That thing called my thing. Of passion and whatnot.

What is my thing? 

This question can be an eerie sound that hounds a person regardless of age, time, or achieved success. 

If you’ve watched the Disney movie Soul (which I recommend 100%), you can somewhat liken a thing to what Paul had, which in his case was playing the piano. 

This thing is synonymous to passion or an area of expertise but for simplicity’s sake, let’s standardize it for this piece and just call it that — a thing. 

A sense of fulfillment often comes from a balance of two elements: 

1) it has to make you feel like your potential is being utilized, and 

2) it has to be a source of genuine contentment. 

Potential can be lived out if you believe in the power you hold, and this power can only be actualized if you’ve come to accept what truly gives you peace, regardless of environment and situation. 

So how do you find that thing?

At the onset it’s natural to search for that need through the work that you do or the job that you have. For some this method works, for others it doesn’t. So the search continues in the face of hobbies, of side projects, and of course, the more optimal, passing of time. 

A lightbulb moment characterized by a high level of self-awareness can come at some point that a thing is not a necessity to live a life well-lived. 

As a matter of fact, it is important to recognize that not everyone has the privilege to ponder or discern what this thing ought to be. Because for most, what they do simply becomes their thing as a result of situation and circumstance. 

In that sense, having a thing can be viewed as a form of societal and self-pressure rolled into one, one that has oddly turned into a reflection of value and worth. Not to mention standing front and center is none other than the source of it all: the self —  always judgmental, ever critiquing, seldom resting. 

It would be nice to eventually come across that thing but the bigger aspect is to be many things — and this is what really matters. To not be tied to a certain expectation, to not be isolated to a specific skill set, nor to feel tied to a singular definition of what ought to be done. We manage to see that having an area of focus isn’t really essential as long as we’re able to journey through life in one piece.

But in one way or another — that thing manages to creep up again, unprecedented. 

Is what you do of value if you can’t share it to a bigger group? 

Is what you do of value if it’s towards the creative sphere and not business? 

Is what you do of value if it doesn’t financially suffice? 

Allow me to pause midway and declare upfront that there is no formula to this so-called thing, but there is an ebb and flow that stands amidst all it — the wait. 

Not everyone wants to wait because the stronger desire is to know. 

To know what is made for us.

To know how and where we’ll flourish. 

To know why we’re going through what we have to go through. 

Ironically ignored and forgotten, the wait is what days are mostly all about. It is believing without having the urge to complete the sentence by answering what or why. It is trusting that things are supposed to look like how they are at present. It is the ardent belief that things will eventually pan out as they should. 

But most of all, the wait is opening yourself up to the possibility that you might never find that thing because all along, you were meant to just be. 

To be in the midst of it all. 

To accept things as they are presented. 

To slow down on searching and bask on being.

Your thing won’t fall off a branch one day, as if it were made for you. 

A thing only solidifies as your possession when you decide to embrace whatever you have as uniquely yours. 

Never in your control, but always in your peripheral.