There are a lot of things I could write about with that. I could talk about the Hubs or writing or church or any number of things. But, really, when I think of passion, one person comes to mind: my best friend Ree.
For as long as I have known her — since high school — Ree has been so full of life and passion for everything and everyone. She had big ideas and big plans to save the world — or at least her corner of it.
I remember one day I told her I admired her so much for her passion; it meant so much to her, she tattooed the word onto her chest. Like I said, the woman’s got passion.
And I still admire her for it. She has the drive to really make a difference in people’s lives, and she’s certainly made a difference in mine. I know a lot of my own spark, my own passion comes from her. Sure, the direction of this passionate — the nexus of my desire to write and the inability to remain silent any longer about my illness — are of my own making. But she, even if she doesn’t know it, is the push that got me started, the one that let me know it’s OK to be vulnerable sometimes.
So, no matter what she’s doing, I know she’s living her life with vigor and endurance and love. And as much as I wish we lived in the same town or state or region, knowing she’s out there making a difference somehow makes the distance OK.
So, here’s to Ree.
Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping… waiting… and though unwanted… unbidden… it will stir… open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us… guides us… passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love… the clarity of hatred… and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we’d know some kind of peace… but we would be hollow… Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we’d be truly dead. — Joss Whedon. (via Think Exist)