This post originally appeared on Bed Crumbs on January 10, 2015.
Here is what I know to be true (an overused phrase, I know, but I love it nonetheless):
I want passion. I live for passion. I struggle to wrap my head around the fact that there are people out there in the world without any. There are a lot of things I don’t understand personally, but accept. But this… I cannot fathom that kind of life.
It’s hollow. I’ve been told that sometimes I can be superficial. I disagree. I believe, at least I hope, that if you are passionate about something, have some sort of intensity to you, some belief or love that encompasses your spirit and nearly overwhelms you – you simply cannot be superficial.
Superficial (adj.): existing or occurring at or on the surface.
A life without passion is surface living. It’s empty. You find some sort of pleasure in the mundanities and banalities of life. That weekly happy hour ritual. The Top 40 Hits that the radio repeats on your drive to work. An Adam Sandler movie. (Okay, I digress. That’s stretching it. I suppose there are people passionate about Adam Sandler’s career, but that is a different discussion.)
My point is: without passion, your life is a series of things-you-enjoy-because-they-are-easy-and-you-are-supposed-to-enjoy-them. Not things you love.
I’m not talking about love in the sense of a more intense form of like. As in “I like my Sketchers but I love my Prada backpack.” I’m talking about love in the sense of can’t live without it. I’m talking about love as in your heart feels full when you think about it. I’m talking about love as in you get high without touching a single drug.
How is this possible, to live without this kind of love, and accept it? Where is the joy in that?
You need to find your passion, your thing. Find something that you love the shit out of. And just do it. Just love it. Learn to ignore what other people say about it or you, because it makes you happy, and that’s what matters most.
Find what pulls you out of bed every day when your alarm goes off before dawn. Find what makes you dance around your kitchen at 8:30 on a Saturday morning, doing pliés and jetés as you wait for the coffee to brew, for your oatmeal to cook.
Find what makes you laugh and cry and feel all of your feelings, because having feelings isn’t a bad thing. It means you are alive.
Find something you feel strangely possessive over. This is your thing; no one else can have it, no one else could possibly understand. Find something you love too much to keep to yourself and would share with the world by screaming from every rooftop.
So I urge that you do that one thing, please. Whatever it is – music, writing, cooking, ancient Egyptian art, baseball, hell, even Adam Sandler films – I don’t care. It doesn’t matter what I care. It matters what you care. Because you should care. Life is too short, too dull and arid and cruel to live without something that makes you happy.