On Passion

I’ve heard it said that there is an elusive sweet spot you will enter into during various times in your life, in your work, in your self. That when your duties and your dreams are in perfect alignment, you’ll take notice. The world will, too. You’ll find yourself smiling at your phone, high-fiving the security guard, humming in the hallway, walking on air.

We call this finding our passion.

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Do you know what passion means, really and truly? It’s a strong and barely controllable emotion.

Strong.
Barely controllable.
An emotion.

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And this is the part I take issue with. We are convincing each other to follow our dreams, to chase after the illusion, to plan a life around a single, fleeting emotion.

But emotions are notoriously vapid. Once we catch them, they float away.

No, we cannot run after passion.
But we can run after a passionate life.

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I used to believe I was unhappy simply because I hadn’t found my life’s purpose. I loved most of my life, but not all of my life, and sometimes it all felt too heavy, too hard. Where was my sweet spot? Why wasn’t I humming in the hallway yet?

When would I walk on air?

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There is a common disbelief that what we love will automatically love us in return. That we’ll know our life’s purpose when we see it, that the world will unfold for us and the sweet spot will appear.

That we will walk up to a dream and curtsy, and if it’s meant to be, our dream will bow.

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I was raised a professional ice skater. From dawn until dusk, I’d find myself either submerged in a rink perfecting my spin, or thinking of such. I wore skating skirts. I rinsed the sweat out of my tights with dish soap. I grew my hair to put in a ponytail, pulling it only tighter than my eyes would allow.

I was ever passionate about skating. I loved it. But it did not love me in return, or more specifically, it did not love my body.

A series of recurring back injuries rendered me out of my league by the time I hit 20.

My passion arrived with a choice:

Do I quit skating, or quit walking?

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What I’m saying is this: the sweet spot is not without conflict. Our passions do not materialize without tension, our dreams are not delivered in tidiness.

The beauty, then, is not in finding our passion.
It’s in choosing (or not choosing) to live it anyway.

That is the sweet spot, the glorious mess of it all.

The children we love who drive us crazy.
The job we’re crazy about, except for that commute.
The relationship that arrives with emotional baggage.
The nation we yearn for, all faults and furies.

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Passion is not without pressure.
Significance is not without stress.
Love is not without loss.

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Hum anyway.
Smile at your phone.
High-five that security guard.
Go ahead; walk on air.

You don’t need to live your life’s passion to live a passionate life.

The sweet spot isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

But life?

Life is.