Passion vs. Reason

If you’re anything like me, you sometimes experience tension between who you are and what you want. Sometimes your highest nature—your passion—dares you to do something fraught with risk and potentially disastrous, while your reason cautions you that the path to a desired outcome is tried and true. And, again if you’re anything like me, reason often wins the debate.

I’m not suggesting that reason is the enemy. On the contrary, reason is a necessary part of our nature, and there are circumstances when reason should triumph—particularly when the stakes are truly high, reason’s perspective is vital—but I’ve discovered that in me, “reason” is often a disguise for fear or desire. Reason dresses up my fears and wants, giving them (seeming) legitimacy.

For example:

Although I love theatre and performance (in musicals and non-musicals), I find vocal auditions quite daunting under the best of circumstances. I lack confidence in my voice, even though it’s served me pretty well over the years, because (even though I know better) I tend to compare myself with other singers, many of whom have years more training and experience than I. Because when I audition I want a role, I typically play it safe vocally for the sake of my desire, even if my “higher self” wants to do something different that might open up new possibilities.

In the last month or so, I’ve begun to “discover” a part of my voice and vocal range I’ve longed for, because if I can grow in this direction it will open up more possibilities, and I decided that for my next audition, one of my songs would be in that range. It was a risky choice because that part of my voice isn’t quite ready for prime time, but I was determined, and vocally I was close to what I felt would show off this broader potential. I decided to risk it.

Yesterday was audition day. I woke up second guessing my determination. I had another song on deck that I knew I could do well and I wanted—oh, how I wanted!—to ditch the song I’d been preparing all month and go with one that was safe and might get me a role I wanted. It would have been so easy to go that route!

I didn’t. I stayed the course, although I sweated and fretted and, when it came time to sing that song, I tensed up and lost some of what I’d had all month. And the outcome was that I was called back for roles I’d probably have been called back for if I’d played it safe. I don’t think the risk gained me anything. It didn’t really expand my opportunities. I could have played it safe, avoided all that stress, and it wouldn’t have cost me a thing.

Only, that’s not the point.

I’m glad I did what I did—glad I took the chance even though it didn’t go as well as I’d hoped, even though it made no difference in the outcome, even though it could have reduced my opportunities—because in taking that chance I pushed back against both fear and petty want and reached for what I really wanted. I didn’t let fear and desire dress themselves up as “reason” and ground my lofty ambitions—I went for it, even if my voice trembled.

Too often, we adults lose what we all had as children: the unselfconscious ability to try anything just because we can. In learning to think things through and anticipate outcomes, we bury that spark of spontaneity and daring for fear of failure. We become perhaps too pragmatic and practical—we “play small” and stay within the bounds of what we know, rather than pushing into the frontiers of what might yet be.

For just a minute yesterday, even though I was terrified and my voice—my whole being—trembled, I dared…and I didn’t die.

I think I’ll dare again.

Liberty Call

When I was in the U.S. Navy, I loved “liberty.” Leave was awesome, but it was a fixed amount and when you used it up it was gone, but liberty was a renewable resource.

For those who don’t know, “liberty” was time off—duty free time—and was generally granted when:

1. Your unit was in a place that accommodated off-duty activities (whether in port or on base)
2. Your daily work was done
3. You were not assigned “watch” or other supervisory duties during the liberty period

Those who have never served in the military may not appreciate the significance of liberty (I think other branches may have called it “on a pass”)—you are accustomed to having a work schedule, and your employer has no claim on you outside that schedule, certainly no authority to control your movements when not working—but for service members, the military absolutely has the right to control your movements. Even when off duty, I had no inherent right to leave my ship unless I’d been granted liberty by Command.

Perhaps you can see, then, why I loved liberty call.

Liberty call meant that I had no duties whatsoever until liberty ended. I could go out and get drunk (I often did—this was before I got sober and long before I got happy), I could stay up all night, I could shop or gorge or do any legal thing (legal according to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, admittedly a higher standard than civil law). It was freedom, for a night or a weekend, in San Diego or Singapore or Perth or Subic Bay, P.I.

You might be wondering why I’m dredging up all this admttedly-ancient history, and who would blame you? Five paragraphs and I still haven’t got to the point! Bear with me—it’s all relevant.

A couple of days ago, I read a post that made me think of…“elements”…I would like to be part of my life, but aren’t. Not so long ago, thinking about what I crave but lack would evoke feelings of bitterness and resentment and grief, but my practice has helped me grow beyond those reactions, and my reaction on this most recent occasion was very much like what I used to feel at liberty call. I realized that if those elements were part of my life, they would impose duties, as well, and while I would joyfully accept those duties (I would love to perform those duties in that service), I could also rejoice in not having them right now.

It was…“liberating”…to feel that way—to know that because those elements are not part of my life right now, I have greater “freedom” than I would if they were—even though I would trade that liberty for the sake of those elements without a qualm.

It’s another manifestation of “It’s all good,” and I’m happy to discover how far I’ve come in about a year.

I’m happy, full stop.

I’m happy!