leaving for his walking trip across America. Or what we've affectionately come to call his "Bullshit Expedition." (Unconditional affection at work.) But look at the post that happened instead. Funny how these things work out, huh?