Passion is a loaded word: perhaps it is better felt then defined, in the sense that we might not really can put our finger on it, but when it is there, there is no denying it. We all have felt the warm wash of passion in one way or another. While passion is typically tied to creative work or creative life, and as we often sigh at the dreariness of the other residual elements of our lives, I think--or, would very much like to think--that there is still some room for passion to thrive in the latter.
Truth be told, it is very difficult to find passion outside the realm of the creative. And this does not necessarily mean that passion is restricted within the confines of the arts, because there are other professions and industries, such as journalism, branding and advertising, which entail a creative process at certain stage in their workings--albeit they do not prima facie strike us as relating closely to the arts. Nonetheless, the common threat amongst these various professions, and many others for that matter, is that this idea of creation. It appears that the creative process is the birthplace of passion. Or is it vice versa?
I came to this conclusion because even in the area of commerce, which is commonly regarded as the wasteland of anything passionate--with its rigid hours, mind-numbing tasks and pecuniary gain being the sole (and inadequate) source of motivation (or, perhaps more appropriately, compensation)--there still seems to be some available space for passion to grow, particularly in the area of entrepreneurship. In Onward, Howard Schultz, the CEO of Starbucks, tells the story of his returning to the CEO position after he learnt about (for the lack of a better word) certain points of unhappiness in the day-to-day operation of the multi-million-dollar company. In the initial chapters, he reveals his inspiration which lead to the creation of Starbucks. It was a short business trip to Italy where he was enthralled by the manner in which coffee was served in those small, rustic Italian coffee shops: everything from the barrista-patron rapport, to the aroma of espresso wafting throughout the cafes, to the cacophonous harmony of the sounds made by the coffee machines. It was an experience which Schultz yearn to recreate for his customers in the US, and subsequently the entire world. He speaks about how he wanted to make Starbucks something more to its people, namely its customers, its employees and its senior management. So when he felt that the company was going astray from its core values, in spite of its rapid growth (specifically in terms of the breakneck pace with which it opens new branches all over the US), he was compelled to recoup his position as the CEO. In page after page, he tells the stories of his blunders, anxieties and successes, and in those pages, one cannot help but to acknowledge his passion for the company and what it stands for.
Gretchen Rubin, in her book The Happiness Project, concludes that true happiness necessarily flows from a circumstance she calls "an atmosphere of growth". It is hard to divorce the idea of happiness from that of passion, and if passion is incidental to the pursuit of happiness--or if happiness is incidental to the pursuit of passion--looking into the ingredient of happiness may help us to find an ingredient for passion. Coming back to my initial premise, perhaps a plausible correlation between the very nature of creative work and passion could be found in the fact that there is simply boundless room for improvement in one's creative endeavour. Rebbeca Pi once wrote that "[a] poem is never finished, only abandoned." There just seems to persist this overwhelming sense of self-deprecating, self-abasing and even self-flagellating humility (which at times, to me, appears somewhat unjustifiable and bogus) that plagues individuals entrenched in creative pursuits. When one is truly passionate, many argue, one can never be good enough.
Similarly, the gap for improvement is vast when one is an entrepreneur, because there is really no ceiling to what one could achieve and how to achieve it. The sky is the limit. This is in stark contrast to other professional sectors, say if one is an accountant, a lawyer, or a manager, where there is this inevitable climb toward the top of the corporate ladder: a young accountant aims to be the CFO of a Fortune 500 company, a young lawyer seeks to make partner at a Magic Circle firm, a manager endures sleepless nights in the hope of becoming a CEO, etc. While the progression may be long, the delineation of the job titles creates a degree of certainty, and certainty reduces the vastness of the progression. Another problem with these professions is that due to its title-by-title progression--which upon stellar or even satisfactory performance, such progression becomes inevitable (albeit at variable pace)--one may be rendered an audience of one's own success.
This is what one of my lecturers told me a few days ago. To some of us, arguably lucky ones, things fall into place because they are the next easy, almost-inevitable step. William Deresiewichz noted that "[i]t just kind of happened. It's easy, the way the system works, to simply go with the flow. I don't mean that work is easy, but the choices are easy. Or rather, the choices sort of make themselves. ... From the time you started high school and may be even junior high, your whole goal was to get into the best college you could, so now you naturally think about you life in terms of 'getting into' whatever's next. ... You take it one step at a time, and the next step always seems to be inevitable." My lecturer observed that depression is the number-one cause of malpractice amongst lawyers, even seniors ones. "Many young lawyers often dismiss this problem fairly quickly," said he,"but the problem is young lawyers become old lawyers, and before they know it, they drink themselves to sleep every night." Notwithstanding the material success and the prestige attached to their profession, the common trend seems to point to a downward spiral toward mental breakdown and psychological mayhem.
I would postulate that the main cause for this unfortunate finding is that these people do not find themselves living in an "atmosphere of growth". Despite the progression that has taken place--or, is taking place--in their career or whatnot, there is essentially zero growth because they simply cannot care less about it. Obsence!, this may seem to some of us. What an ungrateful bunch! However, it is not to be forgotten the hapless fact that one cannot force oneself into liking something. In her year-long project, Rubin codified this principle as one of her Secret of Adulthood: "You can choose what you do; you can't choose what you like to do."
So why do I ask myself this question? I believe--or, fear, to be really honest--that I am on a path to entering into an environment that is so consuming, so unrewarding, and so potentially nefarious, that unless I find myself an "atmosphere of growth" somewhere in it, there will be no evading the slippery slope leading to that pith of despair. Ridiculous!, some may argue, I am not even close to dipping my toes in the pool. However, the ultimate problem, by its very nature, is subtle and creeping in the manner in which it penetrates into our lives. And to tackle it prematurely would not only help to curtail the extent of eventual damage, but is absolutely necessary, in particular, if I were to see longevity in my story, and to flourish at it at the same time--which is I do.
Unfortunately, a creative life may be inherently and structurally so distinct from a legal career, that there is room in the latter for an "atmosphere of growth" to take root, or at least in the sense as we understood it in the former. There really is no guarantee. However, what one can attempt to do is: to, firstly, create an atmosphere or something resembling it, and to subsequently stimulate growth. The dictionary defines "atmosphere" as "the pervading tone or mood of a place, situation, or work of art", and as a consequence, for anything to pervade an aspect of one's life, one needs to steep oneself into it. Immersion is key.
Perhaps there is no light at the end of this endeavour: a dark path leading to nowhere. Perhaps for those (un)lucky among us, we are destined for eventual professional counseling. Yet, one can always try to blur the distinction between profession and passion, even if they initially stand mutually exclusive. One can always try, one baby step at a time.
And pray for the best.
