Hand-Me-Down Love

Passion is a wondrous thing. It can inspire, create, evangelize, and destroy. Passion can repel those of opposed minds, but it can just as easily attract those of like minds. Better still, passion persists well beyond the convergence of two like minds and hearts. There's nothing quite like seeing and knowing that you've made an impact on someone else's life, and your passion is often the stamp to leave a lasting impression.

I do not think that it would be right to blog about certain people in a public forum, so I will withhold the names of those who I indirectly thank here for their passion. There are many in my life who have inspired, created, evangelized, and even destroyed me with their passions, and each has left their marks on my consciousness. Some I regard with caution, while still others I embrace wholeheartedly. It's a utilitarian matter in some cases, weighing the costs and the benefits of adopting a passion inherited from another. In other cases, you can respect and admire another for their passion, without totally buying in to their passion.

Just being passionate about SOMETHING is usually attractive in and of itself. I believe that it is all too common for people to lose sight of the things that inspire them. Obliviously observing another's passion rarely leaves me without a smile on my face. It reminds you of what you might have forgotten days, weeks, months, even years ago. It can send you back in time to when you were another version of yourself, and it forces comparison and introspection. From this we can nurture to full health that which we thought was lost, or we can at least gain a fuller understanding of why we have changed over time.

At this time in my life, my sources of inspiration have dwindled considerably. It's rarer for me to run across someone who awakens the latent passion inside of me. However, I still catch glimpses of the past in everyday life, whether it's turning on a TV to see a football game, watching a video on YouTube, or reading a cookbook. Little pieces of someone else, their imprinted passions, until now dormant inside me, stir. A rush of memories, emotions, smells, colors, and tactile feelings all flood my mind with a complex sense of that other person. I recall their passions, how I felt about them, and the smiles that spread over my faces countless times whenever I was able to see passion unmask the facade that so many wear. It's a snapshot of that which drives someone's heart to beat one-hundred times a minute.

While the amalgam of memories and emotions often elicits forlornness and longing, it also brings a smile to my face, for I know that I've discovered something that once belonged to someone else. I feel as though I have unearthed a treasure chest of passion that a subliminal treasure map guided me towards. It's as if the seed of a hand-me-down love, planted long ago, has finally sprouted. I miss the gardener, but I will instead thank them silently for the gift received.