Does anyone ever really get this question? How can what you thought you were meant to do when you were in college, or even high school, somehow has lost its appeal?
When do you figure out that what you're spending so much time on is less than satisfying? I could never stand an office job, for example. I don't do well with fluorescent lights and time-clocks. So freelancing seems ideal.
But perspective is different than reality.
For me, someone with numerous stages and labels (writer, mother, part-time writer, philosophic existentialist) what is to be when the unknown is right around the corner?
Does anyone have any clue? Feel free to lend me some clues here, semblance of things great yet to come. If believing is seeing, according to Wayne Dyer, my latest virtual seer, then when will I believe?
Who knows? What are you gonna do? That's what my wiser, realistic, sturdy manly man of a husband tells me. He is my ballast.
What are you guys doing to keep a foothold on sanity?
Answers gratefully accepted.
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