Call it a cliché, but I’m going to start with another quote. Though this one won’t be nearly so contrived as a few lyrics from a little-known John Mayer song. This one was given to me by my wonderful friend Christina a while back, and it's the longest-remaining quote on my Facebook profile, and has always resonated with me. I no longer remember where I first heard it, but for years now, it’s had me pondering the future of my life.
“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is more people who have come alive.” –Howard Thurman
From the time I graduated middle school, I’ve been trying to seek out my passions. It’s a romantic vision, I know – finding something we’re truly passionate about. We all wonder what life would be like if we could only be passionate about what we’re doing, and we’re all so worried that we’ll wake up when we’re 50 and realize that we still haven’t found it.
I’m no exception. I’ve gone through so many phases that I lost count long ago (God bless my family for encouraging me through them all), and I begin each one with the enthusiasm of a teenager with a new crush. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is what I’ve been looking for. Maybe this is what everyone’s been talking about. The possibility consumes me, and I dive in headlong.
First there was photography. Four years in high school – to the point where a great deal of my fondest memories from those years took place in the darkroom. The beginnings of some of my best friendships. My interest in jazz music. My first kiss. Anyone who knows me can attest that taking pictures remains one of my most avid hobbies, but slowly, over the years, it retreated from my hopes of it being a real passion.
I wanted something more. I wanted to find something I was so sure of that few other things in life seemed like they mattered. As much as I love taking pictures, photography wasn’t it. So I kept searching. Three weeks in the canyons of southern Utah had a greater effect on me than just about anything else ever had. But the desert wasn’t a passion. I taught myself how to play a guitar my parents got me for my 16th birthday. I loved it, and learned a handful of my favorite songs – but the guitar wasn’t a passion, either.
As I moved through these phases, I became worried. Nothing was sticking. Years went by, and while I’d found a great many things that held my interest, I was terrified by the idea that I hadn’t found a single thing to which I was willing to devote my life. I saw my friends become doctors, lawyers and photographers, and as much as I wanted to have found the thing I knew I wanted to do – my calling – I hadn’t. It plagued me for years, until just recently, when a talk with the greatest friend I’ve known clued me into something I hadn’t thought about before.
Up until now, I’ve always thought that life’s passions would be paths we could follow, and that our job was to find those paths. I once thought it was photography, but then I realized I didn’t want to be a photographer for the rest of my life. I once thought it was cooking school and opening my own restaurant, but then I realized the career path wasn’t for me. I thought it was going to be an activity – something tangible that I could pour myself into without hesitation. Something I wouldn’t ever grow out of. What I hadn’t considered is that my real passion is something that’s been in my life all along.
My favorite parts of photography had nothing to do with the science of aperture and shutter speed, nor with the art of creating a print. It had far more to do with sharing that science and those prints with other people, or with using portraiture as an excuse to get to know someone better than I had before. My favorite parts of vacations have always been returning home to Seattle, to all the people I know, so I can tell them all about the trips (which, I’m sure, is part of why I feel such a bond with this city). When I first spent that time in the desert, even during the 72-hour period when I was isolated from all human contact, it wasn’t the introspection, the meditation, or even the landscape I enjoyed most – it was the smiles on everyone’s faces when we walked back to camp and were reunited. It isn’t the creation of culinary masterpieces I love, it’s experiencing the end result with whomever I cooked for. It isn’t about the waves on the sound, or the speed of the boat skimming across the water – it isn’t about pitching a tent in the woods next to a crystal-clear lake – it’s about the secluded experience with whomever is on the trip with me. It isn’t about the activities. It’s about the people. And therein lies my one true passion.
People.
It’s a vague, general, and somewhat ambiguous statement. That I’m passionate about people. But it’s truer than anything else that could fill that blank, and somehow it’s comforting to acknowledge it. Photography, the wilderness and cooking aren’t what make me come alive. They’re the best ways I’ve found to connect with what makes me come alive. And with any luck, that’ll give me a better sense for what the world needs. Thanks, Amy.
