A few years ago, I was
at a church retreat playing Mafia. I normally hate Mafia because, for some
reason, I never ever am selected as the
Mafia. Therefore, I really try to savor the few opportunities I get to
assassinate my fellow church members as they apprehensively sleep. Luckily,
this was one of those few instances that I actually flipped the card to see an
ace, marking my entrance into the simulated crime world.
After a few
"nights" passed, however, my joy was threatened by my inept
accomplice, who had attracted too much negative attention. As the accusations
flew at my accomplice, I sat quietly, putting on my best poker face and looking
for any hole to rescue him and continue our mission of civilian annihilation.
And then, right as I was giving up hope, I heard one of the accusations fly at
a new target. Without even thinking, I piggybacked on the later accusation and
tried to shift the suspicious focus from my accomplice. Little did I know, it
was a trap: “John, I think you’re mafia too. No one else was accusing this
person until I did just now, and you agreed with me too easily right away.” In
my eagerness, I had foolishly been found out.
I think one of my
defining characteristics is my honesty. I lie very rarely, and if I do lie, my
lies are usually more short-lived than mayflies. Of course, you can see how
this could have been an issue for my parents when I began socializing as a
toddler. I loved free stuff. The lessons I remember most from my childhood
involve appropriate behavior in public: decline every gift or favor offered to
me in any situation.
As I aged, this training evolved
into other aspects of my life. Empowered by a special talent for laziness, my
just-say-no campaign eventually ended up pervading my life. The phrases, “It’s
okay,” “Don’t worry about it,” “It’s cool,” and “It is what it is” took firm
root in my daily, perhaps even hourly, communication. What’s worse, I had told
the same lie enough times that I believed it.
However, despite this suspended
state of want, I still find myself being provoked so strongly by things that I didn’t
think I wanted, by things I swore I
did not want. I’m increasingly figuring out that no matter what my words say, I
am still a fool in front of my objects of desire. When placed in front of me,
the tantalization overwhelms me. I’m also finding out that regardless of how
nonchalantly I feign disinterest, losing something desired on the cusp of
attainment brings incredible pangs of disappointment. Sometimes it’s a girl,
sometimes it’s a job, sometimes it’s a conclusion, sometimes it’s normalcy, and
sometimes it’s not being found out in Mafia.
Ironically, within
these moments of overwhelming enticement and disappointment, I catch very quick
glimpses of my passions. It is here that I find my misplaced passions, the same
passions that I have searched for since high school. More importantly, these
passions manifest themselves not only as simple desires and cares, but as goals
and, ultimately, ambitions. I want to be courageous enough to constantly be
honest with myself. That way, I can dictate when I sneak peeks at my ambitions,
and not be abruptly surprised time to time by my own self.
