How to Be Here

by Rob Bell

  the world. Creation is exhausting and exhilarating

  and draining and invigorating and it’s also a mystery

  because

  everybody sits down to a blank page.

  Or business plan.

  Or test or experiment or meeting or deal.

  Or child or job or life.

  Especially those who have done it before.

  The more you do the work, the more you build muscles for that particular work. From shaping metal to forming paragraphs to arguing a case to doing research to making spreadsheets to arranging the parts for the violins to play to organizing staff to raising a child—you can acquire skills and then improve on them as you do the work year after year. This growing technique and expertise can help you create and build and act with more ease and excellence, but it cannot help you avoid the blank page.

  This is true for rocket scientists and actors and doctors, and it’s also true for parents and for people who work in restaurants and for your insurance agent.

  Whoever you are and whatever work you do, no one has ever lived your life with your particular challenges and possibilities.

  No one has ever raised that child before, even if you’ve raised two already.

  No one has ever worked in that particular office before with its peculiar mix of personalities and challenges.

  No one has ever taken care of that patient at this moment with these particular challenges.

  “You” hasn’t been attempted before.

  It can be intimidating when you look around and see the superstars in whatever field you’re in doing their thing. You see the tremendous momentum they gain from success after success and it can easily plant the question in your heart, Why should I even try?

  Or you can see it another way.

  It can be intimidating, or it can be liberating, because if everybody starts with a blank page, then everybody starts from the same place.

  This is the great mystery of creation: something comes out of nothing. Whatever it is—a school, a business, a treatment program, a sculpture, a network, a family, a relationship, a strategy—it didn’t exist, and then it did exist, because someone brought it into existence.

  When you say “yes” to your life and your path and your work in the world, you are entering into this mystery of creation, a mystery in which everybody starts with a blank page, and “everybody” includes you.

  Now, let’s pause and take a breath.

  You’ve been given this gift of life.

  You were not given his gift or her gift.

  You were given your gift.

  Is there any way that you’ve been looking over your shoulder or over your fence, comparing your life with someone else’s?

  Is there any way in which you wish you had someone else’s life?

  Is there any way in which you are not throwing yourself into your life because you’re convinced that you could never do it as well as so-and-so does it?

  Is there any way in which the blank page that is your life has got you stuck, terrified, asking that soul-crushing question,

  Who am I to do this?

  There is a new question,

  a better question,

  a question that will help you to be here.

  The new question is this:

  Who am I not to do this?

  (Who am’n’t I?)

  PART 3

  The Japanese Have a Word for It

  You may be talented, but you’re not Kanye West.

  —Kanye West

  I once volunteered to give a sermon.

  I’d never given a sermon. How do you put together a sermon? I had no idea. I took a walk to think about it and had a few ideas, so I wrote them down. A few more thoughts came the next day, so I wrote them down. I read some passages in the Bible, which spurred some more thoughts, so I wrote them down.

  And then Sunday morning came and I stood up to speak. I clearly remember standing there about to start my talk and knowing that this was what I was going to do with my life.

  It wasn’t just the speaking part that I loved, it was the preparation and the nerves and arranging the ideas and going over it again and again, trying to make it better—I loved everything leading up to giving that sermon. I loved the whole process.

  There’s another memory I have of that morning that’s mixed in among the trembling nerves and explosive joy, one that hasn’t left me twenty-five years later. I specifically remember thinking that even if I wasn’t very good at giving sermons, I had found something that would get me out of bed in the morning . . .

  The Japanese have a word for what gets you out of bed in the morning: they call it your ikigai. Your ikigai is that sense you have when you wake up that this day matters, that there are new experiences to be had, that you have work to do, a contribution to make. Sometimes this is referred to as your calling, other times your vocation, your destiny, your path. Your ikigai is your reason for being.

  If you’re like a lot of people, the moment the words path and vocation and calling come into the conversation, let alone a new word like ikigai, a thousand questions come to mind. Questions about paychecks and responsibility and passion and what you wish you could do if only you didn’t have those bills to pay . . .

  Figuring It Out

  We are always in the endless process of figuring out our ikigai.

  Your ikigai is a web of work and family and play and how you spend your time,

  what you give your energies to,

  what you say “yes” to,

  what you say “no” to,

  what new challenges you take on,

  things that come your way that you never wanted or

  planned for or know what to do with—

  your ikigai is a work in progress because you are a work in progress.

  Knowing your ikigai, then, takes patience,

  and insight,

  and courage,

  and honesty.

  You try lots of different things. You volunteer, you sign up, you take a class, you do an internship, you get the training, you shadow someone around for a day who does something that intrigues you. You follow your curiosity. You watch for things that grab your attention. This is much easier when you’re younger and have less financial pressure and fewer others depending on you, but it’s true no matter how old you are.

  You explore the possibilities because you can’t steer a parked car.

  The one thing that unites the people I know who are on satisfying and meaningful paths is that they kept trying things, kept exploring, kept pursuing new opportunities, kept searching until they discovered their ikigai. And then from there they never stop figuring it out because they understand how absolutely crucial this is in creating a life worth living.

  Someone Should

  When you pursue your path, exploring the possibilities as you search for your ikigai, pay careful attention to things that make you angry and get you all riled up and provoke you to say, Someone should do something about that!!!

  The someone may be you.

  When I was growing up, my parents took us to church. At church, I heard stories about Jesus. I loved those stories. I loved how Jesus always went to the edges, to the forgotten, to the outcasts, to those on the underside. I love how he answered questions with more questions, constantly challenging authority. I loved that he was funny and serious and shocking and irreverent and compelling all at the same time. I found him fascinating and compelling. I believed.

  But there was this whole thing surrounding him—not just church, but a system that had built up around him of assumptions and rules and worldviews that appeared to me to have nothing to do with his life and message.

  Why was he so thrilling but the religion that had organized around him so boring and oppressive?

  I realize now, looking back many years later, that seeds were being planted in those early years. Seeds that would grow over time into my ikigai.

  Some people find their ikigai by asking, What do I love to d
o?

  Others find theirs by asking, What makes me angry? What wrongs need to be righted? What injustice needs to be resisted?

  Listen to your life. Look back on the moments when you felt most connected to the world around you. Think about those experiences in which you felt the most comfortable in your own skin. Reflect on when you were most aware of something wrong in the world and your strong response to it.

  Be honest about your joy. Sometimes our ikigai is jammed way down in our hearts somewhere because we were told early on, You can’t make money doing that, or That isn’t a real job, or That’s a waste of time.

  Ask yourself: Am I not pursuing my path because of what someone has told me is and isn’t acceptable?

  Which leads to another truth about your ikigai: It may involve a paycheck and it may not.

  I once recorded an album that no one cared about.

  I had written a number of songs so I booked time at a studio near my house, but I didn’t have a band at the time so I had a friend play the drums and I played everything else. I had it mixed and mastered and I made a few copies for friends.

  Who didn’t say a thing.

  Literally, I would play them the songs and when each song was done they’d say something like, I heard it’s supposed to rain later this week, or Didn’t you say you had some queso dip you’d made? I’d love to try it . . .

  Quite quickly I realized that no one cared about my music but me. Which was awkward at first, and then freeing.

  Some things you do for you.

  You do them because it gives you great satisfaction and it puts a smile on your face and that’s it.

  And that’s fine.

  It’s not just fine, it’s necessary. It makes you a better person, it fills your soul, it opens you up to life in its fullness.

  So don’t apologize for it, enjoy it.

  You may love doing or creating or making or organizing something, but that’s different from it being your job. If music was my job, I’d hate it. What often happens is that we love doing a particular thing and so our next thought is, I should do this for my job.

  Here’s the problem with that impulse: Getting a paycheck for doing that thing you love may actually ruin it.

  I’ve met a number of people who are working at a particular job but they have this other passion/cause/hobby that they love and they’re convinced that if they could just quit that job and do _____________ full time they would be much more fulfilled.

  But it’s not always true. If they quit that job and did _____________ all day they might be miserable.

  There’s a chance that putting the weight and pressure of a paycheck on that thing you love might burden it with a load it can’t bear.

  Interests, art forms, talents, hobbies, missions, passions, service projects, and causes all have their proper place in our lives.

  Some people have a mission, a cause, a love, a thing they’re most passionate about—and it’s not their job. What they need is a job that doesn’t drain them, so that they’ll have the energy they need for the thing they know they’re here to do.

  There are lots of ways your ikigai will get worked out in your life.

  Some things we do fill us with life so that we can give ourselves to our work in the world with greater love and vitality and passion. Some things we get paid for, some things we don’t.

  There’s a good chance your ikigai will change over time.

  Relax, this is normal.

  You may get trained to do one thing but end up doing something very different.

  You may get your dream job and then get fired.

  Or the company may have to lay people off or there’s only one opportunity at the moment in that particular line of work and it’s in New Zealand. Or Bangladesh. Or Ohio.

  Someone you love may get sick and need you to care for her, you may have a child with special needs whose primary care falls to you, you may become injured and not be able to do that thing that you’ve done all these years.

  That may happen.

  And it’s okay.

  It’s all part of how your ikigai gets worked out over the course of your life.

  Step

  Several years ago I was talking with a very, very wealthy man I know—let’s call him Wayne. Wayne doesn’t have to work another day in his life. That kind of wealth. And yet all he wanted to talk about is how bored he is.

  It’s the inertia of options: If you don’t have to go anywhere or do anything in the morning, that’s what may happen. You may not go anywhere or do anything.

  Wealth often ruins people, because having too many options can easily lead to being stuck, disconnected from your life because there’s no pressing need to do anything.

  As it’s written in the book of Genesis, we make our way in the world by the sweat of our brow. Too much money, not enough money, too many demands, not enough challenge, stressed from all the responsibility, bored and restless and ready for more responsibility—there is a tension at the heart of our humanity that none of us can escape.

  To be here is to embrace the spiritual challenge of your ikigai, doing the hard work of figuring out who you are and what you have to give the world.

  This is work we all have to do,

  because we’re all a piece of work,

  in the endless process of exploring our ikigai.

  I get up in the morning and I sit down and start working on my next book or talk or show because it’s the most natural thing to do

  and yet

  it regularly takes all of the discipline and focus I can possibly muster to stay here at this desk and keep working.

  I can’t imagine being anywhere else

  and yet

  some days I can’t imagine anything more difficult than. the. next. sentence.

  Your ikigai is exhausting and exhilarating, draining and invigorating, all at the same time.

  There are moments when nothing in the world seems more difficult, and yet you can’t imagine doing anything else.

  There is a paradox to your ikigai because sometimes the easiest thing to do and the hardest thing to do will be the exact same thing.

  Selling your house, giving away possessions, working multiple jobs for a period of time, going back to school and moving in with friends or relatives,

  sharing a car with your partner and riding your bike more,

  investing all your savings in a new venture,

  living on the other side of the world for a year—

  your friends may not understand,

  your co-workers may not get it,

  your extended family may think you’ve lost your

  mind—

  that’s okay.

  Better to receive some odd looks and have a few people roll their eyes than spend your days wondering,

  What if I did that . . . ?

  Take that step.

  Make that leap.

  Try that new thing.

  If it helps clarify your ikigai,

  if it gets you up in the morning,

  if it’s good for you and the world,

  do it.

  Courage

  So I preached that first sermon, and then later that year I went to seminary. And then I got a job in a church, and then I started giving sermons every week. And then I started traveling and speaking and writing books and then I made a television show and then I started a podcast—all of it one long, slow evolution in the same direction.

  This work has brought me more joy than I could ever measure, and there have also been times that were so painful and disorienting and excruciating and agonizing that I wondered whether I was done.

  Finding your ikigai will be endlessly challenging.

  This is normal. Yes, it’s frustrating when you hate your job, but finding your ikigai can also be maddening even if you know exactly why you’re here and you get paid to do work that you love.

  Twice I have experienced serious burnout.

  And by burnout, I don’t mean I was really tired and
just needed to rest. Or I simply hadn’t taken a vacation in a while and needed to get away.

  By burnout, I mean curled up in the fetal position on the floor of my office, unable to move. The first was in February of 2004, and I was at my end. Drained in the center of my being. Nothing left to give. In the words of my therapist, whom Kristen drove me to see that night,

  You’ve been going too fast and too hard for too long.

  Which is why I told you about preaching that first sermon. I stumbled into work I love in my early twenties. And I could get paid to do it? Incredible! But no matter how simple and straightforward it may appear, your ikigai may at times leave you slumped on the floor.

  Embracing your ikigai will always require tremendous faith and courage.

  When you’re starting out—or starting over—it can be hard to imagine that there’s a life of satisfying contribution out there somewhere for you. The idea of having something to get you out of bed in the morning that you actually enjoy doing can seem like an illusion, a fairy tale for people who don’t know how cold and lonely the world really is.

  This is why it’s absolutely vital for you to embrace at the outset the idea that you are a divine piece of work, created to do good in the world. The universe is not neutral or, worse, against you. When you set out to find your path, the universe is on your side. That is the faith that keeps you going.

  We’re all a work in progress, dealing with the voices filling our minds and hearts with destructive messages, searching for that sense of satisfying contribution, trying new things, all of it out of a desire to find what it is that will get us up in the morning.

  Your ikigai may involve a plan.

  I know a doctor who is deep in debt. He has other things he wants to do beyond being a doctor, but his school debt limits his options. We were talking one day about his restless sense that life was passing him by, and I asked him how soon he could erase that debt. He said he could do it in three years. I asked him whether he could do what he’s currently doing for three years if he knew that that would be the end of this chapter of his life and the start of a new one. He got really excited about this plan. Your ikigai might involve an intentional step you’re taking now to end this phase of your life so that you can start another one.