Hiding our passions

We're lucky when passions and obligations intersect

For a long time, we had to tuck away Mark’s Harry Potter audiobooks in my drawers. During that same time, we stuffed piles of Grant's favorite books under our bed and buried his Game Boy in a secret place. For a briefer period of time, Ken tried unsuccessfully to conceal Craig’s guitar and ukulele in our closet. Most of these attempts were in vain, however, because somehow the boys always managed to find their cherished CDs, books, or instruments and return to their pleasures.

None of their passions was evil in and of itself; it’s just that their obsessions were often more enticing than their homework and family time. Naturally, this caused some conflicts, but that was no surprise. After all, don’t we all have our special passions we just can’t seem to leave alone? No matter how pressing other priorities seem to be, we somehow make time for what we love.

Usually, we’re not challenged when choosing good over bad. Instead, we tend to grapple with muddier choices, often choosing between something pleasing and something truly important. In this regard, Dallin H. Oaks shared some helpful parameters when he said, “As we consider various choices, we should remember that it is not enough that something is good. Other choices are better, and still, others are best. Even though a particular choice is more costly, its far greater value may make it the best choice of all.”

So, just how do we decide what is better than good? And what deserves our best attention? Furthermore, how can we live in the moment while also choosing well for the future?

I found such perplexing questions to be most pressing during my college years when school deadlines seemed to constantly compete with delicious distractions. The struggle didn't end there, though. The tension between relaxation and responsibility continues to pull at us throughout our lives, each day filled with ambiguity. 

One time, long after college and well into the child-rearing years, Ken and I made arrangements to spend part of a 3-day weekend with some friends. Although they really could have used some help painting their newly remodeled house, the wife had the good sense to insist we all go swimming instead, saying, “Years from now our kids will remember us playing with them in the pool, not painting the ceiling.” That day she helped us create memories so our children would have stories to tell.

Stories can help us even long before we ever make a choice. Let me explain. 

The book The Art of the Long View, by Peter Schwartz, promotes one basic principle: scenarios (or stories) provide one of the best tools for accurately projecting into the future. If this is true, then we can use stories to imagine what will happen if we make certain choices (or not). For example, recently Ken asked some of our older children as well as their cousins to share with Grant, who will soon be going away to school, their best advice for a new college student. One by one, each shared experiences of learning to balance work and play. Their stories made it easier for Grant to imagine what kind of choices he will need to make to be a good student.

Of course, I don’t know if it’s possible to put aside our passions entirely; we will probably always be driven to do those things we love the most. Mark still loves listening to his Harry Potter CDs, Grant still finds time to read for long periods of time, and, Craig can't keep from playing his guitar. I, myself, keep reading materials at the ready everywhere--in the car, on my nightstand, in the bathroom, and in my purse.

When we're really lucky, the things that delight us also intersect with our work. Such was the case of my English-major friend who was laughing aloud while reading a book for class. Her roommates didn't think it quite fair she could be having so much fun doing homework. I hope to be as lucky as I both meet obligations while also following my passions.