I know I’ve written before about how my “crushes” inspire me to write. It’s like…accessing those emotions in myself compels me to process them by writing, or by using those emotions to inspire me to write.

I’m not sure which.

But anyway, the reason I make such a big deal about these brief bursts of intense feelings (passion in the lurvy-dovy sense, passion meaning intense interest and preoccupation with something) is that I feel that I have gotten to a place in my life where things flow pretty freely and are somewhat balanced.

And I go back and forth between thinking that is a good thing and wondering what I could be doing if I felt more passionate about things.

I mean, it takes alot of effort to be passionate. It takes caring, and the disappointments that accompany caring, and the constantly thinking about your passion to the detriment of other parts of your life.

On the other hand, without passion, things don’t get done. If you’re not passionate (remember I’m saying intensely preoccupied, not crazily obsessed or romantically obsessed) about something, things don’t change or get better. I can name the most obvious examples of passion like Gandi or Mother Teresa off the top of my head.

But there’s other, smaller, more local ways that passion can change things. Like being passionate about nutrition starting an organic produce home delivery service. Or being passionate about getting the best for your children inspiring you to participate in school activities, or being passionate about your garden leading to beautiful landscape.

So I wonder if my definition of “balanced” or “content” needs to include occasional bursts of uncomfortable emotion?

What are you passionate about? Does it make you uncomfortable?

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