Since Blake has opened the door by sharing a confession, I must make a confession as well. This is a confession for a sin I didn’t even know I’ve been committing, a sin so insidious that for much of my life it has passed itself off as virtue, a sin of the type which doesn’t cause evil so much as it suppresses good (which may be the same thing as causing evil – but that is a different conversation.)
As an ambitious boy become an ambitious young man become an ambitious quarter-aged man, ambition has always provided for me a healthy complement of all its virtues and vices. For I’ve chased my ambitions sometimes with reckless abandon, without the guidance of experience, sometimes without intentionality, and with only the limited perspective allowed by my constantly morphing lens on the world. But I’ve kept moving, and I think that a good thing.
I’ve come to discover, however, that for all this movement, there has been a significant amount of waiting, of hesitation. Yes, I’ve been always waiting – waiting for a sign, for some direction, for guidance, for a voice of reason, for someone to show me the way, for inspiration – always waiting for something to happen. But mostly, just waiting “until I am ready.” I’ve recently come to realize that all this waiting was brought about by a single thing – this sin I’ve committed for too long.
My sin is that I haven’t thought myself good enough. I’ve trained myself to assume I’m wrong, that my perspective is incomplete, that I’ve got nothing new to offer. I’ve tempered my dreams, ambitions, and passions with the dullness of my own perceived limitations – that I haven’t experienced enough, that I don’t know enough, that I’m not good enough. I can’t see well enough, I don’t have clear enough perspective, I’m not strong enough, I’m not smart enough. Whatever I need, I don’t have enough – I’m incomplete and untested.
I didn’t always regard this way of thinking as a sin – no, much the opposite, this has been my virtue. Where others are arrogant, I’ve been circumspect. Where others are foolhardy, I’ve been measured and thoughtful. Where others are prideful, I’ve tried humble. Where others are self-righteous, I’ve been understanding and civil. I’ve guarded against self-righteousness by always assuming there is something I do not know, that there is someone smarter with better perspective, that wisdom can be found in the world and in its people and not within me.
By understanding that I’m not “enough,” I’ve been able to see value in the contributions, thoughts, and perspectives of others. I’ve guarded against self-indulgence, never letting myself wander too far into my own ways of thinking. I’ve openly considered foreign philosophies and ideologies with a default reaction of respect rather than judgment. The recognition of my own fallibility and inadequacy has kept my eyes open to the value in others.
In the days that have passed since I’ve realized my sin, I’ve contemplated its origins. Mostly, I can trace it to guilt. The persons who have shaped my life have suffered in theirs, and I feel guilty that perhaps I have not suffered “enough” to have the proper perspective, to be tested, to be complete. My mother and her family fled their homeland out from under an oppressive regime, and she has worked for all the blessings life has brought her. She certainly is blessed, but she’s suffered to earn it. My father is a “pull-yourself-up-from-your-bootstraps” kind of guy – a self-starting, small-business-owning, killing-his-own-dinner man. He’s found success, and he’s worked for it. He suffered to earn it. And just in their example and in the retelling of their stories and in their life experiences, I have read an implicit corollary – we suffered enough, have you?
The obvious answer has been – no! I was born in the United States of America with all the rights and privileges and indulgences of being a talented, intelligent, athletic white male (my celebrated Cuban heritage not always readily apparent to the world) from a stable, church-going, resourced and respected family. What the hell are bootstraps anyway? I’ve had a leg up from the beginning.
The point of this is not to blame my parents for this sin; the point is to frame a type of survivor’s guilt that has led to the sin – I won the genetic lottery and was born into the catbird’s seat while others have suffered. And the corollary to this? Others have suffered , and because of that they have more to offer.
Well, that’s part of it. Another origin for the sin is my demon – pride. We each carry with us one or more demons, they are our companions – neither friend nor foe – just hangers-on. My demon is pride. I’ve built this sin around me as a box to contain my pride and keep it in check. One cannot be prideful when thinking oneself inadequate, untested, and incomplete. Many people fight demons they cannot see and cannot name. God has blessed me by making the introduction – I know my demon’s voice and I know his tactics – I’ve even seen his face. This knowledge scared me, though, and led me to build and fortify the walls of his prison – I’ve just now realized that prison was mine too.
In his book The Valkyries, Brazilian author Paulo Coelho travels the American desert in search of his guardian angel. His angel travels with him at all times of course, but the Valkyries, a gypsy like group of female bikers who inhabit the Mojave, know how to communicate with angels. Most importantly, they can teach Coelho to see his angel. But to converse with one’s angel, three conditions are necessary – one must break a pact, accept forgiveness, and make a bet.
Earlier in life, Coelho had found great success in the music industry by serving the devil. His success went hand-in-hand with his faithful service to the occult – but one day his bill to the devil comes due. Unable to agree to live life in darkness, Coelho swears off his previous ways and falls to his knees seeking redemption from God. God welcomes him with open arms, but not without punishment. Coelho loses much – friends, money, success. But the punishment he imposes on himself is much more severe – he evades success forever, fearing that success in life, love, and business will bring him back to his evil ways. This is the pact that he learns to break in The Valkyries. He agrees to no longer destroy his own successes, and instead to succeed in service to the Lord.
When I read this book just several weeks ago, I wondered what pact I have made that needs to be broken, but nothing came to mind. It wasn’t until a conversation with my mother some days later that I realized my sin.
So, I’ve recognized my sin and I realize that I’ve made a pact – I’m not good enough. Where in the past this pact may have cultivated positives in my life, it now holds me back. Today, it stunts my growth. It keeps me from taking risks, from sharing my perspective, from forging ideas and ideals. It gives me excuses not to move, excuses to wait. Because I’ve considered myself incomplete, untested, and inadequate, I have squandered opportunities, shied away from triumph, and sought self-improvement rather than service to others.
All that has transpired may have been necessary to bring me to this very point. I can clearly see my faults and my shortcomings, and now is the time to recognize them, acknowledge them, and move past them. It is time to break the pact.
What Matters: The World's Preeminent Photojournalists and Thinkers Depict Essential Issues of Our Time by David Elliot Cohen
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