The Art of Work: A Proven Path to Discovering What You Were Meant to Do

I slammed the phone against the receiver, grabbed my
guitar, and stepped outside, shutting the door behind me.
Because now I knew. Lane was home. Racing across
campus with guitar strap slung over my shoulder, I ran to
her dorm. Catching my breath in the lobby, I waited for
someone to let me in, then walked straight to her door and
knocked.
The door opened. And I stepped into a room full of
people.
About half a dozen people were sitting around Lane’s
living room, chatting as college students tend to do on a
Saturday afternoon. As soon as I entered the room, they all
turned to me. Lane smiled nervously and looked at me. I
didn’t say a word.
Swinging the guitar from behind my back, I pulled it up
to my chest and began to play. For the next one and a half
minutes, I serenaded Lane, trying my best to ignore the
onlookers. The song finished with the on-key line: “Will
you go to the dance with me?” When I resolved with that
final strum of the C chord, I looked at Lane, waiting for her
answer.
She looked at me. I looked back at her. And everyone
else looked at us.
And I waited.
Taking a deep breath, I grinned at her with fake
confidence. This was the moment I had been waiting for,
what I had been working up to for weeks now. I had, as my
friends suggested, gone big, laying all my cards on the