I’ve been thinking about Hamilton lately (I just watched in Syracuse this week)—about Alexander Hamilton’s relentless drive to prove himself and Aaron Burr’s cautious waiting for the right moment. Both feel wrong to me, like they’re caught in a trap of division I don’t want to fall into. There’s this pressure to pick a side, to stand for something so you don’t “fall for anything,” as the old song goes. But what if choosing a side splits the world apart? What if I don’t need to fight their duel to know who I am?
The Pressure to Choose
The world pushes us to define ourselves with sharp lines, therapist, mother, advocate, “right” or “wrong.” It’s like we’re supposed to pick a side and defend it, no matter the cost. In Hamilton, the duel is the ultimate symbol of that—two men fighting to prove their worth, their honor, their truth, turning friend into foe. I’ve wondered: What would I do in that moment? Would I raise my pistol to the sky, clinging to honor like Hamilton, or shoot out of fear of being left behind, like Burr? But I’ve faced those choices, moments where the world demanded I carve myself into one piece of the whole. I walked away. My spirit knows we’re all one current, flowing together like a waterfall I love to watch. Choices divide us. Picking sides, proving points—breaks the flow, making enemies out of the whole. I don’t need to fire a shot to know my worth. My sense of self flows from gratitude, from being part of the whole, not fighting to stand apart.
Is Not Choosing a Side a Stance?
I keep coming back to that line: “You’ve got to stand for something or you’ll fall for anything.” In Hamilton, Burr’s hesitation makes him seem like he’s falling, waiting too long to act. Hamilton’s boldness makes him seem like he’s standing, but it’s a stand that burns him out. I don’t want either. Not choosing a side is my stance, a stand for the whole, for not slicing life into right or wrong.
Right and wrong shift with the day, the heart, the moment. I see this in my work as a therapist, where every story weaves into the same tapestry, every perspective part of the whole. I see it in my call for dialogue over division, in my belief that rigid choices block our growth. Not choosing a side isn’t weakness, it’s a refusal to let the world’s demands fracture our unity. It’s a stand for being present, for saying, “I am enough, right here, right now, connected to all.”
Honor and Authenticity: Not So Easy
Then there’s honor and authenticity. People claim these like they’re simple badges for example: Hamilton with his loud principles, Burr with his quiet restraint. But both feel too easy, like they’re posturing instead of living. Hamilton’s honor is tied to ego, crumbling when he fights for his name over his heart. Burr’s is a facade, hiding his truth until it’s too late. Real honor, real authenticity, isn’t about proving you’re right or dividing the world into winners and losers. It’s about showing up as you are, part of the whole, even when it’s messy, even when it’s unknown.
The Unspoken Ripple
There’s a quiet ripple in my heart, something unspoken, tugging like a current I can’t quite name. It’s not the old pressures I’ve left behind, the need to be perfect, to pick a side, to prove I’m enough. Maybe it’s the whisper that I should know exactly who I am, that I need a clear answer to carry like a flag. But my spirit says to let it flow, like a waterfall I love to watch, its rush never needing to explain itself. I don’t need to fight to define me, like Hamilton in his duel, or wait for the perfect truth, like Burr. I’m just here. grateful, messy, and growing, like a thread in the tapestry, allowing my I AM to ripple, ever changing and ever growing in the present.
“You don’t have to know where you’re going to be headed in the right direction.” —Alan Watts
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