Pursuit of Passion
Picture it: midnight, curled up in bed with five pillows, two blankets, and a down comforter. You can hear the winter wind howling outside, the sky sparkling and swirling like someone just shook a snow globe. Lamp on beside you, music softly playing around you, enveloping you in a winter hug. Mind spinning, body tossing and turning in an anticipation I could not define.
I started writing this blog about passion. But when my mind was tired, I closed my computer, hoping my thoughts would make more sense in the morning. The weekend came, and in the back of my mind I knew I wanted to finish this post.
There was something about last night driving (literally!) out in the sticks, spending the evening with good friends, a wood stove, an acoustic guitar, mellow music, and genuine conversation that made me delve into reality. Here's a video to give you a little taste into the night, a silly song by a talented musician, the beginning of a night I wasn't expecting:
I knew I was going to rewrite this post. So here I am, deleting my prior silliness and getting into the real.
Like I said, I had started to write about passions. How intense and real they can be. How inane and random they can be. Like driving 2 1/2hrs home in a winter storm just to watch a half hour live stream from Britain. Like staying up all night after buying tickets to a band I wanted to see perform live because I was so excited. (This would almost be considered acceptable, except for the concert isn't for another 9 MONTHS.) Like the fact that my gum, sunglasses, and underwear are all purchased because they remind me of a song I like. I'm not kidding. I overcame one of my worst fears by watching a video from said band. Oh, I should probably mention that I've spent an entire school day watching videos from this same band. Because clearly I'm an adult.
Like anything and everything Harry Potter. I had to get a series of medical tests done last year, and as I was drinking black-goopy-chalky-nonsense for the MRI, I was given a Harry Potter book to read and it made me relax like I hadn't been able to in days. Happy while I drank the gloopy doom drink. I fall asleep to Harry Potter. I wake up to Harry Potter. I'm excited to live on my own so I can have Harry Potter playing all day and no one will tell me to turn it off.
Sometimes I can't sleep because I'm too excited about these passions.
All of these passions are great, they make me excited, but they don't MOVE me towards anything. They're passions for passion's sake. I realized, with this much energy, I need to focus my passion into something worthwhile. Something real.
I had been talking with my mom about this. It's something I've been really unsettled about for a long time. I think about actors and actresses, singers, politicians, revolutionists, so many so young, and it makes me wonder what I have done with my life. So many have accomplished so much by my age, made HUGE changes in the world, affected so many lives, it makes me feel so small. Insignificant. People pursuing their passions, proclaiming that you can do whatever you want if you work for it. But some talent you're just born with...or without. Somethings you can't achieve. Is that pessimistic? Or just honest? Either way, it has me restless. Wanting so badly to do something big, something loud, something filled with love and passion. Something that will help this broken world. What did Mother Teresa have that you or I don't? More love? More selflessness? More courage? Or was it none of these things? Are we really that different? Is the time old quote really true, It is our choices that make us who we are, far more than our abilities.
Which brings me to last night. Sitting around the table, wine and heat radiating from friends' cheeks, I saw a new understanding of passion. One of the women at the table I didn't really know. You know when you have a group of friends get together, and there's always someone that is friends with your other friends, but you never got the chance to know? It's strange we don't notice the pain, or the history, or really understand anyone until you see a glimpse into their daily life.
I'm really bad at first impressions. Not so much that I give a bad one, just that I am usually on the opposite page when I guess a person's background. Like when I met one friend, at first thinking he was a crazy drunk (in the nicest way?) who smoked a lot of pot and didn't care about school. Of course, I was 100% wrong, finding out that he didn't drink, super religious, and crazy dedicated in school while simultaneously working really hard in athletics, extracurriculars, and everything in-between. The girl I met last night, I expected her to come from a perfect, well rounded, June Cleaver background complete with women wearing skirts and aprons, ten kids running around, cows, homemade bread in the oven, grinding flour, organic family. I was wrong.
Broken. It's all I can describe. Stories of real heartache, hate, lust, anger, love, indecision, confusion.
Choices.
My heart felt like it was being torn, my stomach knotted, my head unable to wrap around such gut wrenching, heart crushing sadness. What a different, strange world we live in. What a complete misconception of what this world was supposed to be. What a tragedy that we chose to give up what could have been.
Our conversation chained on, linking to an over laying theme of relationships. Sometimes I become overwhelmed with frustration at myself for not "having it together". Not in the sense that I need to be in a relationship, because those things happen with time, and some of the most incredible growing moments happen when you're able to stand alone. I'm frustrated, rather, with not having it together when I've got something in front of me. Not being able to trust when I have no reason not to. Not being able to break down the walls when I have no idea why I built them up. The oxymoron, the contradiction of conforming to another's idea of perfection when you need to stop the performance and be able to let them see you.
The times we need to be vulnerable are the times we shut the door even tighter. The overlaying theme of fear. The underlying theme of pain. Holding back because the one you think could heal you is the same one you know could break you.
In those crucial moments, we are given a choice. Jump or run. Fly or fall. Stay safe or let go into the unknown.
Life is a series of choices. Some small and seemingly insignificant. Some large and drastic. But ALL important. All leading us to an unknown future. All directing us to who we become, who comes with us, who we leave behind, and how we change this world. Broken or healed, we will move forward.
When the Japanese repair broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something has suffered damage and has a history, it becomes more beautiful.
Kintsugi, as this art is called, embraces the brokenness, seeing that beauty can come from struggle. That the choice lies in whether or not we decide to fill our breaks with beauty. We can leave the pieces shattered, or we can pick them up and put them back together, truly creating a new masterpiece. Our lives an art form; Pièce de résistance...oustanding, notable, defining, a uniquely special creation.
Exactly how we were made in His image.
So maybe our passions don't have to be huge. Maybe fame and recognition aren't qualifications of true passion. Like another one of my friends said, maybe discovering and exploring one's passions is a step in life. Maybe with all of the things we have the opportunity to experience in this world, we don't know what we're truly passionate about unless we make the choice to go on the adventure.
There is no passion to be found in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living. [Nelson Mandela]
I started writing this blog about passion. But when my mind was tired, I closed my computer, hoping my thoughts would make more sense in the morning. The weekend came, and in the back of my mind I knew I wanted to finish this post.
There was something about last night driving (literally!) out in the sticks, spending the evening with good friends, a wood stove, an acoustic guitar, mellow music, and genuine conversation that made me delve into reality. Here's a video to give you a little taste into the night, a silly song by a talented musician, the beginning of a night I wasn't expecting:
Like I said, I had started to write about passions. How intense and real they can be. How inane and random they can be. Like driving 2 1/2hrs home in a winter storm just to watch a half hour live stream from Britain. Like staying up all night after buying tickets to a band I wanted to see perform live because I was so excited. (This would almost be considered acceptable, except for the concert isn't for another 9 MONTHS.) Like the fact that my gum, sunglasses, and underwear are all purchased because they remind me of a song I like. I'm not kidding. I overcame one of my worst fears by watching a video from said band. Oh, I should probably mention that I've spent an entire school day watching videos from this same band. Because clearly I'm an adult.
Like anything and everything Harry Potter. I had to get a series of medical tests done last year, and as I was drinking black-goopy-chalky-nonsense for the MRI, I was given a Harry Potter book to read and it made me relax like I hadn't been able to in days. Happy while I drank the gloopy doom drink. I fall asleep to Harry Potter. I wake up to Harry Potter. I'm excited to live on my own so I can have Harry Potter playing all day and no one will tell me to turn it off.
Sometimes I can't sleep because I'm too excited about these passions.
I had been talking with my mom about this. It's something I've been really unsettled about for a long time. I think about actors and actresses, singers, politicians, revolutionists, so many so young, and it makes me wonder what I have done with my life. So many have accomplished so much by my age, made HUGE changes in the world, affected so many lives, it makes me feel so small. Insignificant. People pursuing their passions, proclaiming that you can do whatever you want if you work for it. But some talent you're just born with...or without. Somethings you can't achieve. Is that pessimistic? Or just honest? Either way, it has me restless. Wanting so badly to do something big, something loud, something filled with love and passion. Something that will help this broken world. What did Mother Teresa have that you or I don't? More love? More selflessness? More courage? Or was it none of these things? Are we really that different? Is the time old quote really true, It is our choices that make us who we are, far more than our abilities.
Which brings me to last night. Sitting around the table, wine and heat radiating from friends' cheeks, I saw a new understanding of passion. One of the women at the table I didn't really know. You know when you have a group of friends get together, and there's always someone that is friends with your other friends, but you never got the chance to know? It's strange we don't notice the pain, or the history, or really understand anyone until you see a glimpse into their daily life.
I'm really bad at first impressions. Not so much that I give a bad one, just that I am usually on the opposite page when I guess a person's background. Like when I met one friend, at first thinking he was a crazy drunk (in the nicest way?) who smoked a lot of pot and didn't care about school. Of course, I was 100% wrong, finding out that he didn't drink, super religious, and crazy dedicated in school while simultaneously working really hard in athletics, extracurriculars, and everything in-between. The girl I met last night, I expected her to come from a perfect, well rounded, June Cleaver background complete with women wearing skirts and aprons, ten kids running around, cows, homemade bread in the oven, grinding flour, organic family. I was wrong.
Broken. It's all I can describe. Stories of real heartache, hate, lust, anger, love, indecision, confusion.
Choices.
My heart felt like it was being torn, my stomach knotted, my head unable to wrap around such gut wrenching, heart crushing sadness. What a different, strange world we live in. What a complete misconception of what this world was supposed to be. What a tragedy that we chose to give up what could have been.
Our conversation chained on, linking to an over laying theme of relationships. Sometimes I become overwhelmed with frustration at myself for not "having it together". Not in the sense that I need to be in a relationship, because those things happen with time, and some of the most incredible growing moments happen when you're able to stand alone. I'm frustrated, rather, with not having it together when I've got something in front of me. Not being able to trust when I have no reason not to. Not being able to break down the walls when I have no idea why I built them up. The oxymoron, the contradiction of conforming to another's idea of perfection when you need to stop the performance and be able to let them see you.
The times we need to be vulnerable are the times we shut the door even tighter. The overlaying theme of fear. The underlying theme of pain. Holding back because the one you think could heal you is the same one you know could break you.
In those crucial moments, we are given a choice. Jump or run. Fly or fall. Stay safe or let go into the unknown.
Life is a series of choices. Some small and seemingly insignificant. Some large and drastic. But ALL important. All leading us to an unknown future. All directing us to who we become, who comes with us, who we leave behind, and how we change this world. Broken or healed, we will move forward.
When the Japanese repair broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something has suffered damage and has a history, it becomes more beautiful.
Kintsugi, as this art is called, embraces the brokenness, seeing that beauty can come from struggle. That the choice lies in whether or not we decide to fill our breaks with beauty. We can leave the pieces shattered, or we can pick them up and put them back together, truly creating a new masterpiece. Our lives an art form; Pièce de résistance...oustanding, notable, defining, a uniquely special creation.
Exactly how we were made in His image.
So maybe our passions don't have to be huge. Maybe fame and recognition aren't qualifications of true passion. Like another one of my friends said, maybe discovering and exploring one's passions is a step in life. Maybe with all of the things we have the opportunity to experience in this world, we don't know what we're truly passionate about unless we make the choice to go on the adventure.
There is no passion to be found in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living. [Nelson Mandela]
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