For most of my life, I struggled with an intense lack of passion. I guess, really, nothing captivated me the way I wished something would. I grew up envying the way my sister spent hours on her art, or the way my brother talked about health science. For most of my life, I just existed: floating in this sort of passionless limbo. No spark that Mary would say she felt while drawing. No feelings of anticipation, excitement, or satisfaction that David would attribute to pursuing nursing.
A passionless limbo.
So I dabbled. I followed the advice of my mother. I took a range of subjects, and did well when I chose to apply myself. I focused on a solid base in which any career could take off. I flirted with hobbies - writing, guitar, sewing, reading. …show more content…
I don’t know if one could even call it a “moment”. I was in the school library, wandering around, trying to occupy myself with something other than my homework. A passionless girl hiding from her calculus homework.
A real moment, right?
In my wandering, I happened upon a neglected corner of the library, and I curiously thumbed through the first few pages of a book there. My disillusioned notion was challenged as I continued reading, and completely rejected. I was intrigued. My blood rushing, my mind racing: I was taken back by my own fascination.
I guess it’s a little embarrassing. Or a lot. In retrospect, I don’t think I’d like if my peers knew the passion I felt while reading about the historical roots of public shaming in social media, or if they were there to see my sheer excitement as I read the preface of Neil Postman’s Amusing Ourselves To Death, an analysis on modern technology and the quality of culture. But that’s okay. I realized I loved comparing the books I read to the world around me. There’s something about it-- the inner workings of cultures and the people within those cultures-- that interests me to no end. I’m intrigued by the study of it and I’m inspired by it. I’m constantly left with an insatiable desire for
A passionless limbo.
So I dabbled. I followed the advice of my mother. I took a range of subjects, and did well when I chose to apply myself. I focused on a solid base in which any career could take off. I flirted with hobbies - writing, guitar, sewing, reading. …show more content…
I don’t know if one could even call it a “moment”. I was in the school library, wandering around, trying to occupy myself with something other than my homework. A passionless girl hiding from her calculus homework.
A real moment, right?
In my wandering, I happened upon a neglected corner of the library, and I curiously thumbed through the first few pages of a book there. My disillusioned notion was challenged as I continued reading, and completely rejected. I was intrigued. My blood rushing, my mind racing: I was taken back by my own fascination.
I guess it’s a little embarrassing. Or a lot. In retrospect, I don’t think I’d like if my peers knew the passion I felt while reading about the historical roots of public shaming in social media, or if they were there to see my sheer excitement as I read the preface of Neil Postman’s Amusing Ourselves To Death, an analysis on modern technology and the quality of culture. But that’s okay. I realized I loved comparing the books I read to the world around me. There’s something about it-- the inner workings of cultures and the people within those cultures-- that interests me to no end. I’m intrigued by the study of it and I’m inspired by it. I’m constantly left with an insatiable desire for