A New Old Calling

I have been and continue to be lost. My life is decently aimless. I have penchants and inklings, but no hard and fast direction. I have been wandering for years, mainly since I graduated from college. I was called out on this once as if it were a bad thing. It was the first time I considered that it might be a bad thing. It has its drawbacks, but in general, I don't see any problem with it. Given the alternative, I'd rather be wandering and finding myself. At 26, if I knew exactly who I was and where I was going, what would be the point of going on?

Instead, I have no idea where I'm going and, in the words of Seinfeld's J. Peterman, that's the best way to get somewhere you've never been. I'll consider myself lucky if I can still wander and be lost if I make it to 40 and beyond.

The impetus for this musing, though, is actually that I have a direction for the first time in my life. It happened last week, when driving home from the coffee house where I was writing. The fibers of my novel's plot had just started weaving themselves together in a beautiful way that I could have never imagined when I started it. It gradually hit me all of a sudden and it almost brought a tear to my eye. If it is at all possible within the realm of reason, I will be a writer; a novelist. I have actually felt for the first time ever the pull of a professional calling. I will pursue it to the ends of the Earth, but in every other aspect, I will remain blissfully lost for as long as possible.