The Alchemist - Paulo Coelho

A story of a young man who was a shepherd in Spain, who dreams of the Pyramids. A king approaches him one day, and tells him those dreams are his Personal Legend, and he needs to pursue it. And so the boy does. Sells his sheep, buys a ticket to cross the sea. Experiences many setbacks, though in time he wouldn't see them that way. They're just steps on the journey, tests to be passed. Personal Legends aren't achieved easily.

He meets many people, some who have achieved their Personal Legend, others trying to do so, and others who have abandoned it. Holding it out as some dream they know they'll never pursue is somehow better. Because they're afraid to lose what they have.

There's a lot of talk of connecting with the Soul of the World, of being able to listen to what the universe is telling you, and then trusting in one's own judgment. But Coelho's writing is strong enough that it avoids feeling like you're being subjected to a string of morals or Very Important Messages. The characters have a certain flow to their dialogue, almost poetic or lyrical, that makes what they say seem natural. It doesn't seem out of place. And it works within the story. The things the boy learns as he goes along are all part of the Personal Legend. They feed into it, shape it, pay off down the line. So it works.

There's a point where the boy considers not going forward with the trip, because he worries about giving up all his sheep. And then he realizes that it isn't as though he'll forget how to be a shepherd. If the trip doesn't pan out, he can probably find a way to become a shepherd again. It's there as a fallback, but it shouldn't serve as a leash. That's something I want to keep in mind for later. I've worried that my current job is taking me away from what I really want to be doing. But I know there are ways to get to the career I want, and when I'm ready, I can still do that. The dream isn't lost for good. Not yet.

'The wind approached the boy and touched his face. It knew of the boy's talk with the desert, because the winds know everything. They blow across the world without a birthplace, and with no place to die.'