A Life Worth Living

Call me a romantic, but I believe that everyone has a purpose, a calling. Some are very different from others. Some people are called to be teachers, or lawyers, or designers, or counselors, or missionaries, or architects, or stay-at-home moms, or stay-at-home dads, or just parents, or writers, or dancers, or musicians, or….you fill in the blank. But I think that there’s something out there for all of us that we’re meant to do. Something that makes us feel…right.

I know. Sappy, heart-felt thoughts from a girl with her head in the clouds.

Over the past few years, though, I’ve been bombarded by the idea that the most important thing for a person my age to do is to find a good career–one that will give us job stability, great experience, and, most importantly, great pay. Now, don’t get me wrong–all of those things are great and all. But what rubs me the wrong way is when we’re labeled as failures because we don’t get them.

Literally every day for the past four years, I have been momentarily struck by terror at the idea of not finding this “successful career” after I graduate. It follows me to classes, to my current job, to church, to lunch dates, and it always always follows me back home where I’m left lying awake at night hoping and praying that I’ll find that glamorous job.

But then I started taking a good look at my life–what I was prioritizing, what I was stressing myself out over, what made me happy, what made me feel like I was sinking into depression, and what I truly felt passionate about. And suddenly I realized that somewhere along the way, I began to give up my passions and my loves for things that I was told were more important.

I became a victim of the “real life” attack.

I started to try and forget about dreams and passions that I had because I was told that they weren’t going to get me anywhere and that forgetting them was what I was supposed to do. That giving up dreams is a part of life.

Dreams don’t pay the bills. Dreams don’t pay back student loans. Dreams don’t get you that nice car. Dreams don’t get you to that nice house. Dreams don’t get you anywhere.

For years I’ve succumbed to the idea that the most important thing in life is to find a good salary. But if giving up what I love to do is what gets me that good salary, then is it really worth it?

Now, before I go any further, let me make something clear. I’m talking about these things as it relates to someone like me, who doesn’t already have a family to support or people relying on them to pay the bills. I understand that those circumstances would bring about a whole different perspective on what I’m saying. But I’m talking about someone whose decisions affect them and them alone. Someone who, usually, would be about my age. Fresh out of college (or even fresh out of high school) and looking for their start somewhere.

We live in a culture that tells us we can achieve our dreams one day and then the next day tells us to get a “real job” (even if we hate it). What exactly are the qualifications for a real job anyway? Monday through Friday, 9-5? Getting paid a certain amount per year? Having to dress nicely and go to some sort of office every day?

Over the years, this is what I’ve come to understand about what’s expected of me:

If what I really want to do is not considered a “real job,” then I need to give it up and find a real job that pays well. Then I can go to this job that I’m not passionate about, spend my entire day there  (because working ridiculous hours is a good thing in our culture), come home, have no time to do anything else, go to bed, wake up, and do the exact same thing over again every day for years and years until I’m a middle-aged woman with a big house who had dreams and passions once but who gave them up because I was told to get a “real job” so that I could be a middle aged woman who talks about what she could have been and who’s miserable.

That’s what I’m supposed to do. That’s what some people call life.

What’s the point? What is the point of it all? If all I’m living this life for is to get a job that gets me more money at the expense of everything I love doing so that I can live “comfortably,” then where is there room for happiness? For purpose? For passion?

A life without these things is not a life worth living. Not to me. And it’s not a life that I want to pursue.

Before I start to worry you, relax–these are not suicidal thoughts. Kind of the opposite, really. This life I’ve described–without passion, purpose, happiness–is a sort of suicide in my eyes. It’s killing that part of you that is giggling like a little kid on the inside out of sheer joy in doing something you love. It’s killing that rush, that pounding of your heart when you lose yourself in the beauty and joy of the world around you. It’s killing the part of you that looks forward to tomorrow because it knows that you’ll be doing something that makes you feel alive. That makes you feel like you’re life is worth something–something more than money.

Honestly, I see nothing wrong with having a job you don’t hate that pays decently but doesn’t have ridiculous hours and doesn’t take over your entire life so that you have an income and time to do what you really love on the side. And yet, many people will say that those who do this are just wasting their lives when they could be doing far better things with it. Like making more money.

As for me, a life of passion is the life I’m searching for. It may look different for me than it does for you, it may take more bravery for some than it does for others, and it may require more sacrifice from a few than it does for most. But it’s worth it, I think.

I now understand that famous John Lennon quote better than I ever did before:

“When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy.’ They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.”

I’d rather be poor and happy than rich and miserable. I’d rather live a life of passion than a life of “supposed to’s.”

I’d rather live a life worth living.