A Reluctant Dive Into Callings
And more on our interview with Ashanti Kunene
Today, I have a confession to make. I have written, overwritten and rewritten at least three false starts to this newsletter.
I’ve tried different approaches, as I often do: begin with a skeleton of ideas and progressively add more articulated meat to it; let my perfectionism loose and scribble whatever comes without judgment. I’ve tried drafting in the late morning, when I usually craft these posts. I’ve tried writing first thing after waking up and late at night.
After meeting a dear friend, whose presence has a way of suspending my intellectual rambling to invite me to inhabit my body more fully, and two spontaneous chill-out yoga sessions on my current room’s floor, I’ve at least understood why I seem unable to cross this to-do from my list: anxiety, a weight on my shoulders. My emotions are swirling inside my stomach as it might be a washing machine.
And when such a state prevails, it becomes very, very hard to be honest in my creativity. I resort to half-truths and clichés. I become obsessive, trying to rush to some final draft when I don’t even know what I want to say. And since, at least to me, writing is all about truth-telling, well, here I am, discovering it as I type each word. Is this true? So far, yes. Let’s see if I can make it this time.
The intended theme for this piece is that of callings, be they professional careers or more existential vocations. This was the focus of my recent conversation with Ashanti Kunene, a social justice activist and an artist, whom I'll tell you more about in a second.
According to the Merriam-Webster online dictionary, a calling can be understood as both the profession in which one customarily engages, and a strong inner impulse toward a particular course of action, especially when accompanied by conviction of divine influence.
Metaphysical conversations aside for today, some people feel called to become doctors, others humanitarians or artists of some kind. There are also more subtle callings: a powerful desire to have children, or to devote one’s life to stillness and contemplation.
Ashanti’s calling, for example, seems to involve using her powerful voice to start difficult conversations about privilege and systemic oppression, discrimination and inequality.
I like her definition of calling, which she briefly shared throughout the episode: that which keeps coming back to us, whether we like it or not. For her, a calling is not something one chooses; it chooses us. And the only job required of us is to surrender to it.
Perhaps, another reason why I keep struggling with this post is because I haven’t made up my mind about the topic of callings yet.
At some level, I resonate with the idea that, if we pay attention, life nudges us in particular directions. In my case, the unfolding of events in my short existence seems to guide me towards writing. Listening deeply to people. Weaving stories that make us think, and feel, and take action towards kinder and wiser ways of living.
I've ignored this calling of mine at times, opting for more corporate, less artistic pursuits. I still doubt it every day. And yet, the impetus to return to my creativity is undeniable. If I don't write, if I don't do these interviews, like Ashanti put it in our conversation, I have no peace. I feel empty, that my life is more dull, less meaningful.
At this level, the term ‘calling’ not only seems important but vital: trust the knowing in your gut, keep doing what you feel you should be doing beyond the clichéd societal conditioning. In the end, if we don’t do the thing that we feel called to do, the thing that brings us to life, no matter how unusual to the eyes of others, no matter how many other jobs we have to take to keep afloat, no one else will do so for us.
And yet, at another level, I find the notion of an ultimate vocation oppressing. First, because many people don’t feel called to do something in particular. Although that might have to do with the repression of intuition and one’s authenticity—I don’t know.
Secondly, the concept of calling risks reducing our complex human experience to a static personal branded headline that fits a LinkedIn bio. Or worst, to 30-second formulaic videos of gurus explaining their ultimate missions on this Earth - missions revealed to them after a terrible period of depression, which the audience might skip if only they enroll in their three-week life-altering online course.
What if I change my mind tomorrow about what I want to be doing with my time? Like it has happened to one of our guests recently, Mariana Martins, who after initiating a career in academia as a historian and launching a debut novel decided she wanted to venture into corporate life. We contain multitudes, after all!
And as I try to find clarity (and an end to this newsletter), a metaphor comes to mind: writers Edward Lawrence Doctorow and Anne Lamott have compared the process of writing a novel to driving a car at night. While you can only see as far as your headlights, you can make the whole trip that way.
Perhaps, instead of overthinking our way to discovering our one and only calling destination, instead of waiting for a perfect vision of the road, we can focus on the couple of meters projected by our tiny headlights—the light of our intuition. Turn on the windshield wiper if it’s raining. Trust that somehow we’ll get there. Wherever there is. For whatever purpose. Maybe we’ll even remember to turn on the radio, or Spotify, and enjoy the ride.
Warmly,
Carlota
Listen
Here’s our interview with Ashanti Kunene. I’d planned to provide you with a proper introduction to the important work Ashanti does, as well as more insight into the Boom Festival, the event where our paths crossed.
Due to the unforeseen shift in this newsletter's trajectory, instead, I’ll encourage you to listen to the podcast intro below. There, I explain in detail why I invited Ashanti after witnessing her powerful talk at Boom where she courageously called the audience out for their privilege, urging transformational festival goers to take more action towards building a more loving world.
Ashanti holds various titles (as the multitude she is), among them that of social justice activist, decolonial dialogue facilitator, poet, director of pedagogy at Culture Hack Labs, founder of Learning 2 Unlearn, and occasional painter.
In the episode, we explore her personal history growing up in South Africa. We delve into Ashanti’s involvement as a student leader in the 2015 protests ‘Fees Must Fall’, an experience that deepened her commitment to social justice.
We also discuss whether the use of psychedelics is inherently alienating or if it can support our individuation. And how an intimate experience with death and suicide might open us to the beauty of the universe. Finally, we touch on the role of intuition in our lives. And how Ashanti summons the courage, with varying degrees of reluctance, to live out her (current!) calling.
Listen on:
Spotify | Apple
love the analogy with a car and its headlights, that applies to a lot of things in life I think, and it's something that people don't remember a lot of the time - that you don't need to see the destination when you set out.
I resonate with every line of this, Carlota. Wonderfully honestly written. Someone shared a Thomas Mann quote with me once that has always stuck: "A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." Judging from how you started this post, I think you've found your proper calling. Robert Frost said (paraphrasing) that a poem starts as a lump in the throat; the poet must expel it. Writing is something for me that, though as burdensome at times as a ball and chain rapped round my ankle, I have found in recent years that I cannot live without, cannot ignore, and, like you say, go about my life peacefully. It is simply my lot in life even if no one is reading / listening, and the more I live, the more I long for stories, the more I desire to build a lore and ethos of my own. It sounds romantic and to me, it is -- the most romantic thing in my life. At the same time, it brings to mind a cliché. Find what you love and let it kill you.