So what do you do for work?
A good amazing friend once told me how tired she was talking about what people do. She said, ¨I want magic, I want to know about your passions and your dreams, not about your job¨..something like that anyway. and it stuck with me. Her words to this day keep me from asking that question the first time I meet a new person.
Instead I ask what do you love to do? How do you spend your days? How do you play? Who do you wanna be when you grow up? Do you believe in magic? What do you dream about?
It gets to the point where I am avoiding that question with every word I speak( ¨so what do you do for work¨)
Funny, now that I have found my work and it courses through me and I am passionate about it, I want to scream it at the top of the worlds. I desire every woman to know about what I do, because every woman can stand to be more embodied-I crave for every woman to be an intuitive, passion filled, sovereign, bad ass, empowered women.
But, I still don’t ask humans what they do for work. It is still not at the top of my list of interesting subjects to converse about. When it does pop up in conversation I can now feel the heat when someone is in love with their work as opposed to hating it.
and I can ask poignant questions like..
what do you desire to do instead?
what is stopping you from doing that?
what if you couldn’t fail?
will you regret never trying?
I can ask the questions that create awareness around this sweet sweet life we have. This abundant and fertile landscape at our fingertips. This canvas that is calling to not just be etched and patiently stroked on but is calling for splatters, colors, depth, and mess.
My partner has been searching for something more. He sees my passion and he wants one too. Something that rushes through him and uses him to create magic.
I say-whats the first thing that pops up when I ask you if you have any inkling of something fertile you wish to pursue. Maybe its something that surfaces quickly then recedes with a doubt, a ¨that’s not me¨, or a ¨ya right¨.
He pauses and looks around taking a few minutes and then says- it sounds silly but I have always wanted to write a book of short stories about my experiences on the river.
and right there I see his fire that was kept subtly shrouded.
I jump in at once, rooting for him, championing for his dreams, and his urges. I keep prodding and prying under the layers of imposter syndrome, guilt, doubt, and resignation.
Its 9pm and almost dark outside. I push on until he agrees to write 10 ideas for short stories down. Then he does.
After all 10,000 proclamations of ¨i am not a writer¨, he turns out to be a writer.
We as Americans, because that is vastly who I know, are stuck on the question, ¨so what do you do for work¨, and yet and yet and yet many of us are working in jobs that do not fill us up with the spark of life.
Woman you are creative, you are a healer, you are a heroine, you are a goddess, you are an artist, you are a dancer, you are a teacher, you are a writer, you are a musician, you are so much muchness(have you lost your muchness?-alice in wonderland)
Your dreams matter. What you love to do matters.
We are our mothers daughters and our grandmothers granddaughters. But scarcity is a lie. The pursuit of money will never satisfy your soul.
Find your wildness find your spark and don’t let any one take it from you.
