Whistle While You Twerk, I Mean Work…

I am sitting here on a three-day weekend whistling and working. Thinking that my happiness gage is most audibly measurable when I am whistling without being conscious of it. My husband loves this. Also, sarcasm does not translate well via print…

I turned 34 this year and the day passed without much fanfare but the reality of my everyday keeps tugging at my heart strings. I have been on a passive mission to find my calling, my one true love, my “find what you love to do and you will never work a day in your life.” My conscious mind isn’t sure what that is but maybe my unconscious, whistling can point me in the right direction.

I have always been envious of those people who took the direct path to euphoria. That sounds inappropriate but you know what I mean. They knew what they wanted to be when they grew up when they were still developing into a full grown person. Those people are annoying! The other group seems to be the risk takers, those filled with initiative and Red Bull. They figure it out and then do everything in their power to “never work a day in their life.”

I am neither. I am a functioning adult. I bring home a paycheck and although I have stresses over money I never have to choose eating over paying the electric bill. Which is grossly high during summertime in the South. YAY Georgia! I am lazy, I am passive yet outwardly strong and competent to a fault. I don’t take chances and I have been at the same job for ten plus years. So, does motivation come from passion? How do I find my “thing?” Is there anywhere else in this post in which I can use quotation marks? What if after all this non-searching I come to realize my passion is actually not working at all? The picture being...me, sitting at home, watching BRAVO and whistling until my lips start to quiver.

I’ve worked nothing out in my ranting but I do know that I am not the only one complacent in life and wanting more. Somehow that makes me feel better. In my twenties I would have vivid, notable thoughts of being capable of something great. Those thoughts are gone. Not in a sad way, just a hyper realistic, high definition way. Is my mission impossible listening for that whistle and figuring out how to get paid for it? Or do I move into a studio apartment with the hubs and dog so that I can watch a Wednesday marathon of Real Housewives of Atlanta? Hopefully it starts around noon, which would be my new wake up time.