The sad passing of Leonard Nimoy has temporarily raised the public profile of his most famous role: Spock of Star Trek. And although the character was many-sided and complex, it's more commonly referenced as a shallow stereotype. Typically, to compare anyone with "Spock" insinuates that they're out of touch with their feelings; they're obsessed with attempts to be impassive, analytical, objective, inflexible, rule-driven, unimaginative, risk-averse. Regardless of Spock's perennial popularity, in most cases the comparison probably isn't a compliment.
Concern about being too much like Spock is eerily similar to some of the uninformed concerns about the side effects of meditation—even the minimal, undogmatic kind previously covered by this blog. "If I train my brain to notice my emotions and direct my attention, won't I cut myself off from some of the most compelling parts of human experience? If I'm more conscious of what's going on in my head, won't I act...uh...self-conscious? If all my cares are demoted from controlling me, won't I lose the capability to be caring? If I realize that my aims are more like products of my mindset than like lasting, solid prizes, won't my actions start to seem worthless?"
Fortunately, meditation doesn't produce those fearsome effects. It can't because it doesn't force any changes in the practitioner. Ideally it yields them greater understanding and composure. It loosens the grip of their impulsive thoughts. It provides more opportunity for them to make thorough, well-justified decisions, which are more free from the self-imposed tyranny of narrow and/or unidentified mental patterns. They don't extinguish their emotions but soberly recognize then supervise. They can't choose the immediate involuntary reactions of their brain and body, but through unclouded comprehension they may choose how to respond to those reactions.
They're more able to remain calm in a wider variety of situations. Yet a calm demeanor doesn't imply that they're indifferent or unfeeling. They're only displaying the outcome of observing their agitation and simply permitting it to evaporate by itself, as if it were excess steam. They've acquired skills to selectively filter its final expression. As such, they're not subject to a stark dilemma of restrained Spock or unrestrained brute. They can decide which of their inclinations are worthy of which further actions—and possibly forming habits.
Additionally, they can consider the context of the present moment during those decisions. The importance of context shouldn't be underestimated. Obviously, behaving like a strait-laced Spock stereotype isn't always appropriate. Some moments warrant bubbling excitement, wide smiles, and easy laughter. Deeper familiarity with one's moods, gained through meditation or meditative-like practices, allows one to deliberately value, embrace, and trust their moods on such occasions. The opposite embattled strategy of guiltily shunning, fleeing, and squashing one's moods can't claim the same flexibility.
And to emphasize the realities of the present moment is to be more effective during either extreme or at times in-between. The competent completion of an unpleasant but necessary task (on Monday?) benefits from the absence of distraction: the doer isn't preoccupied by their wish to be doing something else altogether. The enjoyment of a leisure activity benefits from the absence of distraction, too: the doer isn't preoccupied by their dread of a future task (on Monday?). At differing moments they're either a clearer-headed "Spock" or a clearer-headed "anti-Spock"*.
*not a mirror universe Spock