A young relative had a discussion with a friend about this passion thing and concluded that she has "no goals, no passions, and nothing she is really 'good' at".
It occurred to me that I, at the age of 72, am in the same boat. And I don't care!
I've canned and gardened all my life, and enjoyed it. But it was never a passion. If it had been, my garden would have been weed-free. I have a history of growing the weediest gardens anywhere. Why worry? I seem to get plenty of good things to eat from my garden. Could I get more if I worked at it? Of course, but I've never been much for work. I care nothing for fine houses or housework, new furniture or carpet or curtains. My favorite part about this trailer house I live in is the back porch, where I can gaze in any direction and see no sign of human life. When weather permits, I go out and watch the sun come up. I go to bed at night anxious for my back-porch time that will come in the morning. Today I watched a deer over on the neighbor's property, heading to the safety of the woods as the day grew brighter. I think I've mentioned before that I no longer take pictures of the sunrises, because that simply distracts me from the beauty and only gives a pathetic little substitute of the glory of the real thing spreading across the sky. My back porch in the morning is "the center of the earth" for me. Maybe that's a passion.
I think the nearest thing I have to a life-long passion would be my love for cows, specifically Jersey cattle. Even now I'd like to step out the door and lay eyes on a doe-eyed, large-uddered Jersey cow, heavy with calf. I wish I could go to the barn with my stainless steel bucket and milk a cow this very minute. And yet I am finally wise enough to realize that there is no way to keep such a cow bred and producing. There's also no way to really prevent a cow from escaping to visit the gigantic bull next door, not with our old barbed-wire fences; she would be bred by a bull whose offspring could kill her due to their size. But I'm not miserable without a cow.
Truthfully, I never had a strong enough passion to do everything that's involved with cows "perfectly". I just sort of got by. That's really how I've made it through life.
Who makes the rules, anyhow? Who is T.D. Jakes to tell me I have to have passion? (Yes, I know he's a preacher on TV, but he isn't the boss of me.)
So, if you know someone who just "wings it" through life, maybe some of us were meant to be free spirits and you should leave us to our own devices.
I've shared this poem by John Burroughs before. I discovered it in the old Book of Knowledge when I was thirteen years old and memorized it because I loved it so much at the time. Little did I know that poem was describing the life that lay ahead of me, and it's been a glorious one indeed.
Serene I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea.
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
For lo! my own shall come to me.
I stay my haste, I make delays,
For what avails this eager pace?
I stand amid the eternal ways,
And what is mine shall know my face.
Asleep, awake, by night or day
The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray,
Nor change the tide of destiny.
What matter if I stand alone?
I wait with joy the coming years;
My heart shall reap when it has sown,
And gather up its fruit of tears.
The stars come nightly to the sky;
The tidal wave comes to the sea;
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
Can keep my own away from me.
The waters know their own and draw
The brook that springs in yonder heights;
So flows the good with equal law
Unto the soul of pure delights.
Here's a thing to think about: If I had no other reason to believe in God, my life would be enough cause for belief. Because really, how can somebody spend all her time sashaying through life with no planning whatsoever and have this much joy? Only by the grace of God. And who but God could have hooked me up with a life partner who learned to put up with my carefree ways?