Killing My Career to Rescue an Abandoned Dream

I think I might be killing my career. 

I'm drawn to new and different things now. No...not different. Not new. No, I'm honoring a part of me that's been on the back burner. No, wait. That's painting the picture a little too nicely. 

Neglect says it better. Ignored. Maybe even abused. Like a child locked away in a remote, dilapidated cabin only lightly and occasionally provisioned with the most meager of supplies: a can of tuna, stale crackers, a few dusty bottles of warm beer, an undisturbed bottle of re-corked red wine. He favors the corners and follows the sun. Malnourished. Underfed. Yet, surprisingly strong and alert.

But I'm not here to talk about him. Not yet. He's still too easy to ignore. Although, someone appears to be feeding him. 

But now. Right now. In this moment. As I strive to live in the miracle of the present, the all-powerful now, my career is front and center. In the open. Breathing the fresh air. It's my identity. How people know me. What they expect from me. And, I have an uncomfortable and disturbing suspicion that I might be killing it. Not killing it as in doing it well. But killing it as in dead. Done. Over.

It seems unlikely to be a clean kill. More likely to involve subterfuge and sabotage, and seemingly in service of that neglected child who captivates my attention like a long lost sibling.

And it scares the crap out of me. And also seduces me. I wake up next to it, surprised by its warmth and its crackling clear presence beside me. Like a higher purpose bestowed from above. It simply appeared one day. And insists on sticking around.