but how do you find your passion?
no, really. how do you find your passion?
it's a simple question. isn't it?
i'm an artist, a dreamer. i'm a passionate person with overflowing dreams and an electric surge under my skin. but how do i find my passion?
i feel like my passion hit a wall this week. we had something in our grasp, something i didn't know i wanted quite this badly until it fell apart. it was a home, and it was beautiful and green, and i heard our future in those walls and planned moments in those rooms.
but then, it went away. and then i wept until my body ached. i was on fire for this dream.
and now, i feel swayed by this wind that has gushed through my body and whispered i wanted this so bad. and i wailed to my husband,
this is why i don't get excited
and i opened my mouth and dared to wrestle with the Lion like Jacob.
i don't understand
why did you let us get this far?
and i sobbed for all the memories that could have been, and i broke for the passion that i would have possessed there. i stared at drab brown and white walls that i am not allowed to paint, and the too-much-stuff that crowds my corners with not even room for an easel, and i felt my passion compressing down into a cube that barely fit in this tiny place.
i felt squished. i felt grey, like all the colour had been rung out of me. i felt limp and helpless and empty. no more passion, because i left it in the foyer of this perfect dream.
:: and so we wrestled, He and i, until the dawn.
and then somehow, i dried my tears. my soul woke up and looked around this place, this little corner where he and i and soon our daughter have been placed. and i started to see dark bookshelves in a corner, and swooping dark purple fabric hung like bunting from corner to corner in the back room now-turned nursery.
we went and bought new sheets for the bed. soft gold fabric to match the flowers on our midnight blue bedspread. and we put down the corners and made up the bed with the gold hidden inside until the blanket got pulled back after midnight.
i slid my body between those sheets and let out a breath that was more of a prayer than a sob. because my passion isn't dead, it isn't gone, and it wasn't left wrapped around the perfect hardwood banister.
it never left. i just forgot where it was. i didn't have to find it after all, because it was never lost. my focus had just become blurred. my passions aren't controlled by where i am, by what i have, by what i experience.
they just are.
they are in a two story dream, and they are here, in a four room canvas that i just haven't been bold enough to embrace.
they don't need to be found.
they just are.