This post was originally written on my old blog on Monday, March 5, 2012. I still agree with much that’s here and it’s interesting to see how I’ve changed between now and then.
I dream one day of sitting out on a back porch looking out into the land that surrounds my home, sipping a cup of tea made by my own hands, and drinking in the sunlight carried on warm, lazy summer breezes.
I dream one day of feeling the dirt on my fingers as I dig deep into the Earth to prep it for the plants I have grown to love, feeling its dank wetness on my skin, and inhaling the scent of rich soil.
I dream one day of walking out my door after a night rain, the dawn horizon still pinked by the rising sun, and headed out deep into the forests to commune with the trees and wash myself in streams, a sharp blade on my hip, basket in hand.
I dream one day of sitting on the wooden floor of my own temple room, alternating between watching the smoke-dragons of incense curl and fly before me and sinking deep into meditation.
I dream one day of visiting the ocean or the sea and collecting its powerful waters in a glass jar to set aside for future magic, to collect its salts, to anoint myself with the furious power of the ocean.
I dream of many things. For all my experiences of late, I feel like there is another life I am meant to be living, one more in tune with the Earth and one that satisfies me more thoroughly than any well-paying job behind a desk might.
I realized long ago that true happiness is not a paycheck. It is not a title nor a degree. It is a smile never far from your lips, a feeling of contentment that reaches down into the depths of your soul and settles there, the knowledge that tomorrow is still to come and today is the same gift it was yesterday.
It’s slowly dawning on me that a part of my spiritual depression comes from a lack of engagement. I have always felt a need to do, to use my own two hands and craft or work. Unlike many, I do not see the work of labor as a failure. This likely comes from the fact that my first job involved physical labor – not heavy duty, but enough that left most of our shift crew sweating by the end. I felt a different sense of accomplishment coming home after moving five dozen chairs around the entertainment venue where I worked than I do when I come home after a four-hour shift at the desk job where I now work, one I think may be more suited to me.
Mid-May is my graduation date. I will finally be out of school, free from the confines of education. While I fully intend to go back, possibly in the fall of 2013, I am planning to take a year off before graduate school to figure out what I want to do. Hopefully, that year will be filled with reading, learning, and crafting on my terms, not on those assigned to me in September and January by an indifferent professor.