Sometimes I have to question myself as to why I think the things I think, and how on earth did I get started on the topic that I am thinking about. (Yes, I occasionally have conversations with myself, doesn’t everyone??!!)
Like, when I was thinking about how miraculous it is to give birth to a baby. The whole process from conception to birthing is pretty extraordinary. But this particular conversation I was having with myself was primarily on the delivery: the baby getting into position, the contractions, etc. (Don’t ask me what started it. When I asked myself, I couldn’t remember.). And weirdly – because I do weirdly at times – I started mulling over why obstetricians decide to be obstetricians. Are they also amaze by the medical mechanics of the birthing process? Or do they have a deep desire to save as many at risk moms and babies as possible (maybe they or someone close to them lost one or the other – or both)? Or do they just love that moment of bringing a baby into the world? Hearing their first cry? It’s like, WOW. Really? A life?! A living, breathing, heart-pumping new person! Incredible.
And, like, (still talking to myself) why didn’t obstetricians choose to be plastic surgeons? But maybe plastic surgeons become plastic surgeons because they were teased when they were young because of a mark on their face, or because someone they knew had a disfigurement and they want to help people have more confidence about their appearance. There is, after all, a lot of negative things we undergo through this life without having a disfigurement.
Why do people choose the jobs they end up in? (Carrying on into the next phase of the conversation I was having with myself…) My husband has always loved building things, and while he did want to follow in his father’s footsteps (train engineer), his father dissuaded him as he saw the future of the trains rapidly diminishing. Instead, he ended up a construction worker and slid into a gifted carpenter when he had to stop taking the bodily abuse commercial construction does to a body. His gift/joy found him early.
Myself (I could still be chatting to myself, but I rather think I’ve gotten to the actual blog now and nearly ready to make a point…I think), I wanted to be a nun (for about 5 minutes as a child; didn’t a lot of us Catholic children want to be a nun or a priest when too young to understand the implications of the role?) Later, I wanted to be an archeologist, then an architect, then later an artist or a musician – and maybe writer. Although I’m fascinated by many fields, my creative side usually wins out. It took over and slid me into my art tendencies, then it took over into my music. Lastly (well, there never seems to be a lastly in life, does there?), it took over into my desire to put words on a piece of paper and hope it is a beautiful or impactful thing. So, I write. This gives me the opportunity to delve into anything and everything, including the jobs I thought I wanted – if I want to. So, am I a writer because it snuck in? Or have I always been a writer at heart? (Yes!)
In second grade I began a story. (Tragically, I have no idea what happened to it – I’ve always wanted to finish it; see! writer at heart!) The title of it was The Mystery of the Green Tennis Shoelaces. I got about four or five pages in– Then there was an American war story I started in fourth grade; about thirty pages– Didn’t finish that either, but I think I got bored with that one. Not my genre. (Why I remember those two, I have no idea – unless it's because I didn't finish them!) Eventually, I learned to finish the projects, stories and other things I was creating, mostly because I want to see the end result. Creation is pretty powerful.
So, what’s my point? (Do I have a point? In some of my rambling blogs, I’m not so sure.) I think that which we truly love to do never leaves us. It will find its way into our lives somehow; whether in our jobs or our hobbies or ways we help others, it’s part of us and we should let it free. One of my sister’s and her husband started filling jars and bottles with lights and fun stuff, and she paints them – and they are beautiful! I had no idea she could paint. I’m so happy that she’s been able to let her painting soul flourish. It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t make a living at it; it matters that she’s answering the call in her soul to make beauty out of a mere bottle.
Find your soul thing and use it in whatever way you can – whether it’s painting jars, playing a sport, or helping in a homeless shelter. The happiest people have got to be the people who can do even a little of what feeds their souls.
Got sidetracked by my creative side again, so now, since I started the blog with a conversation to myself, I’ll end that conversation: If you ever see me in person, don’t bother trying to figure out what I’m thinking about. It could be anything! And two seconds later, another anything!
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