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.

Getting a Grip: Seize the Day

Carpe Diem.

A lot of us first heard "Carpe Diem" (seize the day) in the movie Dead Poets Society. It's a great principle—maybe a fundamental principle for those who dare—and it encompasses ideas like:

• don't wait for the perfect moment
• conformity is not required
• live in the now
• "you only live once" (and yes, I know that's a cliché and I hate the acronymification of it as "YOLO," but the implications of that phrase are apt)

As I strive to dare this—as I grapple with each day, trying to get a grip—I find it catalyzing change in me. I find myself wanting things I never allowed myself to want before. I find myself attempting things I never imagined before. I find myself having things I never thought to have before. I find myself living a life that is surprising and exciting, unexpected and exhilarating. Why?

Because I've set aside unwarranted worry about what others think and paralyzing fear about how others will respond. Neither the worry nor the fear are gone—I think that vestiges of them will be with me always—but where once they had primacy in my considerations they are now relegated to the rearmost ranks.

Before, if I wanted something I would hesitate to reach for it, fearful that my hand would be slapped. Now, if I want something I reach out boldly. My hand might be slapped, but so far it hasn't been, and if it should, so what? The lesson isn't "Don't reach for what you want," the lesson is "Don't reach for that particular example of what you want." I've been learning the wrong lesson, but I'm finally getting it right.

My life is changing. Not particularly in noble ways, nor at all in ignoble ways; just changing. Change can be "good," and change can be "bad," but change can also just be change, and that's what I'm experiencing. The changes I'm experiencing are for the most part morally neutral, but they make me bolder, happier, more confident, more comfortable, and more transparent (if such a thing is possible).

So Carpe Diem—Seize the Day... and take a good, firm grip. The more unpredictable the challenges, the more important that grip is. Hang on tight—it might be a bumpy ride—but don't hold back for that reason; the tornado might just take you to Oz.

Changes

(Graphic hopefully coming soon!)

Big changes seem to beget big changes.

As I walk this walk, I find that it is changing me. I find myself making different decisions than I might have a couple of months ago. I find myself behaving differently than I did a couple of months ago. I find myself feeling differently than I did a couple of months ago. I don't think that my values have changed—the same values I have held for some time still prevail, I think—but in response to the massive uncertainty I face, those values must be applied in new ways if I intend to live with integrity.

For example...

I try to make honesty a guiding principle of my life. Even if it will cost me something I want, I try to tell the truth. I try to tell it with kindness and compassion and empathy, but honestly.

So I'm leaving, and I know approximately when, and all of a sudden I'm confronted with opportunities (yes, multiple opportunities) for something I've craved my whole life. I'm not going to say what it is—those of you who know me well can probably guess, but the details aren't really important—but suffice to say that it's something I hunger for and yet something that is incompatible with my imminent departure.

What that means in terms of honesty is that I find myself having to speak a truth that was never the (emotional) truth for me before: "I'm not interested in..."

Another value I hold is emotional availability. It is an important part of who I am that I am emotionally available both to those with whom I already have a relationship—family, friends, students, whatever—and to new, potential friends, students, whatever. Yet with only two months remaining before things will change, I find myself less emotionally available than is my habit. It's still a value, but a value that is tempered by circumstance; while I remain emotionally available to those with whom I am already involved, I'm not available to new friends in the way I would normally be.

Maybe I'm kidding myself—maybe my values are changing, and if so that will give me pause—but I hope that my values remain intact and I'm just applying them in new-but-honest ways to a novel situation. Certainly that's my intention. Still, I find myself a bit at sea and a little uneasy.

Nietzsche said, "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." I'm not sure I always agree, but I will say that any experience that we survive will change us. It may make us stronger, or more sensitive, or wiser, or crueler, or sweeter, or whatever. It might make us better or it might make us worse...what it won't do is leave us unaffected. And the bigger the experience—the greater the disruption—the bigger the change.

I'm becoming more daring (some say "reckless"), I find...not just in resigning and moving, but in other aspects of my life. I'm finding confidence I never had. And while I still feel fear...I am not afraid.