The Cost of Not Answering Your Heart

Often people attempt to live their lives backwards.
They try to have more things, or more money,
in order to do more of what they want so they will be happier.
The way it actually works is the reverse.
You must first be who you really are, then do what you need to do,
in order to have what you want.
- Margaret Young


I’m funny sometimes.  By funny, I don’t mean “hilarious”, “witty” or even “generally entertaining”, but rather “mildly pathetic”.  Where does this self-judgment come from?  From an observation I’ve made over the years that goes something like this: I think I really want something, then when I get it, I discover it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be and I don’t want it anymore.  I know, I know.  In this regard, I’m like everybody else, which I suppose makes us all mildly pathetic at times.  But in a good way, since that’s apparently how we learn anything at all about the way life works.  Now I’m judging you.  Bear with me.

Though never a money-chaser, and deeply committed to doing some good in the world regardless of what that meant for me economically, I always suspected that a decent paycheque (or perhaps even a really, really good paycheque) would, to some degree, fill the void left by not having pursued what I wanted to do when I was a kid (i.e. make music or movies, whichever came first).  For years, I did what was good for my heart but not so good for my wallet, allowing myself to slip slowly into the belief that achieving both happiness and financial security was neither possible nor particularly important. 

Then, just like that, I discovered I’d hoodwinked myself. After years of struggling, I suddenly had a job that was personally satisfying and paid well.  Who knew?  In a field completely unrelated to my real passion, mind you, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t worrying on a daily basis about being able to pay my bills.  I could take care of my kids and still go out for supper wherever I wanted, buy the clothes I wanted, go to concerts I’d always ached to see, take vacations I’d always dreamt about.  It was like finally walking out of the desert into a seemingly boundless oasis.  Anyone who’s been there knows what I’m talking about.  I don’t care how much you can make do with Kraft dinner, there’s nothing like the occasional filet mignon to put a little colour in your life.

But eventually, after a prolonged soak in the hot tub of a “good life”, that cool, refreshing pool in the distance called “The Life You Should Be Living” begins to beckon.  And you can only avoid it for so long before your skins begins to shrivel and bake. 

Felix Dennis, one of Britain’s most successful entrepreneurs and founder of Maxim, speaks often of the tyranny of a regular paycheque, comparing it to a cocaine addiction.  It’s the old frog in the pot idea (turn the heat up slowly enough and he won’t budge till it’s too late), just way more specific.  There’s a lot to be said for being financially responsible, making sure your children are taken care of, and preparing for you future. And there's no denying that a good, steady paycheque (however it comes) can go a long way toward helping achieve that. 

But how exactly does one measure the value of following (or not following) his or her bliss? 

As I’ve struggled with whether to take the leap and finally go after my dream to make movies, the naysayers have abounded.  “You’re too old.  You’ve got kids.  You’ve got a great job.  You make good money with benefits, RRSPs, advancement opportunities. And what if it doesn’t work out?  What’s that you say, following your dreams?  Come on, Paul, that’s a bit flaky, isn’t it? At your age?”  Luckily, unlike when I was nineteen and gave too much ear to such criticisms, I no longer give a shit.  That’s the pleasure and the privilege of being “my age”. 

And as I’ve discovered, the real question is never, “What is the cost of following my dreams”, but rather, “What is the cost of not doing so?” At some point, it’s neither selfish nor irresponsible to dedicate yourself to what you were always meant to do.  Rather, it's a matter of integrity and survival.  Interesting thing, by the way, about the naysayers: they’re usually 20- or 30-somethings who have little real-life experience, relatively small ambition, surprisingly limited imagination, or who simply have not yet reached that point of now-or-never desperation that drives ordinary people to do extraordinary things.  Having not yet fully coalesced a passionate, burn-the-bridges-behind-you vision of their own, they feel strangely compelled to advise others on matters with which they have little experience, all the while masquerading as the “voice of reason”.  I don't blame them.  I just don't listen to them. 

Having said that, it's important to recognize that naysayers do serve an important function.  They force us to examine our plans from an outsider’s point of view. “Am I doing the right thing?  Have I thought this through properly?  Is this the right time?” Sometimes naysayers have a point, so long as we recognize that their opinions are just that: opinions - often uninformed, uninspired, uninvested.  

Naysayers also help us identify how truly committed we are, how much we actually believe in that thing we keep saying is so important to us.  They bring us squarely into the “no bullshit” zone, compelling us to be brutally honest with ourselves above all.  My observation is that this often seals it for people.  If we know we’re right and are confident about that, we tend to be relatively bullet-proof to pessimism.  If certainty or confidence are lacking, we’re more likely to crack.

Finally, naysayers force us to consider worst-case scenarios which (as long as they don’t overwhelm us) tend to echo our own fears, play themselves out in our minds, then ricochet us back to a place of determination that is stronger for the exercise.  Whiplash never hurt so good.

Of course, there are also the “yay-sayers” who, thankfully, tend to show up in greater abundance.  They’re usually older and possess more blood-and-sweat experience in actually following (or not following) their dreams.  They’ve been there.  They’ve lived with the consequences of their actions or lack thereof.  Which tends to make their input more real-world, and ultimately more helpful. They are often family members and close friends, business colleagues or complete strangers, generally willing to provide honest opinions that reflect a nice mix of cold, hard reality and warm, hopeful optimism. 

It’s especially meaningful when the yay-sayer is someone like Randy Becker, a senior vice president of the company I currently work for who has achieved a substantial level of success (financial and otherwise) yet still harbors a wish that he had pursued the dream he cherished earlier in life, and who I count as one of my genuine supporters.  When I asked my sixty-four year old father what he thought, his response ran along similar lines:  “Even if nothing comes of it, for the rest of your life you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you gave it an honest shot!”  Money can’t buy that kind of yay-saying.

There’s no way around it: the cost of following a dream, big as it seems at the time, is miniscule compared to the cost of not following it.  It’s just a matter of hitting that point in life where the whispers of frustration, disappointment, and desperation become such loud voices that ignoring them becomes an impossibility without performing some kind of bizarre auto-lobotomy of the soul.  Once you get there, it's time for the party you've been waiting years for to begin.

But it’s still up to you to light the candles.