I was raised to think that the pursuit of money was evil.
After fifteen years, I left my employment with my church’s educational system (CES) to pursue a career as a management consultant and a radio commentator.
Money started pouring in. More money than I had ever imagined possible.
I enjoyed the work of consulting and expressing my opinions on the radio.
I loved making money. I loved traveling all over the world in pursuit of new money.
Then two things happened that were the natural result of my new found passion. One, I became deathly ill with viral pneumonia, and two, I had an anxiety attack caused by my fear of not being able to continue bringing in the money.
The pneumonia put me in bed for seventeen straight days, and it took me about a year to get my voice back. Yes, I could have died. My coughing cut my windpipe off rendering me unable to breath for five to ten seconds at a time. The anxiety was a whole different matter. Emotionally, it turned into depression that caused me to experience bouts of hopelessness. I actually envied the lives of dogs.
Did I regret my decision to leave CES? Not in the least. Consulting and speaking my truth all over the world were the happiest, most fulfilling times of my life. And making money was what I enjoyed most. I was receiving what I was worth.
What I didn’t anticipate was that the utter joy I experienced was accompanied by its opposite – the horror of depression, and the very real possibility of becoming so sick with viral pneumonia that I could die.
Did I finally realize that the love of money was the root of all evil? No, I did not feel like I was pursuing evil. However, what I did realize was that life is a balance between opposites.
What’s the opposite of ecstasy? In my case, hitting the breaking point physically and emotionally.
Is that how life works? In my case, that’s exactly how it works. So what happened? I must have intuitively realized (with the support of my wife) that this dark period would pass. Slowly, it did. And as it did, I resumed my activity, but this time with a new found sense of wariness.
Wariness and passion went hand in hand in my next push forward.
But as time passed, my wariness wore thin and my passion increased. Thud, another mishap. Another episode of having to heal. Wariness returned, and off I went again pursuing my passion. And yet one more truth was revealed: history repeats itself.
Is there an end to this drama? I’m 74, I’m alive, I’m happy, I still live with my passions, my wariness has stuck around, and, yes, history repeats itself.
My advice: if you have deep passions, pursue them with relentless vigor, and manage the consequences.