Wednesday, January 27, 2016

All the World is a Stage, Until...

As a boy, I knew, for sure, what I wanted to be.

As a young man, I began to feel an internal wrestling match: What I wanted to be versus what I wanted to be perceived as. 

We could very well want to be something because we want to impress people. There are doctors who live for the wonders of medicine; who deeply feel a calling to help others. But I am sure there are also doctors who wanted to be doctors so that they could be seen as doctors.

Sometimes we want to be a thing because that thing is respected or because it carries with it the trappings of "image" that we covet, but if that thing is not what we truly want to be -- or, more accurately, to do -- can we be happy? 

I actually never had any dreams of being a teacher. It sort of happened by accident; however, I love teaching. I always wanted to be a full-time musician, but when I started doing it, I realized I loved music too much to enslave it. I sure did like the idea, though, of telling people "I am a musician" when they asked what I did for a living. 

I had a friend who was, as a profession, "a writer." I felt some jealousy about this. Why, I don't know, because he wrote medical texts, and I would rather rub my face on stucco than write about medicine. Or, rather, I do know: I was tempted by the desire to be able to tell people "I am a writer." Like, really. Like, for a living. 

Well, I am a writer and a musician and, now, it is enough to know that...and to just do it. It's sad that we need to make life decisions when we are young -- when we still feel as if leaving the house is like stepping onto a stage. All hail happy accidents. 

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