Don’t worry folks; I’m not going to go all Blog Noir just because I have a snazzy new address. I won’t even mention the love lives of my kitchen lizards again. I think this post is actually going to be about fruit…but I’m only 1 paragraph in, so who knows where we’ll end up.
Passion fruit is in season here now, which is great because I can walk around my house all day saying “PASSION!” as often as I like without sounding like a weirdo. (Well, maybe I still sound like a weirdo – but at least for the next few weeks, I’ll be a weirdo with a reason.)
I do love that word: Passion.
The linguist in me likes the explosive popping of the ‘p’ paired with the shushing of the ‘ss’. To me, it comes out tasting like smooth dark chocolate flecked with chili peppers, and should be spelled with extra ss’s.
Go ahead; say it out loud a few times. I’ll wait. (Just be careful if you’re reading this at work or Starbucks, or on your iPhone in a public washroom. Things could get kinda awkward really quickly.)
See? It’s not like one of those awful words like slacks or yeast that you try to avoid saying. Phonetically, it’s pretty great. On its own, it’s a good word – but I get antsy when it’s wrapped up in that impossible question:
“WHAT’S YOUR PASSION IN LIFE?”
It’s a question that’s guaranteed to make me freeze. Eventually I’ll thaw just enough to blurt out crazy words at random:
Or I might choose something from this handy list:
Don’t get me wrong. Those things are ALL AWESOME. But at the next step in the passion identification conversation, things get tricky. Apparently, once you’ve identified your passion, you’re expected to follow it.
How do you follow a zombie-pirate kitten wearing a hoop-skirt and a snorkel??
Around this point in the conversation, I usually realize I made a wrong turn somewhere.
There are some people who can answer the question easily, and without hesitation. Those people make me think of bananas. They have one, consistent, reliable passion that fits perfectly in their skin and fills their life – and they’re confident enough to wear bright yellow. I’m not a banana.
I’m more like a passion fruit. Kinda lumpy and plain on the outside, (I’m not body-snarking, it’s just an analogy) and a mess of sweet, sour, tangy, mushy softness on the inside that doesn’t quite fit snugly in its own skin. But the messy innards hold dozens of solid seeds that represent things like faith and justice and education and hope and literacy and all the other things that I really am passionate about.
But explaining all that to someone who asks, “What’s your passion?” is kind of exhausting. And comparing yourself to a passion fruit can make you seem like a weirdo. Maybe it’s best to stick with normal answers like hoop-skirts and zombies.
How about you? Are you a banana or a passion fruit?