When I had my first big identity crisis, following the birth of my first child, my husband asked me (once again) what I was passionate about. Of course, I had no clue, hence IDENTITY CRISIS, SWEETIE. I had no idea who I was anymore, beyond a milk-making machine. To help me focus, he asked me this question, “If you had eight hours a day to do whatever you wanted to do, what would you do?”
I knew that answer, and it hasn’t changed in the past eight years. I would sit at Barnes and Noble with a cup of coffee, a huge stack of a variety of books, and a journal. I would read and write and think and pray and listen and wonder and learn.
I remember asking this “what is my passion/hobby/purpose” question on my old blog and getting responses such as “I thought blogging was your hobby.” “What about writing?” “You’re always talking about books. Isn’t reading your hobby?”
Those answers seemed too…obvious? Lame? Boring? Nerdy?
Whatever the reason, it just wasn’t “something” enough for me. I have put so much pressure on this question for so many years. I feel like whatever “it” is, it has to be quantifiable to be worth anything. Why?
My husband has always loved cars. Always. He shared with me recently just how long this passion goes back and how important cars are to him. So he wants to buy a third car- one that’s just a car for him to love and fiddle with and spend time on and enjoy. He also loves landscaping. This passion of his began when my mom was dying. He was adding life and beauty around our home and really got into it. These hobbies of his cost thousands of dollars, so I have to find my equivalent. Why?
In reality, I’m never going to pursue something that costs a ton of money (well, never say never). That’s just not me. I’m far too practical for that. But you know what I love? Reading. Mostly library books in paper form and on my Kindle. I have been devouring books my entire life. I read them quickly, get lost in the story and the characters and the world, and then, often, forget them just as quickly (which is why I have no problem with rereading books). But that doesn’t mean I don’t love them. Well, some of them. Some are forgettable for a reason.
I love blogging again, too. I love processing my life through writing. I guess I’m passionate about that, too.
If those are the things that keep coming to mind, I suppose I should pay attention to that. Even if this blog never goes viral and reaches thousands of people, I should still do it. I might impact 5. I might impact no one, but God is glorified because I’m taking something he’s given me a desire to do and doing it.