I have been avoiding my NaNoWriMo writing. I tend to do that. I get too close to feeling good about something, freak out that I will fail and sabotage it. Or so they tell me.
Tonight I made myself write. I loved it. I wish I could describe to you how it felt to just sit and type and type and type. It was better than any drug. Better than anything anyone else could’ve done to encourage me. Better than any other feeble attempt I may have made to try to make myself “feel good”. (Because that is how you are supposed to feel, right?)
One word sums it up.
Writing is my passion.
For so long I would hear people ask, “What is your passion?” Usually I got quiet or focused so much on what someone else was saying as to deflect any attention to the fact that I never answered the question.
Passion? I feel passionate about getting to sleep through the night.
Passion? I feel passionate about my kids.
Passion? I obviously feel passion towards my husband.
But inevitably, within the confines of my own thinking I would hear: “No. No. What is your passion??”
I never had an answer before. Even when I tried to make one…force something to become a passion, it never worked.
I know my passion.
So, I ask you. What is your passion?