I have never really been “passionate” about anything. I never had the zeal for religion. I appreciated other people’s zeal… and even though I think getting in close with God is an amazing thing (and necessary, in most cases), I envied those that could truly let themselves go and be taken up by Him. They spoke in tongues, and all I could do was watch. I think I heard once, actually, that one of my Sunday School teachers was so entrenched in the secular life that she had bad spirits in her… and they took her into a massive prayer session, and basically exorcised them out. That could just be hearsay, or my brain mixing documented religious experiences with some movies I’ve seen. I don’t think I’ll ever know whether it actually happened or not. I can’t imagine my old pastor shouting Latin at a man or woman… I bet he’s got the guts for it, though.
I used my interest in photography to meet the needs of boredom and an attempt to make a quick buck… but I never gave her a bill. It was my roommate’s senior pictures… my first attempt at something that could expand my portfolio. I had no idea how to run the session, even though I’d gotten my own senior photos done just a year before. I had fun, though, and learned a lot about my style. I don’t have any PhotoShop software, so everything I did with the pictures I had to try to do naturally. It was an experience.
I enjoy swimming, and used it to relax even though my coach was screaming at me to kick faster or pull harder… diving off the block was only great if my goggles didn’t come off and blind me. Thankfully, I swam the freestyle… which meant I could, technically, do whatever form I wanted. I busted out the breast-stroke to fix my goggles… Come to think of it, that was the only time I know of someone breaking the freestyle “style” during a race. Lucky me.
I love music, but I’m not one of these people to have that “saving” band. I’ve never been to the point where one band or genre pulled me up from rock bottom. I’ve been lucky enough to have a pretty strong social network for that.
I’m not even really passionate about learning… I like it, and I’m paying for an education… but I think I’m really more interested in the experiences that come in the process of getting that overpriced piece of paper. Learning something is kindof a bonus. Well, I guess that’s not entirely accurate. I am at least mildly passionate about learning… I mean, I have to be… I was reading a book today — technically, yesterday evening — about the brain-based biology behind religious beliefs. I was smiling as I read it… largely because I knew what the hell was going on with the terminology, but also because of my interest in spirituality. I like feeling smart.
I must be passionate about learning, though. I have to be… what person isn’t? No matter what, book-learning or street learning or just expanding musical tastes… I’m usually down. I talked with a friend of mine earlier for about an hour, I’d wager, about Coheed and Cambria. Things I never knew/noticed about the band or their music, he brought to my attention. I was positively elated. He said electroencephalography (I even have to go back and check the spelling) was one of his favorite things to study. (This goes back to my brain science and belief book.) I also make it a point to do as well as I can in school, which… well, that means I must care. Part of it is maintaining a decent GPA; the other, though, is showing the professors that — just because I occasionally fall asleep in class — their knowledge isn’t totally lost on me. I’m paying for their time, and as a responsible adult/student, I’m going to show them what I’m getting out of it.
I don’t know how much of that is sucking up, or the drive to succeed, though. I guess I’ll figure it out someday.
But back to being passionate… um… I’m a pretty intense person, I think. When I get Mad (yeah, capital M… like beyond irate, no-holds-barred MAD), it gets ugly. I don’t like being that way. In fact, I try to avoid it at all costs. I don’t even like being irritated, or having minor arguments with the boyfriend. The weight of that emotion — like all my emotions — lands on me like a ton of bricks, and a lot of people don’t get that it’s better for me to just force it away and get over the small shit than dwell. Life as I know it collapses if I dwell. I let that slip sometimes… and it’s a great and terrible thing.
Love, however, can consume me any day. And it usually does. It’s a heavy feeling, but not burdensome. I feel full — my heart feels full — yet I absolutely cannot get enough. I would go so far as to call it insatiable. People might ask me why I love… and all I can do is try to count the butterflies in my stomach and smile. I try to put a label on it, but all my brilliance can muster is “We get each other.” Nothing profound, nothing elaborate or beautiful… but it’s enough for me. The understanding, the acceptance… the “getting”… it fills me, and I love it. I welcome it.
Is this passion? Is this what I’ve been missing out on in religion and photography and swimming and music?
Probably. But I’m not complaining.
