I’ve always felt crappy about myself for not having a “passion.” It didn’t help that Peter knew he wanted to be a pilot at SIX YEARS OLD. So annoying.
Whenever anyone used that word, I’d start beating myself up tirelessly.
How the hell do I find it Am I supposed to be looking under rocks and in old coffee mugs
And then I figured out how to “find” what I love. Try a LOT of shit, and then more shit...and keep following those little whispers of curiosity in life until you get really excited about one.
And that’s what I did.
A drum set (my mom regrettes that one), a counseling degree (which was utterly painful), painting (major fail), graphic design (nope), paddle boarding (hell, no)...the list is endless.
And then I landed on photography, and it felt good. I lost track of time and space, and often forgot to use the bathroom when I was editing into the night.
Then writing found its place in my life...all because I said “yes” to my inkling.
You guys, I can’t sleep after I write something that comes from my soul. I get SO much energy from these two activities, that burnout isn’t a thing. It simply can’t exist in that space of happiness and heart exploding excitement.
I also don’t think you need one passion to be whole. It can shift and morph and disappear all together. And that’s ok.
So in the words of my fave author @elizabeth_gilbert_writer
it’s more than fine to be a hummingbird.
Pursue your curiosity, in all of its nonsensical, bizarre forms because THAT is what makes life so dang fun.
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