Celebration vs Honor
Intention is everything. It is the primal motivation behind why we engage in an action or a series of actions—the movement beneath what we are “intending” to happen. Every process of creation begins with a compass heading. What are we trying to accomplish through the choices we make? Are we completing a task that simply needs doing? Are we trying to avoid something unpleasant, a conflict, a confrontation, or discomfort?
Often, we aren’t fully aware of the intention behind our movements. We find ourselves on autopilot, moving within the realm of expectation and obligation. Life becomes about what I have to do rather than what I get to do. Obligation carries weight, yet it also offers comfort. It can tether us to the norm and whisper the message that if we fulfill these duties, then we are “good.” In this mindset, our days become filled with “I don’t have time for that, I have to do this.” These obligations are often framed as the path to happiness, though they may leave us unfulfilled.
In my sessions, I often return to the theme of intention. It’s the unseen force that can be difficult to discern. Much like in a restaurant, we only see the plated meal, not the chaos or care within the kitchen. The finest restaurants, however, are grounded in intention, you can taste the love, care, and attention to detail. A meal made with obligation alone cannot compare to one made with intention and honor.
From experience, I’ve seen that we find whatever we set our minds and intentions on whether it’s something we desire or something we hope to avoid. If I long for connection with my partner, I naturally move toward openness and vulnerability. But if my focus is on avoiding conflict or upsetting them, I restrict the relationship, cutting off opportunities for growth. Avoidance creates invisible “demilitarized zones” in a relationship, topics and areas we carefully sidestep. Over time, this separation breeds greater conflict and distance.
Much of our motivation as humans comes from a desire to be celebrated rather than to live from honor. Celebration is external, it depends on being seen and recognized. The dopamine hit of validation; someone noticing, praising, or affirming us keeps us coming back to that same source. But if celebration becomes our primary motivation, it can trap us in cycles of striving and dissatisfaction.
To be celebrated requires an audience, or at least the perception of one. For some, that audience is a social media following, colleagues at work, or parents’ approval. For me, it might be my wife’s feedback whether she noticed I made dinner, did the laundry, or took care of the yard. If her recognition wasn’t forthcoming, I felt anxious, insecure, and irritated. Thoughts like, “I’m the only one,” or “I do everything,” would spiral. I would push harder for acknowledgment, and in hindsight, that must have been exhausting for her. When our sense of worth depends on another person’s validation, that well eventually runs dry. At best, we can expect encouragement from others but not a steady stream of validation.
When validation falters, the question emerges: If no one sees what I do, does it matter? This uncertainty can blur the line between positive and negative behaviors. Sometimes we shrink ourselves emotionally, contorting to fit expectations and become more palatable. But if we never have space to stretch and release, we’ll find maladaptive ways to cope through numbing, resentment, or self-sabotage. If we’re unclear about our intentions acting primarily for acclaim, approval, or recognition we will ultimately feel disappointed.
Alfred Adler’s principle of individual psychology reminds us that humans are always striving for superiority or perfection, and when we fall short, we experience feelings of inferiority. This striving is not about being “better than others,” but rather about reconciling the gap between who we are and who we long to be. Perfectionism, then, is less about flawless execution and more about being overwhelmed by our flaws.
This sense of inferiority is nearly universal. If asked to list ten failures and two successes, most people can instantly recall the failures, but would struggle to name the successes. That persistent feeling of “not enough” drives us to seek relief through external validation. Yet that well is shallow and when it runs dry, feelings of inferiority deepen, and we may act in self-serving, destructive ways.
If our actions require an audience to have value, we will always be left wanting. But when actions are rooted in honor, the audience no longer matters. Honor means living in alignment with our principles, even when no one is watching. For example, if I cook dinner for my family, the value lies in the joy of cooking, in creating something nourishing, or simply in following an idea I wanted to try, not in chasing compliments afterward.
The Sabbath itself models this posture. God does not need rest, yet after creation He paused, looked at His work, and declared, “It is good.” The Sabbath is not merely a day of inactivity but a day of reflection—a chance to pause and look upon what has been done, to say, “It is good.” Reflection helps us acknowledge growth, recognize areas for adjustment, and remember that failure is not the end of the story, but a chapter along the way.
When working with couples, I emphasize the power of declaring intention. A simple phrase such as, “I am committed to you, to our future, and to our family,” is not just reassurance for a partner, it is grounding for the individual. It aligns the compass heading. Speaking intention aloud clarifies and anchors us, while also affirming commitment within the relationship.
Shifting from a life of celebration to a life of honor requires unfamiliar muscles. It takes grounding, resilience, and skills to navigate the discomfort of inferiority. But when we anchor ourselves in who we truly are not who we think we must be, we gain the ability to pause, reflect, and say with certainty: “It is good.”