Ever caught yourself in a moment in life where you wonder how you got here? I have. Here I was, no longer imagining the precipice, no longer standing on the edge of the precipice, I was in the space off the precipice -- an empty void of space smack dab in the unknown. Everything in my gut told me this was the right place to be, but then again, where was I?
I had left my job to pursue my passion, my calling, my dreams -- left an insanely dreary unfulfilling sales job with the security of a paycheck and full health benefits to sit in front on my computer and create. I decided I wasn't addicted to that paycheck! I could stretch a small payout and my savings account for weeks, even months. And oh boy, did I know how to make money (I had done it before), so I would figure out some sort of consulting, writing or other gig to bring in some income and make it all work. I would, wouldn't I?
There was one thing my old profession (sales) and my new calling (writing) had in common - "What have you done for me lately?" Except now what mattered was my story and word count and the only person I had to answer to was myself, my ancestors, and the base desires of my soul. More pressure than reporting to a sales manager, but a lot more fulfilling -- with the exception of the paycheck. We do need to make money to live, right?
I have always been the type of person to work, earn money, have a job, get a job. After the 2008 economic crisis I had a bit of an incident -- working as a consultant to a startup whose owner didn't know his burn rate left me with a substantial decrease in income for a bit ($0) after many years of high earnings. But historically I perceived that period to be the exception not the rule. My first official W-2 employment at Big 5 Sporting Goods when I was 17, I would show up eagerly for work on a Sunday for my cashier duties (prior to that I was an "entrepreneur" writing rhythmic poems for neighbors and doing acrylic nails for my school friends).
So here I was, older and wiser (ahem) in my thirties, focusing on a crucial piece of work that I knew had to be completed in order for me to feel complete - my first novel based on the story of my Armenian ancestors. I would sit diligently in front of my computer for hours on a daily basis, crafting the story, and even had the added support of a 90-day novel writing course for structure and guidance for well... writing. I had not made the rookie mistake (that I had made before) of trying to figure it all out on my own. I finally had the focus, time and professional resources to do this! What could possibly stop me?
Money? Mind you, I do not live at home with my parents, yes I pay rent, and I have a car payment, amongst other bills. So I was focusing daily, working diligently and earning... yes, you guessed it! Nothing! How was this going to work out?
I was sitting in the blank void beyond the precipice with discipline, focus, a fire in my belly. Everything I ever needed to turn the corner and live out my calling was here, except the money. The desire that I had dreamed of for decades, the one that was pasted on vision boards of years past, the dreams that I had always hoped one day would someday materialize (somehow, miraculously, emerge from my magic wand). Would this passion, desire, discipline, and focus summons the energies of other worlds to come to my aid in the support of the achievement of my destiny? Well, would it? I'm asking.
Because I don't know. But I certainly know one thing. For years I had putzed around in crappy, corporate sales jobs where I didn't even make the kind of money I expected. I have hated these positions, spent 40 or so hours of my week (plus the obligatory 10 or so just in seething hatred) maligning my situation, fantasizing about this future role I would play - writer, speaker, entrepreneur. As Einstein said (the Albert Einstein), "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
So I wasn't going to do the same thing over and over again. I was going to try something different even though it seemed a little bit insane. I would not go out and get a job, which I could do, because I needed the time to write. I was not going to question the need for this piece of work to be borne out of me. I was not going to have daily panic attacks about the details of money. I would not pass "go" and I would not collect "$200." Okay, well maybe I would collect $200 if I could but I wouldn't obsess about it.
I was in the midst of the corridor between who I was, on my way to who I was to become. There was no way in hell I was going to let the Benjamin's (or lack thereof) stop me. I knew too many people who died without fulfilling their destiny, pursuing their dreams, living their heart's desire. And there is always a good reason (excuse) for selling your God-given talents and desires short. But time waits for no one.
I was in the corridor on my way to something great (myself) and somehow, someway, I was going to get to my destination. The destination was my future unfolding into the path I had to forge for myself. There was no guarantee, there was no rule book, but there was the shear satisfaction I had of knowing I was trying to live the life I had always wanted to. Better call Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore.