The Desire Vs the Duty: choosing wisely?

There’s a constant tug-of-war between the quiet joy of creating and the loud demands of survival. Never would I have ever imagined how powerful the tension between those two would be. Thing is I want to chase my dreams, but I also need to pay rent! 

Being a creative soul and a responsible do-right, law-abiding citizen don’t go hand in hand, my friends. I mean, how can that even work when you’re just a DIY indie creator who can’t afford all the emotional and financial demands society has set forth for you? 

What I want to do? I dream of mornings doing nothing but writing, observing, dancing, creating… Evenings lost in a world where my hands can tell a whole story in one sitting. I’d write anything, out of pure passion, with no interruptions. Just creating. As any passionate artist knows, losing yourself in the rhythm of it is everything. It’s not a lot to ask. I’m happy with these simple things. Simple, but a fulfilling way of life for me. 

But then…there’s the other side of the coin: what I need to do. The deadlines, the responsibilities, the bills waiting in line, like silent little reminders that the world doesn’t work on dreams alone. (And that sucks.) The weight of it isn’t just financial; it’s emotional, too. 

It’s the burden of having to show up every day, with a smile, if you can muster it, and a tired mind if you can’t. It’s waking up early to dive into a life that isn’t yours, but somehow was chosen for you? Something you didn’t sign up for but that is required of you, whether you like it or not. 

I stare at the clock and feel the hours slip away, knowing I’m meant to be somewhere else. Mentally, I am “somewhere else” anyway. But it’s not enough. I’m physically here, going through the motions. That’s reality. I can feel the itch of it, the pull of that one thing I love the most, like a rope tied around my chest, pulling me in every direction except the one I’m presently walking.

Sometimes, it feels like I’m caught in a tug-of-war with myself. On one end, there’s the promise of freedom—the sweet possibility of spending every minute doing what makes me feel alive. It’s right there in the back of my mind, like an old school song, reminding me every moment where I belong. But on the other end, there’s the cold reality of what needs to be done: the adult responsibilities, the routines I can’t escape, no matter how much I wish I could. All just so I’m able to pay rent, to put food on my table, a roof over my head (and to treat myself!). But still, not my choice.

And I wonder, am I doing this for myself or for the world? Is the weight of responsibility a necessary evil or am I just convincing myself that it’s what I have to do? 

Every time I tell myself I need to do something, I feel a little piece of my soul slip away. But when I chase what I want, I rejoice. Even if the crushing pressure of time slips through my fingers.

I can’t seem to escape the feeling that I’m constantly running on two parallel tracks—one leading to a life of obligation, the other to a life of fulfillment but which I can’t conquer completely.

What would be the cost of not choosing the need? Homelessness? A life of struggle? It’s crazy it has to be this way. I think humans have made life unnecessarily difficult for themselves with all the man-made laws and unwritten rules. 

I’ll keep running, though, even if I’m running in circles. There’s no other way to move forward, I suppose? And in those brief moments when I can steal time for what I love, I’ll remember the reason why it’s worth it: it simply brings me joy. Somewhere deep down, I know the desire is the thing that keeps me from losing it while I’m on duty.