Do you even believe in the idea that somewhere in the ether of your existence there exists one thing that, once discovered, could bring new meaning to your life?
In my case, I’ve tried so many things, I might, by now, have drawn the inference that there’s no such thing and that all we can hope for is a degree of solemnity or grace in being presented with so many choices, even if (in all likelihood) we never live out our calling.
Perhaps we look in the wrong place: we’re conditioned to believe that in and through work we can grow as people. But it never works out that way. If anything, particularly when we’re predisposed to question the status quo, we realise how foolish it is to see ourselves in our work and not who we truly are — i.e. fully human: all alive body, soul and spirit.
Of course, in the midst of the current Brexit crises and the age of the Anthropocene, questioning our place in the world, let alone why we’re not following our North Star looks more than a little solipsistic. But, in all seriousness, and perhaps it’s an age thing, the sooner we dive beneath the labels we’ve inflicted upon ourselves, the more likely it is that we’ll begin to see the idiocy of the regnant narrative apropos work, growth and success.