Have you ever felt like there was a war between the world’s expectations of you and your expectations for yourself? I don’t know how to make peace in this war, but I might have a balance. It’s a burden I bear.

I was told some years ago that I had a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde quality. I could be compassionate and warm, but at the same time, I could be bitter and cold. This quality comes through my writing, where I can dissever a person or idea with a serrated nib.

This feedback was well-intended, but I still found it unfair because the person who told me this wanted me to only be Dr. Jekyll when there might be practical reasons for me to have a dark side.

I watched a Richard Nixon interview, and he talked about what he likes to see in a leader. He said that a leader cannot be warm on the outside and warm on the inside. Something has to be cold about the leader because a good leader cannot be both.

I know that referring to Richard Nixon might be taboo, but after listening to a biography about him, I realized that Richard Nixon is possibly the most relatable president of the 20th century.

Either way, Richard Nixon is right. Leaders have to make tough choices. They have to be willing to sacrifice a personal relationship for the better of the whole. A leader who is warm-hearted and warm-minded will collapse under ethical dilemmas. They will be paralyzed in indecision when they need to be in a rhythm of choices.

I used to have a warm mind. I was gullible and self-serving. I did good things for others, but they were intellectually rationalized. I let myself believe in lies for the sake of pleasure and security. All of these things shielded the fact that I was a cold-hearted person. A man with no heart. I could sympathize but could not empathize with others. Tragedies never weighed on me. I always wanted to solve problems, but I never wanted to feel them. I was a poser.

A warm mind and a cold heart… I can’t do it anymore. But I cannot be warm-minded and warm-hearted either. Because I’m a leader.

I’ve resolved that I should have a warm heart. I need emotion. I need a connection. I need to sense another person’s pain. I can show mercy. I can experience faith subjectively and not objectively. And this warm heart needs to be balanced by a cold mind. One that knows when it’s time to make sacrifices, invoke discipline, and challenge the world with critical ideas. A warm-hearted and cold-minded man can feel the world’s cries for help and answer the calling with total immersion, even if it means anteing up his broken and contrite heart—a trade I’m willing to make. And I won’t think twice about it.

If I wanted to flee from leadership, I’d mentally go with the flow and tell my heart to feel good about it. But I can’t do this. And I think other people, especially me, will have to get used to it. I see the critical urgency to find an equilibrium between the two, which cannot be paired, but a yin and yang.

Wendell Berry wrote a poem called “The Contrariness of the Mad Farmer.” When I read this poem, which you can watch Berry recite here, I finally felt like someone knew what I was going through. I am a person who is a paradox to others, inspires their criticism, and rejects their framing of him. I am made by God, Jesus is my savior, and the Holy Spirit indwells in me. My calling is often misunderstood: a man who preaches love and forgiveness and knows when to flip a table, whip hypocrites, and challenge the status quo. In the words of Wendell Berry, “so be it.”