Flibbertigibbet

Shrug Atlas

I was recently engaged in a rather heady and emotional conversation with a trusted and wise friend of mine about what I percieve to be a lack of purpose in my life.

I've typically stated this as not knowing what I want to be when I grow up.

Well, my friend asked me rather pointedly, "What would you do if you were fearless?" Meaning, if you weren't concerned about how you would make your mortgage payment and pay the bills and all of that stuff, what would you pursue as your profession?

I immediately responded, "I would get my doctorate in philosophy, study art, and teach." It was an easy question for me because it's what I've dreamed of doing in my retirement after I had established my wealth in my career. It seems to ideal to me because the whole of my occupation would be dedicated to reading and writing and talking about ideas. Even if no one reads or listens back, this is incredibly appealing to me almost as an exercise in itself.

And he said, "Holy crap!" because he didn't know.

The oppressive lack of satisfaction in my present career brings this all to a head.

But the proposition of going back to school for another five years and accumulating more debt and living the student-level of poverty is daunting. And don't even get me started on how bleak the employment prospects for doctors of philosophy are.

Even so, now I said it out loud and I don't see a way to avoid it. My brain is preoccupied these days with how to make this happen.

He who has "why" to live for can bear almost any "how." - Friedrich Nietzsche