Acing the passion part of fruity

passion, depression, joy, fun, life as a nut, losing it

Step right up, folks. It’s the roller coaster ride of the year. Test your mettle, challenge your might, but keep the end in sight. It’s the Mobius Strip of perpetual twists and turns, guaranteed to keep one foot here, the other in the bathroom…

That’s what I come up with when I ask myself if I’m nuts or not. I don’t have to ask anyone else what they think, ‘cause I already know the answer.


Passion is a good thing. No doubt about it. It’s one hell of a powerful driving force and a major boot to the ass of motivation. What would we be without it? Why, we’d be kin to that rock half buried in the mud, hiding away nine-tenths of ourselves like icebergs.

I could wax poetic for days about it, but think about it: What would life be like if we didn’t feel, if we didn’t feel strongly about things?

I’ve been “losing it” lately. I lose it when I watch the day-to-day apathy, always accompanied by haughtiness and contempt. I follow behind, mop in hand, needing to undo the harm in their wake. I think I’ll buy them a Dictionary for Christmas, wrapped so that it’s opened  to the page with “compassion” circled boldly in bright red marker. If they still don’t get it, those Dictionaries will do just fine slapped upside their heads.

I lost it yesterday and had to kick myself in the ass to break out of it. You’d think I’d have learned by now that it’s only me that expects me to excel. It’s the one part of myself that I just don’t like, not one bit. ‘You can’t soar like an eagle when  you’re flocked with chickens.’ Heck with that, I do it anyway. If I had a mean streak, I’d be feasting on those chickens for dinner.

The best way to break out of my self-imposed pity party is to refocus my attention elsewhere. That’s when it’s fun. Pure fun. From watching the squirrels become ever braver as they tauntingly chatter and chirp, venturing closer and closer and getting away with it, to my dogs yapping, howling and literally singing their greeting when I come home from work. Oh, and there’s a ton of joy when the crappy camera in my iPhone takes a decent photo in spite of itself.

There was an incredible amount of joy when I touched the soft, warm nose of a 108-years-old-in-people-years horse. A soft eye and a gentle nuzzle said out loud, “It’s all good.” I imagined how much he’s seen, the miles his hooves have traveled, and wished him many more years of soft hay and warm sun. I also imagined he said to me, “Would ya quit ticklin’ my nose already!” Oops, sorry.

I’ve been driving this little, old, red car lately. It’s a 1990 Geo Prism and quite the piece of junk. You can’t open the doors from the inside, the muffler is shot and it’s loud, and the front end has a major shake to it. But it is quick. It goes when you press on the gas pedal. As long as it’s under 50 mph, it’s tight and very easy to zip around in. Any faster than 50 mph and it’s a white-knuckled ride. There ain’t no chance of falling asleep while driving this puppy, and it’s fun.

Instead of letting my thoughts “circle the drain” lately, I get up and move. I run the vacuum or wash dishes or grab the guitar sitting right next to me. If none of those things strike my fancy, I flop on the floor to play with the dogs. My arms get covered in slobber, my hair tussled and my glasses smudged, and when I stand back up again, my sides hurt from laughing.

Take it from a certified nut case: It’s the passion that drives it all. It’s just a matter of pointing that passion at the positives at all times. It’s the dips and the swirls that are the constant reminders of joy.
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