Curse

a generational trope

There’s a frequent and bizarre trope in my family. I’m not sure I’m using the word ‘trope’ right but we’ll go with it for the time being. We lovingly refer to this trope as “The Donohue Curse.” I’m pretty sure we have several curses so it’s probably more fitting to call it A Donohue Curse or One of the Donohue Curses.

But I digress.

Almost everyone in my nuclear family experiences The Curse in their own unique way. It looks different for each of us. The Curse can come out in any variety of settings - work, school, church, creative endeavors, friend groups, social clubs - pretty much anywhere that people gather themselves together. It can strike at almost any time regardless of how long we’ve personally been involved in that group, be it years or hours.

Inevitably, unavoidably, and inescapably, at some grave point in what seems like a predestined time, a Donohue will reluctantly and begrudgingly find themselves in charge of something.

We land ourselves in leadership positions.

A lot.

I don’t know how this happens. We almost never enter these arrangements, either formal or informal, with a happy heart. When asking for volunteers we rarely raise our hands. As a point in fact, I’ve made it a part of my personal mission statement to never raise my hand for anything ever. I’ve been keeping my hands down for as long as I can remember. And yet, it just happens. Whether it’s organizing dinner with friends, taking on responsibilities at church, or planning a work event, somehow a Donohue will end up spearheading, liaising, coordinating, managing, instructing, devising, planning, implementing, structuring, administering, or arranging. All with a smile on our face and the burning rage of a thousand angry suns in our hearts.

To be fair, I should just speak for myself, lest I speak for the entire Donohue clan.

Here I go again, anointing myself as the leader with some overarching power. It just happens. I swear! You saw for yourself! Just now!

The greatest irony about my own affliction with The Curse is that I’m not particularly organized. It’s a trait I find helpful in leaders. Especially on a small scale, having at least some skill as an organizer is useful. In my defense, I’m a 7 and we tend to have other strengths besides organization. So between not being particularly good at it and not wanting it in the first place, it’s always a conundrum when I end up in these positions.

After a little digging I’ve come up with some reasons why I have The Curse (aside from the obvious fact of my last name). As a 7, I constantly seek comfort and safety. Think of me as a 200-pound infant: needing food and a soft blanket above everything else. We tend to discharge and avoid pain at all costs. Most people are driven by this but 7’s tend to go above and beyond. My body is constantly telling my brain some variation of ugh I don’t like that let’s do something else. The ‘something else’ is usually my bed and a snack.

So why on earth would a 7 seek leadership, either consciously or unconsciously? It seems counterintuitive. Leadership is risky and scary. It requires work and has the threat of failure. It can be highly uncomfortable. It can be downright painful at times. The complete opposite of what a 7 is all about.

The answer is: control.

When I say I’m a 200-pound infant, I should specify that’s a figurative infant. What makes me feel safe has changed since I was in diapers. As a 30-something year old man, I still crave safety but now it’s nestled right in the heart of control. To be honest I find this fact about myself kinda gross. I don’t particularly like it and I especially don’t like admitting it. I’d much rather be a care-free 7 who finds safety in being swaddled and drinking whole meals from a bottle.

Adjacent to control is distrust. Maybe it’s actually an extension of control? Who knows. What I can say is that I’m generally distrustful that people who claim authority A) know what they’re doing and B) will actually do it. Deep down I really really want to be a sheep but I can only do that if my shepherd has proven that they actually know what the fuck’s going on. It’s probably conceit or an inflated ego to think that I am the supreme authority on who is and who isn’t an idiot (especially since I know for a fact that I myself am an idiot or at the minimum have strong idiot tendencies). Or perhaps I’m just a grown-up human person who knows the truth: none of us know exactly what we’re doing and we’re all whiteknuckling it hoping that no one finds out.

So there you have it. I’m a comfort-seeking 7 whose sense of safety lies in the dark heart of control mixed with a silky ribbon of distrust. I need to know that someone has their eye on the ball, even if that someone is me. For whatever reason if the ship is going down, I want to be the one at the helm.

Hence…The Curse.

The grand silliness of all this silliness is that control itself is a myth. It always has been and always will be. We mere mortals control very little outside of our own bodies and minds. In fact, most wisdom traditions tell us this. The only thing we have dominion over is the space in our heads. And some of us don’t even have that.

Armored with this new insight, I would like to believe that the next time I get hit with The Curse I will stop for a moment and ask what am I trying to control, what/who do I not trust, and is this a form of comfort seeking. I can’t imagine I would continue making the same choices if I were completely honest with those questions. At the end of the day I want to love the things I lead, not resent them. I want to be a fun, carefree, spontaneous 7.

To me that looks a lot like accepting what is and, more importantly, accepting what isn’t. It involves accepting people as they are in all of their infallibility and sloppiness. Things might fall apart. Or maybe they won’t. Maybe, just maybe, if I practice this radical acceptance often enough for a long enough time, I’ll look back and realize The Curse has finally been broken.

Let’s hope.