You may have it lurking deep inside. Or perhaps everyone knows it. Somewhere, you have a passion. For what, I don’t know. And really, it doesn’t matter as long as it’s not a harmful one. Whether it is something that is interesting to others is irrelevant as well. What matters is that you
Whether it is something that is interesting to others is irrelevant as well. What matters is that you own it. Our neighbor across the street years ago was a kind man with no particular career ambitions. Punched the clock 7-3. And yet in his basement was an amazing array of all kinds of tropical fish. He could tell us stories of their origin and who shouldn’t be with whom. Pretty and interesting to me, but that was all. No matter.
What matters is that he pursued his passion. Many years ago, when I first graduated from college, I had a job as an assistant manager for a now defunct store called Linens ‘n Things. A couple of times, I was asked to arrange the window display with their products. With great joy, I pounced into the task–I was finally able to get back into my creative mode which had been sucked away at this managerial position.
Many years ago, when I first graduated from college, I had a job as an assistant manager for a now defunct store called Linens ‘n Things. A couple of times, I was asked to arrange the window display with their products. With great joy, I pounced into the task–I was finally able to get back into my creative mode which had been sucked away at this managerial position.
They hated my displays.
Every time. They were too weird. Eventually, I became the person who stifled my “self” so that I could fit in. I buried the passion for creativity because I was too weird in others’ eyes. I became a marionette, letting others pull my strings. And now I realize, eons later, that I may indeed become one of those crazy old hat ladies who wear bizarre clothing and radiate joy. Because my creativity is my passion.