Are you really doing you?

I had cocktails last night with some old colleagues; they are more than just colleagues, they’re friends. It was good catching up with them; learning about what’s been going on from a business perspective, but as more wine was poured into our glasses, the conversation became less and less about business and more personal. Typified with topics like, what’s your favorite sexual position? Or, to shave the bush or not to shave? (See yesterday’s blog). We mustn’t forget the all time favorite, what’s the best orgasm you’ve ever had? You know, the usual quintessential dialogue amongst work mates getting together after work for a drink.

As usual, I had many questions to ask; questions I wanted to know rather than the every day run of the mill conversations about sex. I wanted more; something bigger; something deeper; ensconced, if you will.

I put on my diving mask, strapped on my…compressed air tank, slipped into my flippers, and squeezed into a full bodied wet suit before jumping into the deep, dark water where all their secrets were living; hiding. Secrets that prefer to stay under wraps unless of course they’re lured out by alcohol and the Neve inquisition. I posed the next question to the group as if it were their last meal before walking the plank:

“If you could do anything in the world to earn a living, what would you do?”

(Long pause) Blank faces stared back at me. Fingers drummed against the bar, pondering; searching for an answer. “Must be a good question,” I thought.

Finally someone broke the spell and responded. “Why don’t you start, Neve?”

(Another long pause) “Okay. I’d be a sex slave. Tie me up, tie me down; spank me, gag me, torture me with pleasure and pain. Yep. Hands down, that’s what I would do.” My response was too good; it broke the ice, and I didn’t think anyone in the group could possibly top my unique, and eye brow raising answer; I felt glorified.

I was wrong.

It was as if a bolt of lighting had struck the end of the bar where the four of us sat; the white heat rose above us; sending smoke signals throughout the city; spilling onto the streets. The words were out, an epiphany perhaps was in the making; the deed was done.

I am a professional, so I grabbed my purse, digging inside; fingers searched for my small, red writing pad; my journal filled with copious notes and a pen. I needed to write this stuff down.

I learned that each person was working in a field that wasn't lending itself to what their true inner workings wanted and needed them to be doing. What each person said they wanted to be doing wasn't even remotely close to what they were doing now. How do we end up so far from where we want to be? Upon reflection, I was mystified by what I learned last night. Many of our great philosophers felt that true happiness comes from finding and doing the one thing that you do well. I would have to agree with that. For me, it's love slave/writer. I am blissfully blessed.

I went deeper. Hell, I had the reserve tank of air; I could handle it. I forged on and asked,

“Why aren’t you doing what you want to be doing?”

Silence.

So, I’m posing this question to you; the reader for today:

“If we’re not really doing what makes us happy, are we really being true to ourselves? Are you sure you’re really doing you?