Lately I’ve been struggling with a minor case of discontentment. Not the exciting restlessness that comes before a huge leap towards something new, but the languid kind. You often hear people talk about going out and pursuing your passion. “What is your passion?” they ask. “Everyone has a hidden passion that is just needs to be allowed to reign.” It also seems like the people giving this advice conveniently have a passion that makes money…
What is my passion?
That, I cannot tell you… I know what I like, or am interested in… I like to travel, to see new places and people, and I like creating beautiful things. I like taking walks on pretty days, and sitting with a kitty curled up in my lap. I like spending time with people that I love, and I like blueberries and granola. I have my likes, but passions? Passions that I could pursue full-time in lieu of a safe and secure, but boring, job?
When I think of passion, I think of:
1) the covers of romance novels I see when I’m walking through a flea market or garage sale
2) obsessions that people spend hours and hours lost in…in their basement
3) beautiful & inspirational artwork sold at sweet, gift shops
I think of artists, geniuses, and courageous people living out their dreams, and using their talents to help mankind. I’d like to think that I’m a person capable of passions, but it’s hard for me to think of what my passion is. I want to live out the purpose that God has for me, but at the moment, it all seems a bit foggy…a touch out of sync…so marginal that you barely notice.
So… In the meantime, I’ll ask, “Where is the possibility?” Maybe I can decide to find some rabbit trails of interest, and walk their length for awhile, just see where I end up. I must admit, that often in my off-hours, I see my interests as unimportant in the face of household chores and they are consistently skipped. Even a raging fire dies out without a bit of stoking, right? I’d better start stoking my little fires.
I’ll keep you posted.