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| Hey, just FYI, if you Google "passion," the majority of images depict either porn or Jesus. |
I am a passionate person, at both poles. I come
with a healthy Norwegian temper (and its accompanying knack for holding
grudges), and, because of North American bloodline mixing, also with French-Canadian
Catholic guilt. A product of late-20th century “I feel” education, I
am predisposed to self-analysis and doubt.
So I ask myself when it is okay to be
passionate. When is it okay to show intense emotion on display? Arguably,
always when you’re showing love, but the rules for public affection tell us
there are times where it’s possible to be too passionate. What about happiness?
Can you be too happy? Can you have too much joy? The inspirational-poster
answer is probably no, but realistically, expressing too much unabashed and
extreme elation actually cheapens it. If you celebrate the tenderness of your boiled broccoli with the same fervour as you celebrate a sibling’s nuptials, your
sincerity is suspect.
That’s happiness, but what about more awkward
passions, like anger? Is it ever okay to lose it? I try to keep that Viking
temper of mine bottled publicly and privately, but there have been times where
say, Shaw Cable, NHL officials, anything Stephen Harper spins, or a rude idiot
at the airport have warranted an outburst. I’m not proud, but it happens.
Unlike my ancestors, I have not been responsible for any rage-related
fatalities. To date.
Why do I keep mentioning where
this is happening? Because we really don’t handle public emotion of any sort
well, do we? Crying, screaming, fighting, kissing, laughing, smiling—all of
these can be viewed as awkward if done in public. We judge
anyone who allows himself the indulgence of his emotions as immature,
irrational, flaky.
Is there a merit to passion?
For fear of not being taken
seriously, I have endeavoured to reign in my passions in most circumstances. I’ve
noticed they put people off. Unfortunately, in my career as an educator, my
second career as a writer, and my hobbies such as playing music or sports,
passion is not only encouraged, it’s critical. What use is a dispassionate
teacher, writer, musician, or athlete? Passion equals success, and it’s hard to
turn it off.
So, if I’m in favour of being passionate, why
reign it in? Because I’m sensitive to offending the delicately introverted, or,
to a lesser degree, to being thought an emotional twit. It’s hard, though, when
your very nature is to be excited by
life, whether positively or negatively. EXCITED! says I.
I don’t stress over whether
people think my passions make me dumb or silly. I know I’m not dumb and I am passionately silly. But I don’t want my
happiness or anger to be overbearing, to offend. More importantly, I worry about
ho-hum mediocrity.
Being in control, expressing no
emotion is too often defended as an adult approach to life. “I don’t get
excited” is the mantra of the smug. I would also argue that it’s also the
mantra of wilfully dull.
I’m not saying that a
perfectly-folded paper airplane should illicit the same joy as attending your
team’s championship victory, nor that you respond the same way to a paper cut
as you would to a car crash. But, dammit, there are proper times to get good
and angry or to laugh out loud or to cry for the sake of your own sadness.
There are good times to let it out.
Emotion is a human quality, and
most innate human qualities have merits that are far too often unrecognized by
humans.
And that pisses me right off.
