The gift of reason.
Months ago — somehow already six — I made the hardest decision of my life with unbelievable conviction, led by reason rather than feeling. It was my greatest moment of trust (and no, not in myself). Although I didn’t know what would replace my deepest attachment after surrendering, I knew I had to let go.
For a while now, I’ve been learning that when my heart outruns what my mind can perceive, I end up tripping at a reckless speed. Reason is left behind, emotion crowned king, the will reduced to subjugation. Why do so many of us bow down to our feelings, assuming they will make the right moves? Why are we told to trust ourselves as if we know everything; as if we have all the answers? Living this way only brought me confusion, frustration, and pain.
In a bittersweet irony, the person who brought reason back into the foreground for me is the very one I later had to leave, guided by reason itself. I almost feel indebted, as though the only fitting way to show my gratitude — to truly receive and integrate the lesson — would be to gently gesture beyond reason itself, toward its source — the fact that our capacity to reason at all is given to us, not self-made.
“Since every effect depends on its cause, and since God is the first cause of all things, it follows that He can be known from His effects.”
— Summa Theologiae I, q.12, a.12
But when I had my chance, I lacked the fruit of gentleness. My passions took over at the expense of a patient, loving dialogue. By relinquishing control to my feelings, I collapsed the space that should have stayed open and safe enough to ponder questions that can seem vast and foreign — questions many understandably avoid because of the discomfort of not knowing what lies beyond human comprehension. I went too fast, too aggressively, and failed to account for the fear that naturally arises when concepts seem too large to grasp. How I wish I could have shown then that joy can coexist with uncertainty. Je mi to opravdu líto.
So, why do so many people let their feelings flood their senses? (Besides the fact that society coaxes us to). Well, it can be exhilarating… at first. A spark of drama: “an exciting, emotional, or unexpected circumstance” — is especially intoxicating if nothing else in your life fulfills your innate desire for mystery. But the show spirals so quickly that when you’re hit with the reality of your irrationality, the damage has already been done. You’ve already bruised yourself and most likely someone else. A sorry tornado. A regretful storm. And with a wince, you see your behavior has been wildly driven by impulse again. This is why Aquinas warned that passion is meant to follow reason, not command it.
Don’t go berate yourself, for I must remind you of something I also need to hear:
“Have patience with all things, but first of all with yourself.”
— St. Francis de Sales
Any change involving the will is not an overnight evolution. Be patient, love. If you’re open to pondering, I’d say that’s a beautiful start! Cheers to awareness — now let’s learn to discern.
When all seems certain, then all seems lost, I dig up my old ways, only to try and bury them again. I fall, I get up. I dance with doubt. Then, I look out the window, see the snow has dusted the rooftops like powdered sugar, and remember that everything is not lost. What matters is that I re-anchor, re-devote, and remember all that I’ve gained since deciding to start watering the seed.
Yours,
Solée
