A passion for pashin’

A passion for pashin’

The title is somewhat misleading, as I really don’t have a passion for pashin’. A recent blog post by Belle got me to thinking “What AM I passionate about?” and I was a bit dismayed when nothing came to mind. My dismay was furthered when I asked a few friends and they didn’t have any idea either. One went so far as to say “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you be passionate about anything.”

Were they right? Am I a giant ball of apathy?

I continued to think about it. Fiddled with the wording a bit, and asked myself “What makes me really happy? And what makes me really angry?” It’s a bit sad that the list I made was so short. The conclusion I came to is that I am most happy when my friends are happy, or successfull, or good things are happening for them in general. And I am most angry when my friends are hurt, or wronged somehow. Apparently I’m really passionate about the happiness of my friends, and woe unto any who dare threaten that.

As wonderful and selfless and ‘nice’ as that seems, that answer left me feeling a bit unsatisfied. Is that really how I define my life? I mean, it wouldn’t be so bad if I had anything else, but it just seems a bit empty if all I am is a reflection of other people’s feelings.

One last time I went back to the drawing board and fiddled with the question, eventually asking myself what I have done that I am really proud of. The first answer (my move to Auckland) was a bust, I’m certainly not passionate about Auckland. But then looking back a bit further I struck gold: Those first few chapters of my NaNoWriMo novel that sit in my harddrive, abandoned but not forgotten. I remember being full of so much excitement and pride at the time, I felt like I was bubbling with it. While I may not have spent much time actually writing, I spent most days agonising over plot details, and how characters should interact. And along those lines I started realising other things, like the dungeons & dragons character I have never even used but for who I spent literal weeks fleshing out a back story; doing research on what families lived in what cities, and which cities had the appropriate nearby geography. Heck, even when listening to music I find myself mentally crafting scenes to go along with it. So it would seem I am passionate about story telling. It might seem a bit strange then that I don’t spend much (any) of my time writing fiction then. But now I think of it, you all must have experienced at least one time where I was telling you something that had happened, only embellishing it and making it sound like some epic encounter.

And I suppose for now, that will do. One day I’ll come up with a story idea that my perfectionist self wont be able to pick full of unfillable holes before the first chapter is completed. One day I’ll really travel the world and live my real adventure while using the experiences to fuel an entire series of novels. But for now I’m content with simply pretending my life is far more adventurous than it really is. And my anecdotes also serve a second purpose of making my friends laugh; catering to my other passion.

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