What is your calling

We are all a bit adrift, each in our own lifeboat.

Sometimes we paddle , believing that motion equals progress. Sometimes we lie back, hoping the currents will carry us to our destiny. But most of the time we drift, in a sense of stillness. A loop of rinse and repeat.

Like a pause that is pregnant but remains unborn for a long period of time.

The thing is, to veer adrift and regain the path, we need some distraction that demands our attention, challenges our complacency, and forces us to confront the very essence of who we are.

But what is this distraction? And how do we find it?

Remember that overgrown plot of land which you dreamt of converting into a garden? You stand at its edge and a slither of earth stretches in front of you, filled with possibility and uncertainty in equal measure. Some patches are overgrown with weeds. Other lie fallow. Here and there, saplings or flowers sprout on their own.

You often walk the perimeter, to feel the soil between your fingers, to note where the sun falls and the shadows linger. You have a million thoughts in your head, but you are not yet ready to get the soil stuck within your nails.

With each visit the internal landscape of this imaginary garden changes. Ever so slightly. In your excitement, you visit other gardens. Some are meticulously manicured. Others, wild and free. They tempt you. You want to try the orchids with the Japanese layout. In a bout of organised Sunday chaos, you plant your first orchids and get that layout implemented. It seems promising. But then the orchid’s die and the layout kind of disappoints your realm of “what is aesthetic” . It doesn’t quite feel right. You realise that each plot of land has its own microclimate, its own soil composition. What thrives in one garden can easily wither in another.

You observe that design is subjective to its environment.

So then you start thinking. What can you grow? The options are myriad and the fear, paralysing,

So, you begin by planting a small variety of seeds. The practical stuff. Maybe a couple of experimental varieties. Diversity allows you to explore with minimal risk. You tend to these early plantings with patience and persistence. There are setbacks. Rains damage. Some die in the heat. But with each incident you learn something.. You discover which plants thrive under your care. The one’s that grow effortlessly, and respond most vigorously to your touch. You begin to see patterns emerge.

This is the time to be bold. To clear space for the promising ones to expand. That may mean pruning a few and creating more space for those that are vibrant with life.

Only then, can your new found purpose truly flourish.

However, your garden doesn't exist in isolation. It's part of a larger ecosystem. Over time it starts to evolve. It becomes bigger. Seasons change. New plants take shape. They grow with you, adapting to new conditions, facing new challenges. You are constantly adjusting, pruning here, fertilising there, evolving your care to your garden’s needs.

You learn that you cannot force growth or prune your way to perfection.

It is about creating the right conditions for authenticity to flourish. About being patient with the slow unfurling of purpose. You discover that the soil of your garden is as enriched by failure, as it is by success. The compost of abandoned plants, the mineral-rich silt of disappointments—all of it nourishes the roots, of what by now has become your calling.

Now you get people coming up to you for advice. They get inspired by your story and try building their own gardens. They praise your green thumb and recount tales of your devotion and effort. They glorify your calling, and it is then that you realise that you never found this calling in a single moment of revelation. It came through accumulation of countless small incidents.

You did not even know this was your calling when you started.

Finding your calling isn't about waiting for some grand epiphany. It's about attuning yourself to the subtle frequencies that vibrate around you to the quiet persistence of your curiosities and passions. You need to pay attention to the activities that make time slip by unnoticed. To the conversations that leave you thirsty for more. To the problems that draw you in, and to the instances that stir you into action.

Our callings are shaped by the needs of our communities, by the gaps we're uniquely positioned to fill. Where we feel most needed. Most accepted. Just as trees stand bare in winter, gathering strength for new growth, so too must we understand our environment, integrate our experiences, before our calling can emerge more clearly.

We often make the mistake of thinking this must be some grandiose, world-changing event. We wait for it, like waiting for a portal to open to another dimension. But it's right here, in every choice we make to enhance our lives and the lives of those around us.

Your calling isn't something you find. It's something you live. It's in the way you choose to move through the world, in the impact you have on others, often without even realising it. It is not a fixed point on the horizon but a direction. A way of being. It's in how you choose to grow, to face your fears and overcome your limitations.

So, how do you discover your calling? You don't.

You live it. You pay attention. You make conscious choices about how you spend your time, energy and love. You look for ways to use your unique gifts, however humble they may seem, to add beauty and meaning to the world around.

Your calling is not waiting to be found. It's waiting to be recognised. Don't rush. A forest doesn't grow overnight. Neither does a sense of purpose. Be patient with yourself. Try different paths. Sit with uncertainty.

Let your roots grow deep.

About Me:

I write 'cos words are fun. More about me here. Follow @hackrlife on X