Passion is supposed to always be fiery.
It’s always raging and burning and evidently flailing wildly about.
That’s great. Not a damn thing wrong with that.
It just seems like such a narrow view.
Perhaps I’m just rebelling and my insecurity is on display, but I’ve been told I lack passion before. Several times in fact.
It always caught me by surprise.
I’ve just never thought of myself that way. Lacking passion is basically just apathy isn’t it? Do I understand it correctly? To be passionate is to be driven by some strong emotion.
I think that for some passion requires that physical energy on display. It’s loud.
I’ve always thought of myself as passionate, but I see why someone wouldn’t get it.
I don’t like wordiness.
I’ve been told I can be hard to read. I’ve also been told I have a very expressive face.
New coworkers always think I’m angry but I seldom am.
When people ask my what I do and what I hope to accomplish–when they ask about my dreams, I seldom have more than a few words to say to them.
I think that I may come off as closed off.
I suppose that doesn’t really look like passion to most.
But it’s all there. These hopes and dreams and desires are a constant fuel.
When something excites me, I do not grin and jump. I’m much more likely to stare and stop.
When I was young, I remember sitting and watching my father work. He did woodwork as a hobby and I remember he was the same. He had the patience to dedicate himself to sanding the same sheet of wood for an hour to make sure it would hold the stain properly. Even if the room were completely silent, you’d be hard pressed to get his attention.
It wasn’t that he was ignoring, he genuinely just wouldn’t hear you.
The thing in front of him occupies his complete attention. He doesn’t bother asking his ears if they are picking up anything else. It’s all elevator music.
And I would spend hours watching him work.
I think we all express our passions differently. Some jump and yell and dance with frantic and boundless energy. It’s like an explosion
Others get that laser focus that my father and I share. The weight of that energy goes into that single point. Like an entire body pushing into a perfectly sharpened chisel.
I’d bet that only dead men have no passion.
Passion has many different faces. How do you express yours? I’d love to hear it.