He was frustrated,
He was at ease,
He was strong,
But down on his knees,
He was praying, to someone,
To no one and to everyone,
Hoping his call get heard,
To answer his urgent pleas
He was pleading for release,
From this trap of his own making,
Pleading to be guided,
Back to his true calling,
Wake up, dress up, go work,
Come back home, eat, and sleep,
Day after day, just going through the motions,
His frustration of the rut ran deep.
He forgot he once had,
what he could call a passion,
A gnawing feeling like he had one,
was all that he had left,
For years and years, he'd tried,
And tried in vain to find,
Something he'd love to do,
Until the day he died,
A quest within himself he started,
To find where belonged,
To do what he was meant to do,
For which he'd always longed.
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When I was in college there were these "perpetual students" who would just keep going to school and never graduate. It was as though they were looking for a passion that they didn't find. For some, it may have just been fear of the real world, sheltered in the arms of the ivory tower. Not willing to grow up and leave the place.
There is something to be said about this of a "9 hour shift." One can use that discipline to work on one's passion. However if one is still looking for a passion, one is chasing one's tail.
Ron