The Quiet Roar of One’s Calling
A Love Letter to The Work That Is Yours
I have read many books that inform and entertain. But then there are the rare few that awaken. Stephen Cope’s The Great Work of Your Life is just that.
It’s not simply a book—it’s a mirror, a chisel, a balm. It arrives not when you’re ready, but when you’re ripe. And for me, it showed up like a whisper from the divine just as I was quietly wondering if my own dharma had slipped through my fingers for good.
I had just turned 60. A milestone, yes—but also a moment of reckoning. Though I had achieved “success” in its conventional, Western packaging— travel, meaning experiences, and a good deal of professional success—I felt unfulfilled. Hollow, even.
As if my life were a beautiful suit that fit someone else. This is why I downloaded Cope’s book on a whim and read it with gusto. It felt less like reading and more like remembering something ancient inside me.
From Cubicles to Clarity: My Own False Dharma
My parents, both children of the American South, wore hardship like second skin. To them, stability was salvation. Success meant clean fingernails and steady paychecks. They wanted me to find a respectable field that paid well and provided good benefits. I, of course, rebelled by majoring in Sociology.
Eventually, I ended up right where they hoped: in healthcare administration, wearing the suit and tie my father had modeled with pride. I had become a polished, educated, culturally competent professional. But inside? I was wilting.
Years of unnatural light, recycled air, and ergonomic prison chairs chipped away at my spirit. I started to lose my swagger. Not just physically—but spiritually, emotionally, energetically. As Cope quotes from the Gospel of Thomas: “If you bring forth what is within you, it will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, it will destroy you.” I was dying by degrees—because I had left my dharma buried.
Cope would call that living out the “false self”—a collection of ideas about who we think we should be. Not who we are. He invites us to ask the scariest, most liberating question of all: “Is your life working for you?” In my case, the answer was a quiet but deafening no.
Arjuna’s Paralysis is Our Own
Cope anchors his wisdom in the Bhagavad Gita, the ancient Hindu text that serves as the spiritual and narrative spine of the book. Arjuna, the warrior, finds himself on the battlefield of duty, paralyzed by doubt. Krishna, disguised as a charioteer, becomes his guide.
We are all Arjuna. Standing at the crossroads of expectation and soul-truth. Frozen between what the world wants from us and what our inner voice—our dharma—is whispering. Krishna’s teachings become our lifeline:
Know your dharma.
Do it full out.
Let go of the fruits.
Turn it over to the Divine.
Reading this, I had to sit back. It was so simple. So terrifying. So true.
Dharma Is Not a Job—It’s a Soulprint
Cope says, “We cannot be anyone we want to be. We can only authentically be who we are.” This is perhaps the most radical thing you can say in a culture of curated identities and self-made personas. Our dharma isn’t something we fabricate—it’s something we remember. It is our unique soulprint, shaped by both our gifts and our wounds.
I thought I had lost mine. But reading Cope’s stories—of Jane Goodall, Harriet Tubman, Beethoven, and even anonymous friends whose dharmas unfolded in extraordinary ordinariness—I felt seen. Tubman didn’t read the Gita, yet her every step was a prayer in motion. Beethoven lost his hearing, and in that loss, his music deepened. The Gift comes out of The Wound, Cope writes. And that… that made my heart crack open.
Because maybe my own wound—of feeling like a misfit in the boardroom, of never truly belonging in that slick corporate world—was the doorway all along.
Letting Go of the Outcome, Embracing the Flame
One of the most powerful teachings Cope offers—echoing Krishna—is to let go of the fruits of your labor. This was a game-changer for me. All my life, I had chased outcomes. Promotions, bylines, applause. But Cope says: “Give yourself entirely to your work, yes. But let go of the outcome. Be alike in success and defeat.”
This principle was like cool water to my burning ambition. It invited me to shift from performance to presence. To do the work that felt real, even if it didn’t impress anyone at the cocktail party. That’s why I’ve since traded in “networking events” for long, quiet walks, spontaneous creative projects, and deeper writing. My life now feels more aligned—not louder, but truer.
Thoreau, Gandhi, and the Everyday Mystic
Cope includes stunning portraits of dharma in action. I was particularly struck by Thoreau—who, like me, seemed to hover between the world and the woods. My own father did his dissertation on Walden, and I was named after Henry David himself. Reading Thoreau’s story through Cope’s lens felt like an ancestral echo calling me to claim my nature-based, soul-centered path.
Then came Gandhi, whose encounter with the Gita transformed his life. I hadn’t known that he didn’t even read it until his mid-twenties. There’s hope for all of us, late bloomers. His practice of simplification—of renouncing excess to channel his energy into dharma—resonated deeply. As I’ve begun paring down my own life, living simply by design, I feel freer. Cope is right: Every time we renounce, we free up energy for our dharma.
Living from the Inside Out
There’s a particularly haunting quote in the book: “If you don’t find your work in the world and throw yourself wholeheartedly into it, you inevitably make your self your work.” And what a prison that becomes—obsessing over our image, our health, our “spiritual prowess,” even. Cope warns us: “This self-dedication is too small a work.”
I know that prison well. I’ve spent years perfecting the outer self—sharp blazer, eloquent elevator pitch, updated LinkedIn bio. But the inner self? He was waiting. Wild. Weathered. Wiser. Reading this book, I felt her stirring again.
Now, I wake up and ask, not what the world wants from me, but what life wants through me. Sometimes it’s a walk. Sometimes it’s a piece of writing that won’t let me sleep. Sometimes, it’s simply listening.
The Gift Hidden in Plain Sight
Dharma is not always glamorous. It rarely comes with fanfare. It might be tending a garden. Writing quietly. Raising a child. Mentoring one soul. But it is yours. And when you find it—or it finds you—you know. Your energy shifts. Your eyes shine again.
Cope writes, “At the end of life, most of us will find that we have felt most filled up by the challenges and successful struggles for mastery, creativity, and full expression of our dharma in the world.” That line made me well up. Because I don’t want to die with my music still in me. I want to be used up—not by busyness, but by purpose.
Watching for the Signs
Some nights, I still doubt. Still ache. Still wonder if I’m fooling myself. But as Cope suggests, I turn to the Divine for guidance. And I watch. A hawk flies overhead when I’m wrestling with a decision. A stranger says something that pierces through the noise. A sentence I write gives me chills. These are the signs.
Maybe, like Arjuna, I don’t need a new life. I need new sight.
The Jewel in the Web
Cope ends with a breathtaking image: that each of us is a jewel in Indra’s Net—our light reflecting the light of all others. “It is the sacred duty of every soul to be that jewel, in that place, at that time. Utterly.”
And so I show up. Not to impress. Not to perform. But to align. To breathe. To create. To serve.
Because maybe my calling isn’t lost at all. Maybe it’s been whispering the whole time—under the noise, under the suits, under the spreadsheets.
I just had to listen.
Here’s Your Invitation
If you are reading this and wondering whether your life has passed you by—it hasn’t. If you feel the quiet ache of something unexpressed—trust it. If you’ve been measuring your worth by someone else’s yardstick—burn it.
Pick up The Great Work of Your Life. Let it sit on your heart. Let it call your name. Read it not to be taught, but to be remembered.
And when it stirs something deep and ancient within you—when it brings forth what is within you—follow it.
Because that’s where your life begins again.
Right where it always was.
Waiting.
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This is fantastic. Thank you!