There is more in a human life than our theories of it allow. Sooner or later something seems to call us onto a particular path. You may remember this "something" as a signal moment in childhood when an urge out of nowhere, a fascination, a peculiar turn of events struck like an annunciation: This is what I must do, this is what I've got to have. This is who I am.

Aptitude can show calling, but it isn't the only indicator. Ineptitude or dysfunction may reveal calling more than talent, curiously enough.

We are driven by the results of the Big Bang, billions of years ago, which eventually produced life, which eventually produced human beings, and so on. But me? I'm an accident - a result - and therefore a victim.

Psychology is ultimately mythology, the study of the stories of the soul.

To hope for nothing, to expect nothing, to demand nothing. This is analytical despair.

Each person enters the world "called," like an oak tree, to fulfill their soul’s agenda.

I'm the result of upbringing, class, race, gender, social prejudices, and economics. So I'm a victim again. A result.