Is There Such a Thing as a “Human Calling”?

What are we supposed to do with “the whispers of legend”?

I mean…what does it mean to not know what that voice is saying, yet still be forced by your own mind to listen to it?

Is every human called by it?

Would “God” or the Universe really build something so abundant that it’s in each one of us?

Is it too epic, too mythical, too arrogant to assume we all have something that so rarely shows itself in history?

All I know is, don’t let yourself die with that whisper.

…

It’s been eight years.

Eight years since I broke the darkest of nights. I was pulling myself out of a pit that I buried myself in; self-manifested demons who piled on the muck of misery.

Walls of guilt and shame. Shards of insecurity and falsehoods. Bars made of lies and excuses I used to ignore my soul since I was a teenager.

And you’d think… “how could someone get out of something so deep?”

That’s what most of us think when the world is that dark.

But I didn’t get out of it.

I dissolved it.

I realized that the dark, shitty place I put myself in, even though it was well-deserved and a part of a very normal human experience, was only made by the mind.

My mind.

And it was that building suffocation, that desperate fear of taking breaths that feel like they may be my last, that a fire was lit.

A last grasp.

There was no epiphany.

There was no compassionate revelation of how much I needed to love myself.

I was driven completely by the desire to prove myself wrong.

Breathing itself became far more important than what I’d done in that relationship.

It was more important than the pain I caused another person. The lies of commitment I made. The cold indifference I expressed that dissolved any hope she had of keeping me.

…

I was never one to try to destroy anyone’s success.

It always felt mindless.

I may have been confused by why someone had something I didn’t, but I never felt I needed to dismantle or destroy anyone.

It just seemed… “anti-success”.

In contrast, I love rock stars.

I love obsessed biologists and historical nerds.

I love people who defy physics, and risk their lives, minds, and “social likability” with efforts that ninety-nine percent of people will never do.

To me, the extremes we see others endure prove human capability.

The human experience is real. And the feelings we desire are very real.

So…

I knew that love could be real.

I had just done it wrong.

And when I ultimately realized that, a very clear message came to me: choose better.

Choose to love better.

Choose to live better.

Choose to be something better.

…

I didn’t know what success meant at that moment — love or otherwise. I didn’t know who I was, what I would do, or why I would do it.

I just knew I was fed up.

It’s like the rebound of a rubber band. Stretched to its max, it can do either one of two things: break or come back with a maximum force.

I was fed up because a broken heart put me through the darkest days I’d ever experienced in my entire life. It made me someone I didn’t recognize. It was like being strapped into a straight jacket full of iron. It weighed down every part of me.

Dulled it. Nullified it.

It stole so much in the moments I was enduring.

Time was endless, the thoughts of love were unbearable, work was excruciating, and the escape of sleep was kept out of my reach.

I’d never felt so heavy.

Yet, I did that to myself.

…

To me, if I knew the potential of self as a fact, there was no way it didn’t exist for everyone.

Why?

Because I was a nobody.

But a nobody that believed in replacing “no” with “some”.

I can’t fathom a world where only a few humans are exceptional. It too easily proves that heroes and gods exist among man.

How wrong that assumption is.

That’s what I realized when I rebounded from a broken heart.

Here’s the thing:

I can’t deny that suppression and unfair circumstances exist.

I can’t deny that parentage and wealth don’t promote a better opportunity for some.

I can’t even deny that distraction and corruption steal people’s minds and hearts, keeping them from realizing what could be.

This is the world’s evil at play.

But that would exactly be my point…

What if every human, despite the conditions forced on them and the convictions they’re told to believe about life and themselves, knew that they were “made” for something that the world needs?

What if every human could see that beyond impossibility, they had the power to carry out something significant in life?

To change the world?

Change themselves?

Change the global consciousness?

…

The thing is, where does the wisdom to believe in human potential(your potential) come from?

Why does it so often take darkness with no light to make it visible?

To find the pinhole of glow in an encompassing night?

How could we see anything when even our soul won’t show itself?

And why does it exist, no matter how dark the world becomes?

That’s human virtue.

…

Why is it that eight years later I haven’t given up?

How is it that I failed, continue to fail, and proceed to wipe off the dirt of conformity and the blood of self-doubt?

It’s not because of my vision…even though I believe that’s what creates a hell of a discipline and intensity.

It’s because of my belief in universal human potential.

That if the most famous and influential of people had it, so do I.

Human potential is not a rare talent, but a cultivated ubiquitous ability.

I hope with all I have, that you see that.

Truth and Love, Reader.

Note: In hindsight, it’s obvious that the woman I loved is never someone I could have continued to love. Not just because there was so much of myself that I had left to unfold, but because, at best, she would have only been good for me if I remained who I was.

What I was to become was far from the type of person she needed. And she would’ve never been what I needed either.

Love is our greatest teacher, if we let it.

And I would never have guessed that I would love her endlessly for bringing me into a truth I may never have found if not for our relationship.

…

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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From The Good Men Project on Medium

What Does Being in Love and Loving Someone Really Mean?

My 9-Year-Old Accidentally Explained Why His Mom Divorced Me

The One Thing Men Want More Than Sex

The Internal Struggle Men Battle in Silence

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