What Motivates Us in Hard Moments
I once heard a wildly successful athlete say that you can be motivated by one of two things: fear or love. I'd piggy back on to that – the first can get you pretty far, pretty fast. But the second will sustain you.
Fear is the flashy, attention-getting hare; love is the plodding, ultimately triumphant tortoise.
The other morning, I woke up with a stomach turned over in knots. I had all manner of fear about our country, our politics, who we are (and aren't) to each other.
I leashed up the dog, a shaggy little joy machine (who is currently snoring on the rug by my desk), and we headed out into the September morning.
When I worked in Congress, I occasionally walked to the Capitol with a colleague from across the aisle. We had little in common politically, but she had a big, generous friendliness about her. It was a pleasure to start the day with her.
And I remember during those walks, when we'd dip a toe into policy, a quiet insight forming: We only get worked up when something we care about is at stake. We don't have big emotions - fear, anger, all the rough-edged human stuff - over things that don't matter to us.
So often, we are afraid because something we care about, something we love, is on the line. Or we perceive it is.
On our walk, my dog got a little jumpy and bark-y when another dog passed by; she perceived that that dog was a threat to her safety, which she cares about.
That dog wasn't a threat. But perception so easily becomes our reality, doesn't it? Especially for we humans living in a media taxonomy that puts cortisol and adrenaline at the top of the feed.
It's ok to be afraid. Fear is a healthy human response to so much of what's unfolding. But if feeling fear is destabilizing enough, acting on it might launch us onto even more uneven footing.
The challenge, for me at least, is to excavate underneath the fear to the care, the love that generated it. What is the thing that matters to me here? And can I act from the care for that thing?
I am not reporting from atop Enlightenment Mountain. Fear is a familiar tenant in my thinking. But I've logged enough hours with it to know that it wears me down, burns me out. The nervous system isn't wired to have constant adrenaline pulsing through it.
The dog and I returned home from the walk, better for it. Morning light has a way of filling in some holes in your spirit.
We know what a world spilling over with fear is like. But what about a world spilling over with love? What would that be for us? What could that create between us?
My Mum used to say that worry is love looking for an outlet. It's just that something gets mangled up in that highway from the love-filled heart to the worry-filled head.
Before there was worry or fear about something, there was likely love for something. In other words, love often predates fear. And love, if attended to, can outlive it, too.