"Vocation": A Global Perspective

I spend a lot of time wondering (and worrying about) what I want to be when I "grow up." How can I channel my skillz into the ultimate career? Or, from a faith perspective: how can I best use my gifts to serve others? We see this emphasis manifested in career centers, discernment retreats, lectures, career counseling, etc. One can become obsessed with finding the perfect job: what degree will get me where I want to be? What kind of profession allows for the ideal work/life balance? If I want a family, how can I make x career work (and still maintain my feminist ideals)? What salary level do I need for my projected lifestyle choices? People consider similar questions in the act of faith-based discernment, for they are relevant to real human anxieties.

Sometimes I try to eliminate my "practical" concerns when discerning how I can be the the most loving version myself. For example, I have always wanted to work in South America. I have a desire to drop the paper-pushing and 40 hours of sitting, and I think I would be more inspired by exotic flora and fauna than the pigeons and industrial buildings across the street (no offense, pigeons!). There is something romantic and exciting about taking such a risk, and that can render other choices safe and boring. Furthermore, office culture can seem exceptionally disconnected from that which is real and human (no offense, laptop!).

But what I have only recently realized is the extent to which my view of "vocation"--whether secular or faith-based--has been limited by my particular experiences. My sage-like friend, Micah, pointed out that my vocational anxieties stem from something that most people in the world don't have when it comes to careers: choice. Agency. Control. In this light, the question at the heart of discernment is not, "What am I called to do?" Perhaps this is still an important question to ask, but it cannot be the ultimate question since it is a question of privilege and it only applies to a limited number of people. Instead, Micah suggests that vocation ought to be centered on "being" instead of "doing." Who am I called to be? How am I called to live?

Of course, practical concerns and aspirations ought not to be neglected, but this perspective challenges anxieties that stem from "doing" and "achieving." Personally, I find it difficult to focus on questions of 'being' after having become accustomed to a routine. I often evaluate the present in terms of what I'm  'doing'; I am immersed in a particular job; I am in a transitional phase of life. How can I all of the sudden focus on "being" and self-improvement in this realm of life? I can read some Thomas Merton and consider enrolling in a course about Paul Tillich (check!); I can try to be more intentional about bringing life to the workplace and to my relationships (maybe I'll bake pumpkin bread next week and smile more?). But sometimes it's hard to break routines of thought and ways of being. How does one have a "conversion" of being given the oft mundane reality of the day-in, day-out?

This post is charged with the faith-based language of 'calling', but I intend for it to apply to secular, career/life decision-making as well. We have good days and bad days, but what does it take to transform our everyday selves? How can we best seek to focus on that which is most real and human, and, thus, important? In general, change can spring from an array of things, such as: Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy, love (encounters with and experiences of), travel (I prefer somewhere pigeon-less!), prayer/contemplation, yoga (?), mentors, new relationships, opportunities, education, etc. But I wonder: is something deeper or more specific required to change the way one 'is' in the world--and to sustain that change?

The call to be a person of integrity--to be consistent, whole and loving no matter the place or circumstances--is demanding and profound. I am convinced, though, that it matters most.
---

Props to tschmall for sharing the inspiring (and related) reflection below (!):

The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.