mental-health

The fashion for passion

Matthew S. Dillon1 Comment
It’s “lightning in a bottle” but is passion your everyday inspiration?

Yes, yes, we get that you’re super dedicated to your hobby, team, music or wine, even your job. But are you actually passionate about it, or do you simply have a limited vocabulary?

You hear a lot about passion these days. Passion is an obligatory characteristic for those competing on TV talent quests. Passionate sports fans never miss a game their club plays, their heads full of obscure team-related lore.

For others, their ardour is reserved for a pastime that has become so much more than a hobby: succulents, pottery, mid-century design, travel, or collecting knick-knacks.

Various libations such as coffee, cocktails or craft beer inspire intense devotion and – you guessed it – the p-word.

The professional realm is another site for the expression of passion. Whether it’s an obscure area within a profession (“I’m passionate about antivirus software”) or the crux of a job (“My passion is customer service”), passion is seemingly ubiquitous at the workplace. It would appear there is a surfeit of it out there. An epidemic.

“We live in a passion-fetishising society, where people are constantly being given this very often-unhelpful piece of advice, which is ‘Follow your passion, follow your passion, follow your passion’,” says writer Elizabeth Gilbert.

No one is saying that passion is bad. Of course it isn’t. But it may not always be available to tap into. Passion is energising but also energy-intensive. Enlightening but consuming.

The Shorter Oxford Dictionary lists nine definitions of the word “passion”, the first of which is “the suffering of pain”, as in “the passion of Christ”. In fact, the word derives from the Latin pati, which simply means “pain”. The first four listed meanings all have a connection with pain in some sense, including a now-obsolete definition of “a painful disorder, an affliction of a specified part of the body”, or “a violent attack of disease”.

Other definitions include a “strong barely controllable emotion”, a “strong sexual feeling”, an “outburst of anger or rage” or “a strong enthusiasm for a (specified) thing; an aim or object pursued with strong enthusiasm”.

Under this definition it is certainly possible to be passionate about Excel spreadsheets, your local footy team or the novels of Lee Child.

In my mind, however, those earlier definitions of the word are inextricably tied up with the more contemporary understandings such that something that evokes passion must also spur discomfort. You love something so much that it hurts; or your dedication to it is such that other parts of your life start to suffer. That’s passion.

And because it causes pain, passion cannot be long-lasting or sustainable; it’s an outburst, as per definition #7. An explosion. A brilliant spark. Passion is immersion, emotion and immolation.

As Dr Tyrell told replicant Roy Batty in Blade Runner, “The light that burns twice as brightly burns half as long. And you have burned oh so brightly, Roy.”

It’s true: there are those who really are deeply dedicated to their daily dose of caffeine, or whose predilection for keyboard shortcuts borders on mania.

My problem with the word is its blanket application. From keen interest to ardent devotion and lots of things in between all are filed under “passion”.

Perhaps other terms from the dedication spectrum might better be applied. You do not, after all, have to be a train spotter to drive the 7.30am express to the city and get it there safely and according to schedule. You can be competent and do that. Competence is acceptable. Competence gets the job done. What it lacks in panache it more than compensates with efficiency. So, let’s place it at one end of the spectrum.

Next along on this hypothetical rating scheme is professionalism. A professional is beyond competent – their tasks are completed with efficiency and aplomb, if not savoir-faire. Professionals make for pleasant colleagues because they are usually not overly chatty, and their reliability and efficiency are sources of comfort. Their actions are polished and executed with confidence and dexterity. They do not cut corners.

Beyond professionalism exists the realm of the enthusiast. Those embracing enthusiasm show “intense and eager enjoyment, interest or approval” for a subject or pursuit. There is nothing wrong with enthusiasm, and a lot right. Enthusiasm is attractive and appealing, positive and energetic. Enthusiasts emit good karma. Their vibe is contagious, their work often bodacious. An enthusiast will take you a long way simply on mindset and energy.

Is there another trait capable of enhancing quality of life and perhaps productivity? Consider curiosity. Gilbert says curiosity is more important to a creative individual’s output than passion.

“Passion is the big tower of flame on the hill,” she says. “It’s lightning in a bottle. It’s the voice of God. It’s all very exciting if you should happen to run into it. But it’s not always there. Every single day you can be curious, because every single day, curiosity approaches you and taps on your shoulder almost to the point where you can’t even feel it, and whispers in your ear, ‘Hey, what’s that?!’”

I know what you’re thinking: What kind of cynical bastard can be critical in any way of passion?

To be clear, I admire the passionate, as I do the curious and enthusiastic (among whose number I’d like to think I belong). Passion combined with intention can create an unstoppable force.

Yet somehow passion has become one of those words – like journey, curated, iconic, purpose and humble – whose ubiquity has blunted its impact, blurred its meaning. Passion is almost a cliché. Even your spellcheck doesn’t like it very much.

It’s on trend to be passionate, but fashions come and go. They are ephemeral. A flash in the pan. Professionalism, enthusiasm and curiosity – especially when combined with a soupcon of nonchalance  – well, these are as accessible as your daily single-origin double-ristretto.

If your reading journey has seen you reach this far, you may be able to tell from this humble screed that on occasion I enjoy messing around with words and expressing a loosely held opinion. In fact, you could say it’s one of my passions.

Enquiring minds

Matthew S. DillonLeave a comment

What makes a good question? The answer depends very much on context and objectives.

At sustainability-related events over the past two decades or so, one thing could be predicted with a rather high degree of probability. If he were present, consultant Jeff Robinson would almost certainly pose the first enquiry of a presenter following a talk.

This was might you might call a welcome inevitability. It’s so often the case that even the most engaging and informative of speakers face a silent void when questions are called for following a talk. Yet with Jeff in the house, you knew there would be at least one intelligent, robust enquiry, and often this would prompt further comments and queries from those present. The conversation would continue, which means the original presentation would resonate more.

“Judge a man by his questions,” says Voltaire, “rather than by his answers.”

In Jeff’s case the questions were often issued in two parts. The first component took the form of a statement, with some context-setting exposition. The second part was usually more probing. Together, the double-pronged enquiry demonstrated an understanding of the issue at hand, and an appetite for further exploration. It was also an opening up: an invitation to converse.

The questions were prepared in advance, and carefully thought about, which obviously required some research and preparation.

Jeff tragically passed away earlier this year, but incredibly (although perhaps not surprisingly), one of his questions was posed posthumously some weeks later at a MECLA* event he had been helping to organise before his demise. Jeff, of course, had prepared the question well in advance.

Just what constitutes a good question was something to which Jeff dedicated no small amount of consideration, even discussing it at length with Aurecon colleague Jamali Kigotho.

“I don’t think there is a definitive answer,” says Jamali when asked what makes a decent enquiry. “Jeff and I were similar in the fact we both love questions without a certain answer, but for slightly different reasons.

“My main reason for liking these sorts of questions is that it allows me to let my curiosity and creativity free to see what I can come up with. I think for Jeff those sorts of questions meant an opportunity to collaborate to try and find the answer.”

For a journalist – a professional inquisitor, in other words – a good question is one that elicits an interesting response. It’s about the answer more than the process.

Working as a sportswriter long ago, I learned on the job that one can prepare thoroughly for events such as press conference or interviews, but that sometimes it’s a bad, lazy or spontaneous question that draws the best response.

I can recall simply asking a coach for his thoughts after his team lost a hard-fought contest, only to be met with anger and contempt.

“I have many thoughts,” he grumbled. “Be specific.”

And there was the gift: I had been granted a glimpse behind the curtain of this carefully constructed professional façade.

One of the most important lessons a journalist will absorb is to learn to listen, and to do so without interrupting.

“You have two ears and one mouth,” according to the old maxim, “and they should be used in that order.”

“When people talk, listen completely,” advised writer Ernest Hemingway. “Most people never listen.”

I made some critical mistakes as a nascent professional, such as interrupting just when someone was about to say something interesting, not asking pertinent follow-up questions, or perhaps not recognising when a conversation had either veered off track or ventured down a path worth exploring. These mistakes nearly all relate to not listening.

Sometimes the best way of drawing an answer is not to pose a question, but to pause. To know when to remain silent, and create space for a response to emerge.

It’s something practised by UK journalist Kirsty Young, perhaps best known for the often intensely personal Desert Island Discs BBC radio program, which delves deeply into its subjects’ lives.

“Sometimes there is that moment,” she says of remaining silent during an interview. “I hope it’s not a glib trick, but I use it when I think there’s more. If I must sit, maybe you’ll go there. Sometimes people don’t; they just look right back at you.”

There is always the chance that an enquiry will elicit an unsatisfactory response, a bumbling answer, or silence. That’s the danger. Yet there exists, too, the tantalising possibility that something else results: a startling revelation, a hitherto unimagined pathway, or the simple pleasure of a considered conversation.

It all starts with a question.

*MECLA is the Materials and Embodied Carbon Leaders Alliance