Passions, Part 2

Passion, Part 2

I have often wondered whether there isn’t something missing inside of me, some inherent genetic defect, or mis-wired DNA which gives me the dream but not the drive, the hope but not the ambition. Do I just have some kind of latent laziness gene?

It is all well and good to say that anyone can achieve anything, but I don’t think that’s necessarily true anymore. Some people are more predisposed to success and achievement. I want, but I’m not willing. Why is that? Where does the willingness – and passion – to work for something, toward something, to the exclusion of all else, come from? And can I find it at this stage of the game? Even if I were to identify that undying passion, if I don’t have the wherewithal (ability, resources, money) to pursue it … how do I make my dreams come true if I don’t have the first idea what the first step should be?

I used to like my job, but I can’t say I was ever passionate about it. I mean, who ever heard of anyone being passionate about insurance? But I took pride in doing my job well, becoming as knowledgeable as I could about all aspects of my job, and being someone my boss could depend upon: having a good work ethic, a good reputation, worked well with others (the ubiquitous team player), and a loyal company employee. Fortunately, I never worked for anyone where my personal ethics were called into question. Still, when the company’s final numbers were crunched, none of this meant a thing.

I had set a modest goal income-wise. I wanted to be making $50,000 by the time I turned 50. I really didn’t think that was asking for much, but I felt that if my income “equaled” my “age”, I would have achieved some kind of success career-wise. I came close, within a couple of hundred dollars, when I was unexpectedly laid off at the age of 52. Now, my income – from unemployment – is less than half my previous take-home pay. And no health insurance to boot. (Fortunately, general good health has prevailed in the past 11 months – knock on wood!)

But like so many others, our savings account has been rapidly depleted, vacation plans have been cancelled, and belt-tightening has become the rule of thumb. I have had to swallow my pride on more than one occasion to ask for help from friends, food banks, and local charitable organizations.

The fact that I haven’t been able to find another job in almost a year hasn’t done much for my feelings of self-worth. I would love to find a job which would fulfill my passions – if I knew what that was. I keep looking, sending out resumes and hoping.

Still, this doesn’t solve the dilemma of identifying that passion which we all should have, right?

Years ago, I got hooked on making jewelry after taking a class at a local bead store. At one time, I even tried to start up my own home business making earrings, bracelets, necklaces. I spent so much time – and money – at bead stores, bead shows, on eBay, stocking up on inventory which now sits in a closet because I don’t have the space to work. Really. Our house is so small we don’t even have room for a kitchen table. Plus, the fine detail work of stringing beads and fixing fasteners takes a toll on my fingers and wrists. I suppose I should just try to sell the entire inventory I have accumulated over the years, taking up space I really don’t have anyway.

I think I love horseback-riding. I know I like horses. I never rode as a child, mostly, I guess, because my mother told me she was afraid of horses, and the opportunity never presented itself. The closest I came to riding as a child was being posed on the back of a horse, at roughly age three, with my younger brother, for a press photo for our local rodeo and stampede.

A few years ago, when we still lived in California, I actually owned a horse for a brief time. She was an older, docile horse, a retired trail horse used to riding a circuit. I would ride her around the corral, and she’d stop at the gate, without fail, after every turn around. Every once in awhile I’d ride her down the street a couple of blocks or across the back field, but there really wasn’t a place to ride her openly or freely.

A couple of years ago, my husband found a horse for me to ride. We drove up to his friend’s place on the hill to where the horse was kept. I had to stand on a table to mount her, because she was so tall, and there was no saddle, so I rode bareback. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have had a problem with this, but the trail was up and down a hilly path, and every time I clenched my knees to keep from sliding off her back, she’d take that as a signal to stop. It was not a very pleasant ride, and I have not been on a horse since. I’ve thought about going to one of those horse trail places, but the cost – especially since I’m still unemployed – is prohibitive. Besides, I am a little afraid that I’d fall off or get thrown because I don’t really know what I’m doing. So, I don’t.

Is it just plain old-fashioned “fear of failure”, that catch-all for those of us who can’t seem to make a success of anything? Instead of whining about it, why can’t I just pick myself up by my bootstraps and make a go of it? What is stopping me?


(to be continued yet again)