Driven

It's safe to say I'm driven. I'm not driven in an ordinary way. I haven't made anything out of myself in my 41 years. It's more like a personal drive, beating myself at something, having my way in some insipid way. It's important for a moment, but there's no real reason for it. 

It's a pointless way of being driven. There's no payoff. It's not good for me. I push myself often to the point of fatigue and beyond. I've gone many years with little sleep, and to what end? Do I live in a comfortable house? Do I have a sizeable pension waiting for me? A home in the suburbs? I have nothing. 

I have not failed to notice the never-ending stream of people in various media who are also driven. Many of them have horrible backgrounds, stories of neglect, abuse, hardscrabble upbringings, etc. At some point, and perhaps erroneously, I connected the dots. I believe abuse can often lead to being driven. 

I watched the Netflix documentary of Quincy Jones' life. It was fascinating. And I would never put myself in Mr. Jones' shoes, but I could see how the lack of many things made him achieve many things, as I can see the same thing in myself. I can't relate Jones' whole story here, but I can recommend watching the documentary or even reading his Wikipedia entry for a brief overview. Although I have long hated much of the man's music, I can see that what made him successful (beyond his God-given talent) was his drive. 

Consider the stories of men and women in Hollywood who endured sexual abuse. I can't help but think that somehow the pain and the feelings of powerlessness and insignificance contributed to their quest for fame. It seems like everyone has a story. It's almost inconceivable that so many could be so damaged yet achieve so much. Consider also all the stories of drug abuse and lives cut short prematurely. Drug abuse is often a hallmark of psychological or physical abuse. 

So what makes the damaged so driven? It's just my opinion, of course, but I believe the answer is simple. They're driven because they cannot stay where they are. They're driven OUT as much as they're driving forward. It's almost like they're being chased. There is a constant quest for new because what's behind them is ugly and wrong and shameful. In short, they are running from something. 

How many times have I had to stop myself from some obsessive-compulsive behavior, some ADHD-type rambling, some perfectionistic nonsense, or some pointless excursion? How many times has my mind beleaguered my poor body to the point of exhaustion? How many times has my body screamed out, "STOP!," only for my mind to drive on? 

I've noticed that I've started to listen to my body more. The noise in my head has quieted as I've endured this writing therapy and endless prayer sessions. When my body says it can't complete what I ask, I don't drive on. I rest a bit. Eventually, my mind finds a way to complete what it wants, but the cost to my body is not the same. Before, there was a meanness, almost. Now there is a kindness, a patience, a unity. It's another sign that progress is being made in my head and heart. I'm healing.

I'm not driven like I used to be. I think I'll always find a way to push myself. But I'll not be chased anymore. I've turned and faced the things that were chasing me. I've grabbed them by the throat, by the balls, by the sharp sticks they chased me with. And I let them have it. They have no more power over me. I'm safe now.