What do we really want? Will we ever know?

What do I really want?

I've been grappling with this question since time immemorial, but more so in the past few months, as if obtaining the answer to this question will solve several of life's heartaches for me.

Ever since I decided to step back from indie publishing and trying to sell my books of fiction, I've been happily adrift.

I've been exploring other avenues, which I don't wish to discuss yet, but I've also noticed the same sense of urgency catch up with me now, the one that plagued much of my writing life.

For instance, I don't know how much work is enough in a day. I don't know how long it will take to see results — in the inescapable sense of income — from my endeavours.

I don't know if I'm doing enough or too much. Should I push myself to do more? Or should I rest more? But when I do, there's always that annoying guilt that courses through my chest when I spend an afternoon in the sun or take a walk to Paletta.

Sometimes I think I don't desire money enough. I've often worked for little pay, then quit my job when I got a significant pay raise. Do I have a healthy relationship with money? I don't know.

My needs are few. But I also love having the sense of freedom and security that comes from earning your livelihood and seeing an inflow of money into your bank account.

Sometimes I think I'd love to travel all around the world. See and touch and smell and taste every corner of this planet.

At other times, I am content with a Sunday morning bike ride to Spencer Smith Park and back. I delight in being able to go to Paletta lakefront without much effort.

I've travelled to a few places, but enough to understand that people are internally the same everywhere — and I too am who I am wherever I go —, that buildings and structures and food don't really enthral me, and that as much as I love natural beauty, I can appreciate it only to the extent that I am at ease inside with myself.

I also no longer feel at ease in crowded airports and in airplanes served by disgruntled stewards and hostesses.

Yet, when I hear of others travelling, it kindles a desire within me to do something with my life. To get out there and see more of the world before I leave it eventually.

I love stability, but not the monotony that predictability brings with it. I'm often anxious about the future, but I thrive in uncertainty. That is when I become the most creative and bold.

I love pockets of solitude and quiet meditation, but I find myself terribly lonely here in Canada, so far away from my parents in India. I long for connection, but I don't miss the judgements and taunts that come from being too close to someone.

My biggest fear is that I'll reach the end of my life and look back and worry that I didn't make the most of it.

Although, how does one really tell what constitutes a fully lived life? Is it the career we've built? Or the family we've created? Our contributions to the community or world at large? Fame? Success? Wealth? Legacy?

Are these merely definitions that the world has thrust upon us?

There are more than 8 billion people in the world. Do they all share the same aspirations?

My first choice of career was nunhood. When I was 15, I remember declaring to my parents that I'd like to become a nun. I don't recall how my father responded to that statement, but my mother was quick to shut it down.

She was also quick to shut down my later fantasies of becoming an architect or a doctor, claiming that I didn't have the patience for one or the support of a family business for the other.

I don't blame her for her choices. But I definitely want to adopt a different approach when it comes to D.

And I'm finding that these past few months, I've been increasingly impatient with my little child. A lot of this is again stemming from future anxieties about what kind of a world he'd have to grow up to find employment in, whether or not I am doing enough to equip him with the skills he'd need to navigate life as an adult ... and so on and so forth ...

I'm anxious and I want to fix things for him — for me, in fact — despite knowing that there's no fixing, that there's only presence and how we respond to the situation in front of us.

Sometimes I'm a fatalist, convinced that life will unfold of its own accord, whether I do something or not.

At other times, I feel that I ought to be doing something to shape my life in a form I desire. Not doing anything to corral it into a desirable form feels careless and downright irresponsible.

Not even having a vision for how I'd like life to unfold feels like I'm squandering some great opportunity and I don't even realize it!

For how could I possibly take this sacred essence of life for granted and not make something of it?

And yet, how could one possibly take this sacred essence of life and make something else out of it?

I've tried looking for what could possibly be my dharma. My purpose. What I've been sent to do on earth.

Was it to write and touch people's hearts? Well, if no one's reading my works, how could I possibly achieve that? Isn't writing merely an indulgent hobby then?

Was it to live harmoniously with D and KrA? If that is all there is to it, why do I feel terribly anxious that I don't have a 9-to-5 job or some way to contribute monetarily to the household?

And if I don't have to contribute monetarily, am I being irresponsible?

I've been following the NBA trade deals going on. It's a sport. It's entertainment. It's business. I get that. Yet, these deals feel both callous and commodifying.

In watching the ongoing FIFA games, and earlier while watching the NBA playoffs, I couldn't rejoice for the winning team without feeling sad for the one that loses. Why does one person or team have to be the loser for another to be the winner?

I don't understand how businesses lay off people, as if with little thought to the extent to which lives, not merely livelihoods, would be impacted.

Or is this the normal way for the world to operate and I'm the only soft-hearted fool wanting everyone to be happy and sharing in the gains equitably?

I deeply cherish kindness, both in myself and in others. But, I worry, is it really enough?

In being kind and accommodating, am I setting a wrong example? Am I letting others take me for granted? Where do I draw the boundaries?

My mind is always rife with conflicting thoughts and desires. Which is probably a huge reason why I love the Inspector Rutledge mysteries written by Charles Todd, as I've mentioned several times on this blog.

Ian Rutledge has a constant mental companion. A subordinate he was forced to kill in the war, Hamish MacLeod, has taken up residence in Rutledge's head and talks to him quite often. Sometimes discussing the case with him, sometimes cautioning him to watch out for danger, but always a constant reminder that Rutledge was the one to have delivered his subordinate and friend the fatal blow.

I recently finished reading The Black Ascot and A Fatal Lie. Both are set in the aftermath of World War I.

As with every other Charles Todd book, these ones too are filled with riveting mysteries, richly detailed descriptions of people and places, and take us on a rewarding reading experience.

I have been reading the books out of order, so I am quite tempted to pick up the first book in the series and make my way from there.

But before I go, I feel like I should answer this question "What do I really want?"

You see, I know what I want ... but I'm afraid to admit it to myself lest it should feel too shallow or inadequate.

All I really want is to be happy.

All I really want is to grow spiritually.

All I really want is to be feel content, and attend to whatever the day demands of me with great presence, kindness and compassion.

All I really want is to be a source of great comfort and joy and acceptance to D and KrA.

And, I also want to be content with these choices.

I don't want to keep drowning in the doubts that keep rising in my mind. I don't want to listen to the voice that sometimes says this is a beautiful choice indeed and at other times tells me that I'm aiming too low and that I should do something more, something better, something grander and that I should make something of this one, wild precious life of mine.

I think I just have to stop listening to that voice.