I recently fulfilled a life-long goal. In the scope of
academic work, it is a gold medal. The last 10 years of my life, including all
of my mental, physical, and spiritual energy, has gone toward this goal.
But the crazy thing is…the excitement lasted about two days
and then began the realization: “So what?” which was soon followed by a related
question: “Now what?”
I thought of an analogy of a dragon slayer (if dragons were
real…that is beside the point) to help me understand this moment in time. All of
the warrior’s life, their quest has been to slay dragons. It is in the job
description and the title. But there is a problem with this profession.
If you are a great dragon slayer, assuming there are a
limited number of dragons, you will eventually work yourself out of a job (if
you don’t become a French fry first). When you meet the last dragon, you have
to kill it. Once again, that is your job.
But as the last blade stroke falls, and the dragon breathes its
last, your time as a dragon slayer has ended. Now you are a “former” dragon
slayer, for there is nothing more to slay.
Thus begins the dilemma. Do you give up the profession and
retire (assuming dragon slayers have a 401K) or do you find something else to slay?
The problem is that nothing else compares to the excitement and exhilaration of
slaying a dragon. Anything else just seems like hunting. Then it hits you.
It doesn’t matter what animal you slay, it will never bring
you the peace that you so desire. Because once the last dragon falls, both your
livelihood and sense of accomplishment will fall as well.
A few days later, I had another revelation: dragons are not
real (as much as I wish they were) but the monsters we seek to conquer are very
much a part of our daily lives. The dragon I really killed, the one that bit
the dust when the congratulatory email entered my inbox, was a lifetime supply of
inadequacy, emptiness, and discontent. After the demise of the last dragon, I
realized that all I have left is the inner strength that comes from being a
true warrior.
I languish in the understanding that what I really loved was
the hunt. The chase. The fear. The adventure. Now that it is finished, and the
dragon, along with my insecurities, negativity, and self-loathing, are soundly defeated,
I rest in the fact that the elusive happiness and contentment that follow a
sense of accomplishment was always within my grasp.
So what if there are no more dragons to slay? Challenges
await, and I will always have my new-found pride and confidence at
the ready if other monsters rear their ugly heads. I have the weapons I need.
There is, and always was, a dragon slayer living inside me. I
regret that it took far too many years for me to realize that truth.
