WLADIMIR WELTMAN

Talent or Vocation?

Above all, he has to find his purpose,
his reason for getting out of bed – his ikigai.
–Héctor García & Francesc Miralles

What initially drew me to the Japanese concept of ikigai was the profound resonance it had with my own inner search for purpose. In my twenties, almost instinctively, I began to question the direction of my life and contemplate the path I wished to follow. It was during this period of introspection that I encountered a place mentioned in a text by Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar: Wadi Kelt.

In 1975, I traveled to Israel with a group of friends to visit a kibbutz where we intended to live. Our guide, a professional archaeologist and member of a nature conservation society, took us on several excursions. One of the most memorable was a hike through Wadi Kelt, along the remnants of an ancient aqueduct that once connected Jerusalem to the biblical city of Jericho. The landscape evoked a sense of timelessness and sacredness. The profound silence described by Rabbi Kedar was not only palpable in Wadi Kelt but also echoed in other places I visited across Israel, including the Dead Sea, the ruins of Masada, and most strikingly, the Sinai Desert.

One of my final experiences before returning to Brazil in 1979 was a five-day trek across the Sinai Desert on foot. It was during this journey that I came to understand why so many early Christian mystics chose to live as hermits in the deserts of Israel. The quiet stillness found in these landscapes invite a deep spiritual encounter, both with the divine and with the self. These spaces do not merely offer tranquility; they provoke reflection, self-awareness, and a sense of sacred presence.

The Hebrew phrase Lech L’cha, which Rabbi Kedar emphasizes in her writing, is commonly translated as "go to yourself." She interprets this phrase as a call to embark on an inner journey, a spiritual directive that aligns closely with the ethos of ikigai. She explained, "The rabbis understand Lech L'cha as a command to manifest the good and power within...Step into the light of who you are, the psalmist says. Lech L’cha: embark on a journey of self-awareness and manifest your life's purpose. You need only listen to discover that purpose."

Lech L'cha, as found in Genesis 12:1, constitutes a divine directive in which God commands Abram to leave his native land and his father's household in order to journey to a land that would be revealed to him. This moment holds significant weight within Jewish tradition, as it represents the inception of the covenantal relationship between God and Abraham. It also signifies the beginning of Abraham's transformative journey, both physical and spiritual, which serves as a paradigmatic model for personal development and the pursuit of a deeper existential purpose.

During a comparable period in my own life, both in a literal and metaphorical sense, I, like Abraham, departed from my familial home and embarked on a journey in search of my ikigai, or life purpose. This process encompassed several formative stages, including my years living in Israel, my enrollment in a university communications program, the initial stages of my journalistic career, and, after nearly a decade, my transition into the field of television.

In the mid-1980s, I came to the realization of my true vocational calling: to tell stories through the medium of media production. The insights I gleaned throughout this journey were synthesized and expressed in a video project produced during the first semester of my MFA studies. At that time, I articulated the following reflection: "Much has transpired since those early days, yet among all the changes, the most profound has been discovering the answers to my soul's relentless inquiry. Today, I believe I've unraveled the purpose behind my existence and identified the primary reason for my presence in this world. If you were to ask about my essence, I'd say: I am a storyteller. I am a writer. There is immense joy in solitude – sitting at my desk, penning my thoughts. Through language, I meticulously shape my emotions and express precisely what I intend."

While spiritual reflection helped define my purpose, practical wisdom from a mentor solidified my path as a working artist. That is why I would like to share a formative insight imparted by one of my most esteemed and influential mentors: Mauricio Sherman. A widely respected figure in Brazil, Sherman played a pivotal role in the development of Brazilian television beginning in the 1950s and enjoyed a distinguished and enduring career in theater, film, and television until his passing in 2019. It was he who first introduced me to the world of television in 1981, and I had the privilege of working closely with him as a comedy writer during the final five years of his career, prior to my return to the United States in 2017.

Among the many enriching conversations we shared over the years, one, in particular, has continued to resonate with me and bears direct relevance to the themes explored in this essay. Sherman posed a compelling question that touches the core of artistic development: What is more essential to a successful artistic career: talent or vocation? According to Sherman, vocation holds greater significance than talent in determining the trajectory and sustainability of an artistic career.

To illustrate this perspective, he referenced two Brazilian artists whom we both knew well: the comedian Nádia Maria and the dramatic actor Sérgio Porto. Nádia Maria was a naturally gifted comedian. "One of the funniest, most talented I've seen," Sherman said, "yet she lacked discipline and drive." Though her talent was undeniable, her career never reached its full potential due to a lack of vocation. Sérgio Porto, by contrast, "began awkward, tongue tied, and untalented." But his unwavering dedication and passion, his vocation, propelled him to become one of Brazil's greatest dramatic actors, earning acclaim from both audiences and critics.

That lesson became my own: talent can take you far, but vocation carries you all the way. My writing began mediocre; my true talent was drawing. But my vocation was, and remains, writing. I may not be a great writer, but my vocation has made me the best writer I can be, and that is enough. Without a doubt, to be a writer is my ikigai.

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