I invited passion back into my life this year after ignoring it for so long. Passion had, in my mind, become something to stifle in my voice and my heart for many reasons. And in so doing I had killed a part of myself that was integral to being who I was. Whatever it was those around me wanted to be, I would shut my passion down a little bit more. I would work later hours even if though I worked part time. I agreed to complete extra projects even though what extra money I was paid didn’t truly cover the effort I put in the product. I promoted changes I wasn’t whole-heartedly sold on, I said yes, I backed down, I acquiesced, I kept quiet, I didn’t even get into boats let alone rock them.
And for all the serenity I thought this would give me, for all the finallysomepeaceandquiet I thought I would have in my mind, the noise became worse. As I fell into a deeper and deeper abyss than I ever had before, I continued to drown in the world around me. I clung to the lies I was told. Seemingly reasonable lies told by unreasonable people — If you just follow the rules, if you just follow the policy, if you just don’t question things, if you just accept things. I believed these and more if only to stop my hands from constantly shaking.
My hands never stopped shaking. My fear never went away. My desire to fit in never was fulfilled. My hopes to go unnoticed never worked. And I stopped breathing even though my lungs filled with air and remembered to let it go.
It has taken me two years to recognize that passion would bring me back to life. I am its Lazarus and it has risen me from the dead. I’ve closed my hands around my pulse, letting it pull me where I need to travel. Each beat stops my hands from shaking and inspires my senses to breathe again.
Passion. My passion. I am most surprised how quickly I became comfortable with it again. I finally have the serenity I craved before; it’s wrapped in red life and pinch of oomph. The electricity that courses through me steadily hums and is what lulls me to sleep each night.