Joy in the Mess

Friday night in New York City. My husband and I are kindly invited by my dear friend, David, and new friend, Cassandra, to a dinner party at their home. All day I was overcome with anxiety – both the good, excited kind but also the “I won’t be good enough” kind. David and Cassandra are insightful, well-traveled, and quite successful at what they do. As my mind tends to do in times like these, it reminds me that my accomplishments don’t stack up to theirs or those of their guests. Yeah, my brain can be a real jerk.

Fortunately, when we arrive my nerves quickly subside and I feel more at ease as we are warmly greeted and led inside. Everyone who is there already is kind and immediately welcoming. Introductions are made. Drinks are poured. Laughs are had. Then, it’s time for dinner.

Conversation is flowing as we’re lapping up our soup, sucking on the hearts of artichokes, pouring more wine, and then the main course is served. We’re enjoying this stunning feast when the generous and warm-hearted hostess asks for everyone’s attention as she has an idea.

With a mere 14 of us gathered around the table, she suggests that the group is intimate enough that we could go around to talk about and share our passions. In the middle of a bite of chicken, I immediately feel my hands go clammy, my skin flush, my stomach clamp up… Oh no… That dreaded question.

Before I go further, let me clarify that there is absolutely nothing wrong with this question. In fact, I love this question. I love listening to what other people have to say. But, you see, when asked to talk about what I’m passionate about, I get overwhelmed. All at once, my mind somehow shuts down and goes into overdrive. I can’t really easily explain what it is that I’m passionate about. There are things I care deeply about and for. I have plenty of hobbies and interests, I could tell you about. But ask me about my passion and I get all like…

giphy-downsized

I’m not sure why this question triggers such anxiety for me. I suspect part of it is that my passion is a moving target. I have a habit of quickly and easily becoming enthralled by new ideas and topics – which I seem to encounter all the time, especially living in NYC! As I listen with admiration to everyone’s stories, passions, and achievements, I experience simultaneous sensations of hope and connection… and kind of needing to vomit. I have issues, man.

Eventually, I have to speak. Cassandra, who I’ve met only twice, turns towards me and gives an insightful and warm introduction. One I wish I had recorded because she pretty much hit the nail on the head, describing how I seemed to be seeking my place and there’s a sense of discomfort – which pretty much confirms what I’ve always feared to be true… I am awkward. Anyway, I barely remember what I cobbled together for my response. I quickly and nervously said something about how everything I do seems to go back to stories  – which I absolutely believe to be true. Stories matter. Everyone was perfectly kind and supportive of what I had to say. Then, the spotlight went onto the next guest. Relief. Phew.

While I can’t say with any confidence that I intrigued anyone that evening, I am thankful for the night, the company and this question. It prompted me to reflect. Since that dinner, I have come to a conclusion (for now) that I am passionate about three things: stories, creativity, and humanity. The hobbies and interests I collect like Pokemon (is that even a relevant reference anymore?) like yoga, hand lettering, reading, tech, and so on, are vehicles to help me study stories, the creative process, and the connection of humanity. And, the vehicles will likely change over time. Maybe even tomorrow. And, I’m OK with that… like the perfect comeback or quip, it’s too bad I didn’t think to say all of this around the table – but I am grateful to at least recognize and become content with the joy that is found in the mess of figuring this all out.

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