At a retreat center a few weeks back, I was asked to give a talk about “living one’s passion.” It was the theme of the entire retreat, and I thought that would be perfect for my talk in which I describe how passion for our own lives can make for engaging connection with others — and not only for Italians.
And the sort of women who would attend this retreat, it seemed to me, would be those who don’t feel that they are living their passion or not living it enough, who, for whatever reason, haven’t quite found what their “passion” is, or won’t or can’t give themselves permission to connect with it, let alone “live it.”
Even under normal, non-retreat circumstances, passion-seekers can be a particularly receptive audience, which makes my work easier. Because it’s no easy thing to decide, while facing an audience, whether I’m going to tell my listeners exactly how I feel without crossing the line (and lines are not always marked until it’s too late), or wimp out and deal with my topic more carefully, figuring out whether the former or latter distinction is the one my audience will respond to seeing as how they are mature women already, about as knowledgeable as they can stand to be.
But pandering makes me nuts — it just does.
So most of the time, I just deliver my work my way, and once I do, I can’t apologize. Not so easy, in my experience, especially if one is born female. It’s taken me years and years of exposing myself to get over the assumption that it’s my job to try and please everyone — personally or professionally. It’s my job to do the best I can do under the circumstances, and that’s about it.
On the other hand, some of these supposedly looking-for-passion people can be tough nuts to crack open. All I can figure is that they’ve spent so many years in a holding pattern, not making the genuine connections they now crave. Or they can blather on and on, too eager to hear themselves talk, which is not making a connection, either.
Alone with one’s passion
For instance, when I finished my talk, I sat next to a woman who clapped for me with her arms way up over her head, so I thought she’d be easy to talk to — at least, receptive. But it was so disappointing.
All during lunch, I couldn’t get her to open up about one thing. It’s not like I’m asking for a play-by-play of your love life, I thought, or how big your savings account is, but give me something other than a rundown of your kids. I want to hear about you; I’ve never even met your kids. I’m meeting YOU. I want to hear about YOU!
I’m embarrassed to say exactly how fast I ate my lunch. In situations like this, I’ve grown pathetically impatient. I just don’t feel like I have the time. (There are many such traits to my character I’m not especially proud of.)
Because we need to be willing to share the truth of ourselves, to reveal doubts, insecurities, fears, what disappoints and angers us. It’s the true definition of passion. We need to try — please try — to reach beyond a display of photos on your iPhone.
The next day, I gave a talk at The Rainier Club on Fourth Avenue downtown. The air was so dense with professional achievement that even an experienced speaker would need to be at the tiptop of her game, or these men and women would laugh her right off the stage. Really, it was that challenging.
I was invited to lunch, but I excused myself. I ate around the corner at Tulio’s, blissfully alone again.
MARY LOU SANELLI’s latest book is “Among Friends.” Visit her website: www.marylousanelli.com. To comment on this column, write to QAMagNews@nwlink.com.
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