Just how many lives do you think you have?

A neighbor and her husband are planning on sailing across the Atlantic next year. Her husband had recently made the trip, going first to Bermuda, then the Azores, before docking in Gibraltar. I asked her if she was afraid of being out in the vast Atlantic, all alone, in a, by comparison, tiny catamaran. She replied, “Heck no. I see people die all the time. I want to live.”

My friend and neighbor is a nurse in the oncology department at a local hospital. She does see people die all the time.

It made me wonder about the difference between people who choose their work as though they will always have another shot at doing what they really want to do and people who live life by their own rules, doing work that is completely satisfying. And making certain they do it before they die. Considering a person will work 40 to 55 years of their life, why would someone choose work they didn’t really enjoy? Especially if there is something else they prefer doing or are destined to do.

There are probably numerous answers to this question but the overriding one I believe is: Fear. People are afraid if they don’t take the job offered another won’t come along and they will be destitute. They fear that following their dreams is indulgent and selfish. They fear if they don’t earn a lot of money, whether they like the job or not, others will judge them, their family will suffer, and they will be living in the streets in their old age. They fear their calling is the wrong calling. Regardless, it boils down to the same thing: They are afraid of what could happen if not taking the “safe” route. Personally, I am more afraid of dying and not doing the work I was intended to do.

Even if you can get past these fears, you may be wondering where to start. This insightful article, Career Assessment: Finding Satisfying Work is a great guide. According to the article, key to alignment is:

1. Discover what you are designed to do.
2. Do it.
3. Minimize everything else.

I don’t believe the issue so much is that we don’t know what we’re designed to do but that we enlarge everything else in our lives so that our purpose becomes inconsequential or worse, forgotten. I recall a friend from high school who had the most beautiful singing voice. Her performance in the school’s version of Fiddler on the Roof made me gasp at its perfection. Today, I understand she is a hospital administrator. Great job, no doubt, but I am saddened to think what the world has lost in not being able to hear her sing.