I recently wrote a book I titled The Wolf That Wins. Before this book, I had never been much of a writer. The inspiration to write this book seemed to come from thin air. However, this morning as I exercised, I remembered something: about 40 years ago, when I returned to college after dropping out for a few years, the thing that brought me back was the belief that I might be a decent writer one day, and that I might become something through my writing. About two weeks into the writing workshop at college, I bailed, thinking “I suck. These other people are real writers.” I thought my dreams of being a writer were done. Now, about 40 years later, the instinct to write a book wasn’t based on a goal to become a good writer; I just wanted to give back what I’d received in my life. I didn’t even have to become or be a good writer to do it!
I wondered, how come this idea of writing lived inside me, and called me, despite never feeling successful in it? How come this idea was in me in college, and stayed with me 40 years later? It’s as if life has a certain plan or idea for me; it knows my most fulfilled state and the things I must do in order to most fully express what I carry within me, and what I can deliver to others. I now find more patterns like this, where I have a dream, think the dream is gone, only to have it unexpectedly resurface in my life many years after the dream had supposedly died. I don’t know what’s true about that life plan, but I do notice that these callings to fulfill unfinished goals are often persistent and repetitive. I find it reassuring and comforting that there is power in the ability to listen to callings and feel guided by life’s natural trajectory.