Stuck in the Middle

I am depressed.

I am depressed because I am stuck between two equally loud and demanding voices with strong opinions about my fate. The first is an orderly, sensible, long-range planner. Call her Nelda. Nelda loves that I work in a reliable, safe job with health benefits and a deferred compensation plan. Nelda likes to sit back and breathe easy knowing that if I wanted to, I could spend the next thirty years here, enjoying my COLA raises and business travel. Nelda often reminds me that the work I do is important; that it serves humanity and thus my highest values; and that really, it's not so bad to get three-day weekends and a flexible schedule. Nelda is prim, restrained and generally just a little bit nervous.

I hate Nelda.

Then there's the other voice, the wild, ruthless voice that howls like a midnight storm. Let's call her Roman for kicks. Roman has no patience for time-piddling activities that drain away the life blood and encourage the trade of hours for dead dollar bills. Roman has vision: art, healing, music, laughter. Roman sees beyond secular security into the deeper, more profound realm of faith, and she revels in it. Nothing delights Roman more than a miracle.

Needless to say, Roman is entirely insensible. She has no respect for the years given to a job, for 401K plans, for dentist bills. And these days, I'm sorry to say, she will not shut up.

Doesn't she know that I have kids to feed? Useless bullshit to purchase at Target? Multiple vehicles to maintain? Come on, man. Worse, doesn't she know that if I were to listen to her and her Pied Pipings, I would Let People Down? I hate to Let People Down. I have Responsibilities, you see.

But this gal just doesn't care. The other night, just for effect, she sent me a dream. In the dream I was trying to stuff a heart down the toilet. It wouldn't fit so I was cutting it into pieces, trying to cram it in. But it wouldn't flush. I just couldn't get rid of the damned thing.

And in a similar fashion, I just can't lie. I don't think I want to be doing what I'm doing anymore. The money, the health insurance, the familiarity are just not adding up.

I'm a healer, a teacher, a writer, an artist. I'm ready to live the way I came here for. I don't know how I'll get paid or feed my kids or pay my bills or buy rubber stamps. But I want it--I want it--I want it so much--to be living according to my inner heart.

Now, can someone explain that to Nelda?