I’ve never considered the difference between a longing and a calling before, Ryan. Thank you for the prompt. I don’t know if I’ll get this right, but I’m happy to explore it with you.
If I am feeling this correctly; if I am understanding the signals of my body… I think that having a child is my longing. It’s what I always imagined for my life. It’s the thing that seems right. Motherhood is portrayed so beautifully in our culture, and I long to feel that; to be a part of it; to belong.
But that has not been my path. I am well into my fourth year of infertility, enduring five miscarriages and, recently, a failed adoption. I’ve worn my soul down to its bones trying to make this longing come true. I’ve been fighting my reality for so long. It’s exhausting. It no longer excites me in the naïve ways it did in the beginning. It feels like clawing my way up the walls of a deep, dark, dirt hole. It feels like at any moment I could lose my grip and land back at the bottom with a thud.
The call, for me, is a spark that cannot be ignored. In my 30s, I was called to climb the 100 highest mountains in New England, twice, including a full round in winter. This calling woke me before dawn on subzero days and propelled me up icy trails, week after week, month after month, year after year, until it was complete. It is partly the reason why I delayed having children. I needed to answer the call first.
Now that my infertility journey is coming to an end, I am considering the call I’ve experienced for the past few years to live on the road. I gave myself a taste of this calling last summer when I spent four months driving to Alaska and back in my camper van. Now as I contemplate childlessness, pursuing the call is back on the table. It energizes me. It excites me. It keeps me up late at night drawing lines on maps and researching campsites.
I think you’re right: the call doesn’t go away until it is fulfilled, whether by us or another (like Tom Waits relinquishing his musical calls to Leonard Cohen, or Liz Gilbert’s brilliant but unrealized book idea being written by Ann Patchett).
I am so inspired by this distinction and this journaling prompt. I am eager to dive into it next time I open my journal. Thank you!
I’ve never considered the difference between a longing and a calling before, Ryan. Thank you for the prompt. I don’t know if I’ll get this right, but I’m happy to explore it with you.
If I am feeling this correctly; if I am understanding the signals of my body… I think that having a child is my longing. It’s what I always imagined for my life. It’s the thing that seems right. Motherhood is portrayed so beautifully in our culture, and I long to feel that; to be a part of it; to belong.
But that has not been my path. I am well into my fourth year of infertility, enduring five miscarriages and, recently, a failed adoption. I’ve worn my soul down to its bones trying to make this longing come true. I’ve been fighting my reality for so long. It’s exhausting. It no longer excites me in the naïve ways it did in the beginning. It feels like clawing my way up the walls of a deep, dark, dirt hole. It feels like at any moment I could lose my grip and land back at the bottom with a thud.
The call, for me, is a spark that cannot be ignored. In my 30s, I was called to climb the 100 highest mountains in New England, twice, including a full round in winter. This calling woke me before dawn on subzero days and propelled me up icy trails, week after week, month after month, year after year, until it was complete. It is partly the reason why I delayed having children. I needed to answer the call first.
Now that my infertility journey is coming to an end, I am considering the call I’ve experienced for the past few years to live on the road. I gave myself a taste of this calling last summer when I spent four months driving to Alaska and back in my camper van. Now as I contemplate childlessness, pursuing the call is back on the table. It energizes me. It excites me. It keeps me up late at night drawing lines on maps and researching campsites.
I think you’re right: the call doesn’t go away until it is fulfilled, whether by us or another (like Tom Waits relinquishing his musical calls to Leonard Cohen, or Liz Gilbert’s brilliant but unrealized book idea being written by Ann Patchett).
Perhaps I’ll see where it leads?