Being Dispassionately Passionate Is The New Normal

Such a strong, vivid, thought-provoking and image-evoking word. To be passionate is to be driven, focused, ambitious and goal-oriented. It is to be ready to give your all to fully stoke and ignite the little flames of desire in your heart — be it for life, love or work. 

At the onset of the initial lockdown in March last year, I wasn’t much affected by the stay-at-home order like some of my friends were, since I have a penchant for not going out very often. I did feel a giant pinch of remorse only for the fact that I wouldn’t get to spend time with any of them before they moved away to study, as we were in our final year of college. 

However, we’d made plans to meet whenever the pandemic subsided (which was, in hindsight, overly optimistic, to say the least) and those hopes sufficed. 

Upon realising I’d now have plenty of free time to do whatever I desired, my brain whirred in overtime and began churning out a veritable ocean of plans for all the artwork I could do and books I’d missed out on finishing through the academic year. 

To expound in brief, I utterly adore reading books and doing art. When I am robbed of time to do either, I feel a chasm blossom inside me which feels ever widening the longer I take to return to doing what I love. Envisioning ideas for art and being unable to express myself or wanting to settle down cozily with a good read is like a kick to the gut of my self-worth. 

Well, I began living the lockdown life with very good intentions towards submerging myself in my passion for art and reading. Little did I know, ha. 

Fast forward to a year later, and I’ve barely completed four paintings, and read not even a fraction of the books I’d wanted to. Why you may ask? The truth is, the pandemic with its accompanying Four Horsemen of the Mental Health Apocalypse — namely stress, fear, guilt and uncertainty — has taken more of a toll on me than I’d like to admit. The bombardment of terrible news every day, the apathy and carelessness of our governments towards their own citizens, the cloying fear for the lives of friends and family have been a mental circus for me and everyone I know. 

Constantly exposing myself to social media had a very negative impact on my passion for art during the lockdown. I am a volunteer to help with the Save Mollem Campaign and contribute through making posts and raising awareness about the campaign online. This requires that I remain online, reachable and interactive at all times, which isn’t really in my nature. At that time when I was falling into a funk, constantly being online meant that I was also seeing other artists on my social media pages who seemed to be reaching their art targets with ease, and book bloggers who were devouring book after book. I felt disconsolate as I felt everything I created was worthless compared to what they were putting out. My circadian rhythm took a thrashing due the apprehensiveness dogging my every thought and move. My concentration levels diminished. I began forgetting things, which worsened to such an extent that I thought I was developing a young adult version of Alzheimer’s disease. The metaphorical guillotine blade dropped when my interest in doing art and reading hit rock bottom and I felt nothing. 

A large measure of my mental peace and self-worth stems from my ability to complete my tasks on time, especially when it comes to art. If I complete a piece in 2 weeks (record time for me), I feel validated and talented. If not, well, it is akin to falling flat face-first and being unable and unwilling to get up for an age because of a bone deep tiredness sprouting from mental acrobatics. I realised then that I had to get my act together before it was too late to make amendments. I had to reignite my love for my passions before it slipped away forever.

In order to regain some amount of control of my actions, I began developing (and still retain) some unusual coping mechanisms to help me beat the mental blockades. I’d arrange and rearrange items around the house in a specific order, do things at a certain time and even consume the same things I had eaten when I had had a good day. I abstained from reading certain materials or performing certain activities when I had felt rubbish on the days I did them. I am cognizant of the fact that these things are irrational and don’t actually have any effect on what occurs, but since it helped me to calm down and think a little more clearly, I continue doing them.

Mainly, what helped and continues to help me make peace with the fact that I can feel what I feel as long as I don’t let it consume my whole being and still work on my passions is talking to my friends when I feel rubbish. Wrapping true feelings under the guise of humor is my way of putting forth heavy topics in a lighter, less ominous manner. I’ve had the good fortune of making lovely friends who understand me, notwithstanding the fact that they’re also on the very same tumultuous emotional Rollercoaster created by the pandemic. Speaking to them, writing about what I feel, why I feel it, and how I can make amendments has helped me improve my mental health and regain my drive to realise my passions once more. I’ve begun painting with a new fervor once my stress was mildly alleviated and reading with new gusto. I feel much better than I have in months. 

Taking a break from social media too helped me tremendously to begin painting and reading again as the pressure was temporarily lifted, though it was a short-lived interval as I realised that I couldn’t let my privilege of having the ability to disconnect completely stop me from doing my bit to raise awareness regarding certain issues in the country that demand to be addressed. However, I now regulate the time I spend on social media so that it doesn’t feel as overwhelming or intimidating as it did before. 

I understand the extreme amount of privilege I hold with staying at home and wearing a mask while going out being the only asks of me as a common civilian, unlike frontline or essential workers required to compulsorily put themselves in direct danger by selflessly catering to the masses to provide for themselves and their families. However, having read similar stories about how other people have been affected mentally by the isolation, fear and negativity surrounding us had also made me comprehend that my feelings and the feelings of everyone going through the same are NOT invalid. 

We have a right to feel the way we do as we are achingly and incredibly human, after all. We also shouldn’t shoulder our burdens by ourselves, as a trouble shared is a trouble halved, as I have gradually learned. While this article might not be solely motivational, I find solace in the fact that by sharing this piece of myself, I might help someone feeling the same, know that they aren’t alone and that they reach out for help should they need it. 

On a more positive note, I’ve a new piece of artwork nearly finished now that I can’t wait to unveil soon, several new ideas for more pieces that I am determined to finish come hail or high water, and I’ve just finished reading a beautiful book that I recommend to all, a quote of which I’ve included below that I love. 

“I am but paper. Brittle and thin. I am held up to the sun, and it shines right through me. I get written on, and I can never be used again. These scratches are a history. They’re a story. They tell things for others to read, but they only see the words, and not what the words are written upon. I am but paper, and though there are many like me, none are exactly the same. I am parched parchment. I have lines. I have holes. Get me wet, and I melt. Light me on fire, and I burn. Take me in hardened hands, and I crumple. I tear. I am but paper. Brittle and thin.” ~ T.J. Klune, from House In The Cerulean Sea. 

Written by Janice Ferro

I’m learning to never compromise on my mental peace by letting societal expectations dictate the path my life should take to suit their humdrum existence. I greatly enjoy reading, painting and occasionally writing. There’s nothing a snuggle with my cat, Ginger, crispy chicken nuggets and a good book can’t cure.

Week 22, June 2021