Passion
bagu for passion
Passion burns like a paper
Fire match ignites intense combustion
Consuming itself then dying leaving
Ashes so fragile that the
Air takes them blowing confusion
All over the place meaningless
Leaving neither trace nor mark
- © Aiki 2004
Bigbear wrote that a few years back, in response to a then-heated time between the Professor and Moodmagic's father.
I was reminded of her poem today. A few spaghetti strands have been twirling around in my head over the last few days, as usual some of the strands having absolutely nothing to do with each other, until I realized that the Sauce that bound them all was passion.
It started Friday.
On Friday I went to have a meeting with a department within the hospital I used to work at, where I picked up a rather large assignment--a brochure for a medical convention. The meeting went fine, terms laid out, I made a promise to get back to them on Tuesday with pricing, and afterwards hung out for a bit with the woman who I had worked with previously on the same brochure. Anyway, we got to talking, and I was telling her about the Sun and his violin and percussion, and how watching him and the other kids perform always brought me to tears.
She introduced me (via YouTube) to Gustavo Dudamel.
Wow.
But then, I walked out of her office and called Fat Lady in sort of a panic about this job, and while I was talking to her I bumped right into my former Coworker, who had also been doing some freelance work for the hospital. We had lunch, talked, caught up (she's going to go work with my former Boss... which I think is FANTASTIC for the both of them. And for me... since I get to pick up many of her old jobs and stay free a few minutes longer) and I sort of forgot about Dudamel until today.
On Saturday I wasn't feeling so hot. Things were bugging me and I already posted about that. I was also annoyed at ShoeFly cuz I thought she might be standing me up (even though I had resolved not to go out anyway because it was the responsible thing to do... but it turns out ShoeFly was home with her family). I got some laundry done and some Target done, but not much else.
On Sunday, Bigbear decided that she needed to stage an Intervention with the Diva. Seems the Blob had crawled his slimy blobby ass back up into the Diva's new apartment, and Bigbear was feeling strongly that he had to go. TODAY. As was the Professor. So Bigbear put people in motion... TinyOne's BabyDaddy, a friend of BabyDaddy who happens to be the Diva's (murderous) cousin, Uncly, the Professor and the Diva's longtime friend Auntie Mister. I confess... my heart fluttered cuz one thing I share with Poppy: we talk a good game, but we're not good at Planned Confrontation. Poppy's not good at confrontation at all, actually. Me... if shit flares up and I happen to be there, I can get pretty riled up and yip at people's heels. I'm a great shotgun rider. But for some reason, when it comes to planned war, it's rare that I can actually go through and BE there at the end-stage. I'm great at planning... not so good at executing. All that to say, when Bigbear announced what she was going to do, I was awfully glad I live as far away as I do, so that I wouldn't have to go, too. Yeah, I'm chickenshit. And my Psychological profile DID say that I have an overinflated view of what I thought I might do in a situation versus what I actually WOULD do.
Whatever!
I chuckled though, as Bigbear relayed that Poppy was "having conflicted feelings" about whether or not he should go. I bet he was. But you could have knocked me down with a feather when I got a picturemail from the Professor a little while later... Bigbear fringed for war, with Poppy standing next to her. Wow, I thought. It must be BIG for Poppy to be there! Glad I'm not!
I love my folk. I really do.
The Professor texted me a sort of play-by-play, including the fact that unbeknownst to most folk at the Intervention, someone was standing outside the door "cocked and loaded". Just like in the old days. Uncly, AuntieMister and Poppy went in and started cleaning. Seems once the slug came back the Diva sort of gave up on her cleanliness. Bigbear went into the room and told the slug "Here's a Metrocard and a garbage bag. Get your shit and go."
Man, I'm still laughing. I hope the Professor posts her version pretty soon.
The reality though, is that situation isn't terribly funny. We all got bad feelings about the Blob, for various reasons. My feeling was that he lacked a passion for anything in his life other than the Diva. At first she thought that was flattering, but I can tell you from personal experience... THAT is a dangerous sign.
You need to have a passion in your life. Something that drives you. Something you have a NEED to do, to be. And it can't be a man (or a woman). It can't even be your kids... because you can use your man/woman/kids as a copout in your life... a way to avoid focusing on what it is you need to be. It's not good for the man/woman/kids, for them to be your only passion in life. It's way too much pressure. You run the risk of being a StageMother. Or a Stalker. This is one of the many things I learned about life from TF.
Cuz TF didn't have a real passion for much. He loved baseball and football (but as LilacBlue said last week, sports passions for men are genetic... and don''t count. He's gotta have something else.) and when he played softball good Lord but he may as well have been playing the tie-breaker game in a Mets subway series, but aside from that, as life went on me and the Sun were his passion. At first, I too, thought it flattering until it began to be limiting, but when I saw that passion extending to the Sun I got nervous. Cuz a kid can't be the only light you have. I told him that one night... after a long-ass phone argument. I told him it wasn't fair that I be his only light, because I could never live up to what expected.
So that's what bothered me about the Blob.
My passion is paper. I LOVE paper. The way ink/type/colors lay on paper. Colored paper. Stiff paper, translucent paper. Handmade paper. I have drawers full of paper. I love going into Staples and can spend a good hour poring over the difference between regular run of the mill multi-use paper and Bright White paper. And if I go to some place like Paper Presentation or Jam Paper & Envelopes, forget it. That's hours of entertainment. And that translates to my love for graphic design... for arranging things on paper. On the web, not so much. But on paper? Joy.
I love the Professor's passion for her "babies," as she calls them. I love that she cried the other day when she called to tell me about her little client who got his kidney.
And it's what makes it so hard for me to let Nene go, because he has a passion for what he does, and it's contagious.
Today (as I was procrastinating) I went back and Googled Gustavo Dudamel again. And this is when all the strands fell into place, watching this short "60 Minutes" clip on him, how he talked about his passion for what he does, how he inhabits the music he is conducting, how sheer joy emanates from every hair on his head:
and how he's able to bring that passion and enjoyment out of the kids in Venezuela's Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra (and I'm reminded of Roberta Guaspari and her passion for violin, and as hectic and testy as she may be, she does bring that passion to most of her kids):
Passion is a wonderful thing. To have a passion, to enjoy something enough that you can do it over and over, and enjoy it even on days when you don't enjoy it, and be able to share that joy and spread that joy, is a wonderful feeling.
There is much truth to BigBear's poem, particularly when passion is applied to people, as opposed to something you do. The irony though, is that often, people who are passionate about something inspire other people to be passionate about them...
Passion burns like a paper
Fire match ignites intense combustion
Consuming itself then dying leaving
Ashes so fragile that the
Air takes them blowing confusion
All over the place meaningless
Leaving neither trace nor mark
- © Aiki 2004
Bigbear wrote that a few years back, in response to a then-heated time between the Professor and Moodmagic's father.
I was reminded of her poem today. A few spaghetti strands have been twirling around in my head over the last few days, as usual some of the strands having absolutely nothing to do with each other, until I realized that the Sauce that bound them all was passion.
It started Friday.
On Friday I went to have a meeting with a department within the hospital I used to work at, where I picked up a rather large assignment--a brochure for a medical convention. The meeting went fine, terms laid out, I made a promise to get back to them on Tuesday with pricing, and afterwards hung out for a bit with the woman who I had worked with previously on the same brochure. Anyway, we got to talking, and I was telling her about the Sun and his violin and percussion, and how watching him and the other kids perform always brought me to tears.
She introduced me (via YouTube) to Gustavo Dudamel.
Wow.
But then, I walked out of her office and called Fat Lady in sort of a panic about this job, and while I was talking to her I bumped right into my former Coworker, who had also been doing some freelance work for the hospital. We had lunch, talked, caught up (she's going to go work with my former Boss... which I think is FANTASTIC for the both of them. And for me... since I get to pick up many of her old jobs and stay free a few minutes longer) and I sort of forgot about Dudamel until today.
On Saturday I wasn't feeling so hot. Things were bugging me and I already posted about that. I was also annoyed at ShoeFly cuz I thought she might be standing me up (even though I had resolved not to go out anyway because it was the responsible thing to do... but it turns out ShoeFly was home with her family). I got some laundry done and some Target done, but not much else.
On Sunday, Bigbear decided that she needed to stage an Intervention with the Diva. Seems the Blob had crawled his slimy blobby ass back up into the Diva's new apartment, and Bigbear was feeling strongly that he had to go. TODAY. As was the Professor. So Bigbear put people in motion... TinyOne's BabyDaddy, a friend of BabyDaddy who happens to be the Diva's (murderous) cousin, Uncly, the Professor and the Diva's longtime friend Auntie Mister. I confess... my heart fluttered cuz one thing I share with Poppy: we talk a good game, but we're not good at Planned Confrontation. Poppy's not good at confrontation at all, actually. Me... if shit flares up and I happen to be there, I can get pretty riled up and yip at people's heels. I'm a great shotgun rider. But for some reason, when it comes to planned war, it's rare that I can actually go through and BE there at the end-stage. I'm great at planning... not so good at executing. All that to say, when Bigbear announced what she was going to do, I was awfully glad I live as far away as I do, so that I wouldn't have to go, too. Yeah, I'm chickenshit. And my Psychological profile DID say that I have an overinflated view of what I thought I might do in a situation versus what I actually WOULD do.
Whatever!
I chuckled though, as Bigbear relayed that Poppy was "having conflicted feelings" about whether or not he should go. I bet he was. But you could have knocked me down with a feather when I got a picturemail from the Professor a little while later... Bigbear fringed for war, with Poppy standing next to her. Wow, I thought. It must be BIG for Poppy to be there! Glad I'm not!I love my folk. I really do.
The Professor texted me a sort of play-by-play, including the fact that unbeknownst to most folk at the Intervention, someone was standing outside the door "cocked and loaded". Just like in the old days. Uncly, AuntieMister and Poppy went in and started cleaning. Seems once the slug came back the Diva sort of gave up on her cleanliness. Bigbear went into the room and told the slug "Here's a Metrocard and a garbage bag. Get your shit and go."
Man, I'm still laughing. I hope the Professor posts her version pretty soon.
The reality though, is that situation isn't terribly funny. We all got bad feelings about the Blob, for various reasons. My feeling was that he lacked a passion for anything in his life other than the Diva. At first she thought that was flattering, but I can tell you from personal experience... THAT is a dangerous sign.
You need to have a passion in your life. Something that drives you. Something you have a NEED to do, to be. And it can't be a man (or a woman). It can't even be your kids... because you can use your man/woman/kids as a copout in your life... a way to avoid focusing on what it is you need to be. It's not good for the man/woman/kids, for them to be your only passion in life. It's way too much pressure. You run the risk of being a StageMother. Or a Stalker. This is one of the many things I learned about life from TF.
Cuz TF didn't have a real passion for much. He loved baseball and football (but as LilacBlue said last week, sports passions for men are genetic... and don''t count. He's gotta have something else.) and when he played softball good Lord but he may as well have been playing the tie-breaker game in a Mets subway series, but aside from that, as life went on me and the Sun were his passion. At first, I too, thought it flattering until it began to be limiting, but when I saw that passion extending to the Sun I got nervous. Cuz a kid can't be the only light you have. I told him that one night... after a long-ass phone argument. I told him it wasn't fair that I be his only light, because I could never live up to what expected.
So that's what bothered me about the Blob.
My passion is paper. I LOVE paper. The way ink/type/colors lay on paper. Colored paper. Stiff paper, translucent paper. Handmade paper. I have drawers full of paper. I love going into Staples and can spend a good hour poring over the difference between regular run of the mill multi-use paper and Bright White paper. And if I go to some place like Paper Presentation or Jam Paper & Envelopes, forget it. That's hours of entertainment. And that translates to my love for graphic design... for arranging things on paper. On the web, not so much. But on paper? Joy.
I love the Professor's passion for her "babies," as she calls them. I love that she cried the other day when she called to tell me about her little client who got his kidney.
And it's what makes it so hard for me to let Nene go, because he has a passion for what he does, and it's contagious.
Today (as I was procrastinating) I went back and Googled Gustavo Dudamel again. And this is when all the strands fell into place, watching this short "60 Minutes" clip on him, how he talked about his passion for what he does, how he inhabits the music he is conducting, how sheer joy emanates from every hair on his head:
and how he's able to bring that passion and enjoyment out of the kids in Venezuela's Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra (and I'm reminded of Roberta Guaspari and her passion for violin, and as hectic and testy as she may be, she does bring that passion to most of her kids):
Passion is a wonderful thing. To have a passion, to enjoy something enough that you can do it over and over, and enjoy it even on days when you don't enjoy it, and be able to share that joy and spread that joy, is a wonderful feeling.
There is much truth to BigBear's poem, particularly when passion is applied to people, as opposed to something you do. The irony though, is that often, people who are passionate about something inspire other people to be passionate about them...
Comments
Hey, I actually cried myself. And you know I don't do that.