Clinging

Sometimes I cling to the statistics on my blog, as if somehow having enough readership provides a sense of purpose, some sense of being needed or wanted. Or perhaps it validates my activities or that the work I’m doing is meaningful to someone other than me.

I’ve worked for major corporations and consulted for large companies. I’ve started several businesses. Although there were plenty of enjoyable times and good money to be made, none of these were my passion. I struggled with what was I “supposed” to be doing.

Some people would be content with my life, but I need more. It’s not that it’s not a good life, because it is. I’m grateful for all I have. But there’s this nagging feeling I’m missing the thing I should be doing. Once again, I find myself clinging to the idea there is something bigger I’m meant to do, but it eludes me.

The problem with clinging is it has a sense of desperation. To cling means there is likely a dependence or a neediness that is not conducive to creativity, intuition, or new ideas.

When I am working to unveil this thing I’ve searched for my whole life, the biggest revelations happen when I let go, am open to the moment, and am not clinging to the need to have the answer. This is best summed up in Richard Bach’s Illusions, where river creatures spent their whole lives clinging on twigs and rocks. One creature finally decided to let go, “I am tired of clinging. Though I cannot see it with my eyes, I trust that the current knows where it is going. I shall let go, and let it take me where it will. Clinging, I shall die of boredom.”

I choose not to cling, not to be bored, but to be open to the excitement and reward of discovery.

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