Humans of New York recently posted the picture of a little kid on their website with the following caption:
“I want to be an archeologist. That’s a person who explores the desert and looks for dinosaur eggs and Egyptians. I’ve been thinking a lot about it. I’m already watching Jurassic Park and collecting dinosaur stickers. And once I found a piece of coral in the shape of a heart.”(Bogotá, Colombia)
And that got me thinking.
I was that kid, once. Okay, I’m still only 17, but bear with me.
I wanted to be an archeologist. I owned these small solid sand blocks that you’d have to dig through with tools to find dinosaur bones inside of.
I was crazy about them. I’d sit for hours, just concentrated on that one task, digging those blocks, until the fake rarity would point out its nose at the extremities of my tools.
Why did I want to be an archaeologist? The thrill of the search. The patience required that would eventually lead me to something I knew I would discover. The joy of the process.
I still am that way, but just haven’t found what truly puts me in that state. The state of everything else around you getting faded, all that matters being the task at hand. The innocent joy – happiness – of simply enjoying the process, even more so than the end reward in itself. I’ve only stopped wanting to dig up dinosaur bones because of the reality of the actual job of being an archeologist. But in a way, I haven’t stopped dreaming. I still crave to dig through blocks of solid sand, sitting in a chair, glasses up my nose, tools in hands, time sitting still, with only one objective in head. I still want to be an archeologist.