Glimpses

Drive is something which is always misperceived. Some people claim to be "driven," as if it's a quality requiring no context, and this seems to be a revered virtue. While passion is something which can be nestled deep within one's persona, drive isn't associated with a kinetic term without reason.

How can one be driven without a direction? In the same way, how can one be determined without a task at hand requiring perseverance? It seems impossible, because by definition it is. Drive seems to be a vector quantity; requiring magnitude and direction. Magnitude in that the intensity of one's desire can be quantitatively measured, and direction in that there is a specific avenue for this desire. While the goals may not necessarily be specific, they are finite and at least partially tangible.

I myself am examining my own drive. While the magnitude of it seems engrossing, the direction could very well be misplaced. I find that my obsession with my work could very well be my muse of highest priority, yet I feel like my veering in the direction of educational accomplishment could very well be a misplacement of passion. Not to say it isn't important to me to do well; if I succeed, then by transitivity my 110 students will as well. However, by submerging myself headlong into my work, I may not have necessarily satisfied the drive my soul clearly seeks.

A very good friend of mine visited me recently and in typical southern fashion, we went out for BBQ. During our lunch, I mentioned to him how it seemed like a burden was off his shoulders; he seemed himself in truest form. He told me that he felt like I was in a good place as well, and I replied by saying that I felt like I was in an environment where I could most succeed.

He never glared at me, or even put his sandwich down for that matter, but I felt something prick inside of me. I felt like he was reaching across the table and grabbing me by the collar. In my mind he was asking me something of great importance.

"Do you belong here? Do you truly believe that you are where you're supposed to be?"

Even typing that question is tough, because it forces me to face the question I have been frantically grading papers and planning lessons to avoid. While my work demands more of me than I thought possible I have been using it as a ploy to skirt the the question of greater importance.

Yes, I feel driven. Yet I feel like I have been staring at the road in order to avoid the driver. My magnitude has usurped my direction, and my passion has boiled over singing my ability to find God in Richmond. The question now isn't whether or not I'm driven, but rather who's driving me. And who should.