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…Isn’t the
of things where they
where only the wind
can bend them

back, the real weather…

–Jorie Graham

Passion comes from the Latin word ‘passio’, which means to suffer.

We associate passion with bliss and excitement and transcendence. That’s the surface. It’s very awesome.

Dive beneath, to where the sun thins out, and the water gets murky and dark, and strange creatures crawl on the bottom. You will see where your suffering lives. Sometimes it rises to pull you off the dock, and sometimes you jump or get pushed. If you’re lucky you’ll go for long stretches seeing nothing but dolphins, azure sky, your lover(s) naked on the beach.

But even then you’ll know, when you’re awake at 3 am: the more you dare to care about, the more you stand to lose. On bad days you wonder if you have the courage.

Passion carries the seeds of suffering.

Artists and mystics know this, as do entrepreneurs, and women ‘having it all’, and parents of teenagers, and Olympic athletes, and people who go on blind dates.

Gandhi knew this, and Nelson Mandela, and Cleopatra, and Martin Luther King, and Frida Kahlo, and Nina Simone, and Jim Morrison, and Joan of Arc, and David Foster Wallace, and Amy Schumer, and Che Guevara, and Britney Spears. Michelangelo knew this when he painted the Sistine Chapel, and James Cameron knew this when he filmed TITANIC (as did everyone else on the set).

Which is not to say that a passionate life requires you to shave your head, get assassinated, spend decades in prison, or go blind from medieval paint dripping in your eyes. Do your best to avoid these things. Try to have some fun instead.

But if life is an unfolding story that you tell yourself and others (and make up as you go), and passion is that place where love can hurt, and does:

Finding your passion is learning your story, and how best to tell it, and who needs to hear it.

It’s the narrative you’re willing to suffer for — the one you believe in the most — the one that heals and empowers.

That’s what this blog is about.