Remember when you were small and at one point in your very young life, you knew exactly what you were going to “be”? Well, I remember the day when it happened to me. I was seven years old and quite convinced that I would become a teacher. But are we limited to having just one?
It’s a confusing, humbling experience when you discover your calling. You may stumble upon it, you might have to fight for it, or you just might know what it is years in advance and just expect to fall into it eventually, like I did. One way or another, it just happens.
It’s a much more fragmented, painful process when you realize that a dream, an ideal that you once birthed and have cultivated for years, is dying. What was once vibrant, something that fed your soul while you simultaneously gave your all to anyone willing to accept, is now a shell. It’s hollow and devoid of meaning – not because you’ve stopped giving your all, but because realize that you’re surrounded by takers – black holes that passively drain you of your shimmer, consuming the sacred inner glow that lights up your spirit and inspires you to guide others.
What do you do? How does one cope during this slow painful death? My goal is to let go, let God, and move on.
Author, dreamer, mother, wife, sister, daughter, Believer, romantic, instructor, researcher, performer, friend, reader, underutilized philanthrope (my own fault - I'm working on it), discoverer, educator, Foodie, holistic, sentimental, human.