I've been thinking about passion. Successful people tend to be passionate about what they are doing. You can hear it in their voice. It doesn't have to be some lofty thing, or astounding. Some people are so passionate about quilting that they make a great living out of it. Some people are so passionate about programming that they invent new things. Not only are these people successful, they love their jobs, they have fun.
Heroes are people with passion. They believe with every fiber of their being. Imagine Jason pursuing the golden fleece, sauntering through the countryside, whistling as he goes, tossing rocks and stopping in at every pub. Not exactly the picture of drive.
I've been wondering if I am passionate enough. I love writing. I can't imagine doing anything else. But am I actually passionate about it? Life has interfered so often in this last year that I wonder if I am allowing it to. I have begun to feel that living in a place where nuance of conversation is lost so that I have essentially one friend and three family members in my immediate surroundings to talk to, my own family in the wider circle, is this limiting my scope? I wonder if my world view is becoming bent too far in the direction of the people I am able to talk to.
Is passion something like love at first sight? Does it hit you over the head and you think, "Bazinga! I know what I want to do"? (thank you Sheldon for the expletive) Or is it something you've known all your life? Is it a combination of the two? Some element suddenly comes together with another and inside you feel you've found what you've been looking for all this time? Or maybe it's just the act of sloughing off self-doubt.
I can see myself adrift at sea, not really rowing as hard as I should. My little lifeboat sort of heads in a direction. I wish for more passion, more drive.