The Path You Keep Feeling Called To
What do we do with the ideas, dreams and possibilities that keep finding their way back to us?
There are some ideas that arrive once and disappear.
Maybe I should learn Italian.
Maybe I should start making pottery.
Maybe I should move to Nova Scotia and open a tiny roadside motel where I wear linen every day and somehow never have to worry about money.
Perfectly lovely thoughts.
Probably not all strategic plans. 😂
And then there are the other ones.
The ideas that keep coming back.
The business you've imagined more than once.
The place you keep thinking about visiting.
The thing you've wanted to learn for years.
The book you wonder if you could write.
The career change you research occasionally and then close the browser before anyone catches you.
The creative project that keeps tugging at you.
The version of your life you sometimes let yourself imagine and then immediately explain why it isn't practical.
Too expensive.
Too risky.
Too late.
Too complicated.
Too selfish.
Too unrealistic.
Who the hell do I think I am?
So you put it away.
And then, six months later, there it is again.
Maybe not exactly the same.
Maybe quieter.
Maybe slightly changed.
But somehow, despite everything you've done to be sensible about it the idea keeps finding its way back to you.
And lately I've been wondering whether the things that keep returning deserve a little more of our attention.
Not every longing is a calling.
Let's establish that immediately.
Because otherwise I fear we're all quitting our jobs and moving to Tuscany by Tuesday. 😂
Human beings imagine things.
We fantasize.
We get bored.
We scroll through someone else's life and briefly decide we'd like one of those instead.
We romanticize possibilities because we haven't yet had to deal with their inconveniences.
Sometimes a dream is simply a dream.
Sometimes wanting something tells us more about what we're missing than what we're actually meant to pursue.
And sometimes the thing we think we want isn't really the thing at all.
Maybe you don't actually want to move to Nova Scotia.
Maybe you want beauty.
Slowness.
Adventure.
Long lunches.
A life that feels less relentlessly scheduled.
Maybe you don't actually want to quit your career.
Maybe you want to feel creative again.
Maybe you don't need an entirely different relationship.
Maybe you miss intimacy.
Play.
Being seen.
Feeling desired.
Maybe you don't need to blow up your life.
Maybe something inside the life you already have is asking for more room.
That's why I keep returning to something we've been saying often at Sacred Soul:
Desire is information, not instruction.
Wanting something doesn't mean you have to pursue it.
But it might be worth becoming curious about why you want it.
Pay attention to what keeps returning.
Some ideas are remarkably persistent. You dismiss them. They come back.
You tell yourself you're too busy. They wait. You decide the timing isn't right.
They disappear for a while.
And then you're driving somewhere, standing in the shower, sitting beside the ocean, having a conversation with someone and there it is again.
What if I...
I think those moments are interesting.
Not because every recurring idea is destiny. But because repetition can be information.
There may be something underneath the idea that matters.
A value.
A desire.
A part of your identity that hasn't had much room lately.
A curiosity you haven't explored.
A capacity you haven't used.
A version of yourself you're wondering about.
And maybe instead of immediately asking:
Is this realistic?
we could ask something else first.
Why does this keep coming back to me?
We are very good at talking ourselves out of possibility.
Especially when the life we already have contains responsibilities.
People depending on us.
And somewhere along the way, practicality can become such a dominant voice that possibility barely gets to finish a sentence.
I'd love to—
Too expensive.
I've always wondered if I could—
Too risky.
Maybe someday I could—
You're too old.
What if I tried—
You don't have time.
And then there's the particularly efficient one:
Be realistic.
Which sounds wonderfully mature.
Except sometimes being realistic is simply fear wearing sensible shoes.
There are, of course, very real constraints in our lives.
Money matters. Timing matters. Other people matter. Responsibilities matter.
But possibility matters too.
And I don't think we have to choose between being responsible and being curious.
We can honour the realities of our lives without allowing them to become the borders of our imagination.
You don't need permission to investigate your own curiosity.
This may be the part we've made unnecessarily difficult. We tend to think that if we explore something, we're committing to it.
If I research the program, maybe I have to enrol.
If I admit I'm curious about another career, maybe that means I hate the one I have.
If I think about travelling alone, maybe that says something about my marriage.
If I explore a business idea, maybe I'm being unrealistic.
If I wonder about a different kind of life, maybe I'm ungrateful for this one.
But curiosity isn't betrayal.
Exploration isn't commitment.
You are allowed to investigate something without promising you'll pursue it.
Read the book.
Take the class.
Research the trip.
Have the conversation.
Write the first page.
Spend an afternoon learning about the thing.
Talk to someone who already does it.
Try it badly.
See what happens.
You aren't signing a contract with your future. You're gathering information about yourself.
And perhaps that's one of the most useful things we can do when something keeps calling our attention. Not immediately leap. Not immediately dismiss it.
Move a little closer and see what you notice.
Sometimes the path appears because we start walking.
I would love to tell you that every meaningful thing I've done began with a beautifully articulated vision and a carefully constructed five-year plan.
That would be complete bullshit. 😂
Some of the biggest changes in my life began with curiosity.
An idea.
A conversation.
A question I couldn't quite stop asking.
Moving across the country.
Building businesses.
Creating something from nothing.
And now, Sacred Soul. None of those things arrived fully formed. There wasn't a perfect map.
There were decisions followed by more decisions. Things that worked. Things that absolutely did not. Things I thought would matter enormously and eventually didn't. Things I couldn't have anticipated that changed everything.
And I think that's one of the reasons we sometimes stay stuck. We believe we're supposed to know where something leads before we're allowed to begin. But most paths don't work that way. Sometimes you take one step because you're curious. Then another because something opens. Then another because you know more than you did before.
And eventually you look back and realize:
Oh. I've been building a path.
There is a difference between impulse and persistence.
Impulse says:
I want this right now.
Persistence says:
I'm still thinking about this.
Impulse can be exciting.
Persistence is interesting.
Because when something continues to matter across different seasons of your life, despite changing moods and circumstances, perhaps there's something there worth understanding.
Maybe it's not asking you to pursue the exact thing you've imagined. Maybe it's pointing toward something underneath it.
Freedom.
Creativity.
Contribution.
Adventure.
Leadership.
Connection.
Rest.
Expression.
Independence.
Meaning.
Maybe the business idea isn't really about owning a business.
Maybe it's about wanting to build something that belongs to you.
Maybe the trip isn't really about the destination.
Maybe it's about discovering who you are when no one needs anything from you.
Maybe the book isn't about becoming an author.
Maybe there are words inside you that need somewhere to go.
Maybe the career change isn't about leaving.
Maybe it's about remembering that you're still capable of becoming interested in something new.
The question doesn't always have to be:
Should I do this?
Sometimes the better question is:
What is this trying to tell me about what matters to me now?
We underestimate the cost of never finding out.
We talk a lot about the risks of trying things.
What if it fails?
What if I waste money?
What if I embarrass myself?
What if people don't understand?
What if I change my mind?
What if I'm not good at it?
All reasonable questions. But there is another side of the equation we don't examine nearly as often. What does it cost to never explore it?
Not necessarily financially. Internally.
What happens when we repeatedly dismiss our own curiosity? When we keep telling ourselves later? When the things that make us feel alive remain permanently hypothetical?
Maybe nothing dramatic happens.
Maybe life continues to be perfectly fine.
But perhaps a little part of us begins to believe that our own desires aren't worth taking seriously.
And I don't want that for us.
I don't think every dream needs to become a goal.
But I do think the woman dreaming deserves our attention.
Maybe the next step can be very small.
This is where possibility becomes much less terrifying.
Because the next step does not need to be:
Quit.
Leave.
Move.
Launch.
Commit.
Announce.
Sometimes the next step is almost laughably small. Open the document. Send the email.
Look at the flights. Buy the paintbrushes. Research the program. Take the class.
Ask someone how they started. Spend an hour on the idea. Write down what keeps returning.
Let yourself imagine the possibility without immediately listing all the reasons it won't work.
That's it.
You don't need to know whether this thing will become part of your life.
You're simply giving curiosity somewhere to go.
And maybe that's enough for now.
What keeps finding its way back to you?
There may be nothing.
There may be twelve things. 😂
But I suspect many of us have at least one.
Something we've been quietly circling.
An idea we haven't quite allowed ourselves to take seriously.
A possibility that makes us feel slightly more awake when we talk about it.
A question that begins:
What if...?
You don't have to answer it today.
You don't have to decide whether it's practical.
You don't have to explain it to anyone.
And you certainly don't need to turn every longing into a new life.
Just notice what keeps returning.
Then perhaps ask:
Why does this still matter to me?
What might it be telling me about what I want now?
What would one very small step toward understanding it look like?
And then see what happens. Because not every longing is a calling.
But when the same idea keeps finding its way back to you, perhaps it's worth asking why you keep finding your way back to it.
And what else?
Cheryl MacLean
Founder, Sacred Soul
Sacred Spaces for Transformation
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