The other day I got thinking about the word “will.” I don’t mean the document determining who gets the manor house and who gets the cat after you die. I mean the determination to do something, the commitment and desire: “I have the will (to get out of bed),” as in the famous song. Its full title is “I have the will (to get out of bed) (but not yet, Lord) (it’s cozy under the blankets) (and I didn’t do the dishes last night) (or the night before) (so spare me Lord) (and I promise I’ll get out of bed) (before sunset) (unless, you know, I don’t) (Hallelujah)”.

How do you say “information in the form of a joke” in German? That is a joke in itself, but I digress. I meant to say that thinking about “will” is useful and urgent, because your relationship with determination, commitment, and desire affects many things in your life. You “decide you’re going to be a musician when you grow up,” for instance. This seems like an expression of your will: a conscious decision; a plan; an objective. You commit to lessons and workshops, you study, you go to rehearsals, you practice, learn, and perform; all of this flows from your will.

Your career, then, arises from the pondered choices that you make over the years and decades, sometimes starting quite early on in your life.

Unless, of course, things don’t work that way. Maybe you don’t “will” but “you’re willed.” Mysterious and unnamable forces outside your control and outside your intellectual awareness engineer strange situations, compelling encounters, fortuitous events. You find yourself vaguely exploring something without knowing why, and without having decided to explore it. You don’t understand what you’re doing, and you can’t quite explain it to your friends and family. Or your explanations don’t reflect the actuality of what you’re doing. Because you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.

And if you’re available to the mystery, open to the difficult-to-justify exploration, “willing not to will,” your life and your career take unexpected turns, seemingly illogical from a professional, financial, or familial point of view, and yet organic to your deeper self, of which you may or may not have a clear grasp.

There’s a stereotypical Hollywood mantra or exhortation, dispensed by parents toward their children in films and TV shows: “You can do anything you want! You can become anybody you want!” It’s a celebration of pragmatic, extraverted will and self-determination. “You can get out of bed! And you will! Because you want to conquer the world and become the best neurosurgeon in the history of humanity!”

Let’s sing another song. “Lord, I’m not sure I want to become (the best neurosurgeon in the history of humanity) (and I didn’t do the dishes last night) (but I had a weird dream) (and the arts supply store was offering discounts) (and I meant to buy a couple of pencils only) (but somehow I ended up buying a ton of gouache) (I have no idea what to do with the gouache) (Lord, you bought gouache on my behalf, didn’t you?) (and now you, Lord, you’re splattering gouache over this beautiful A3-sized paper with a grainy surface) (and I’m standing here, squeezing the tube of gouache) (sorry, Lord, I meant to say that you’re squeezing the tube on my behalf) (and, oh my Lord, look at these splodgy blobs in orange, black, yellow, and violet) (they’re gorgeous) (I need some chocolate) (Lord, there’s no chocolate left in the house) (why oh why) (the supermarket is a block away, Pedro) (but, Lord—) (Shut up, Pedro, or I’ll make you squeeze some more gouache on some more A3-sized paper with a grainy surface) (yay Lord) (Hallelujah!)”.

Leonard Cohen was onto something. I love his song “Stock up (on 70% dark chocolate) (just in case).”