A dear client of mine mentioned this phrase recently that immediately caught my attention. In fact, it instantly evoked my passion.
For years now, I have known that I want my gravestone or obit to read “Miss Enthusiasm – she lived her life with Passion”.
Why is passion important to me (and hopefully you)?
When I truly deeply care, I feel:
-an excited clutch in my tummy
– a racy pulse
– mentally very alert
– full of anticipation
– greatly energized
– like all is right in my world
It’s a great way to feel alive!
And when I speak to people whose spirits are dulled by the dreariness of their jobs or home lives, or whose dreams lie dormant under a grimy layer of “shoulds” and “must-do’s”, I hear:
– their numbness
– their fear
– their sadness
– their despair
– their sense of duty
– their slumped spine
– their dispirited trudge as they plod through each day
No matter how fine their trappings of a nice house or a good salary or a respected place in society are, these poor people are confined to their satin-lined coffins with little to clutch onto other than their ragged teddy bears of wishful thinking and “maybe some day” aspirations.
I hope this isn’t sounding like you!
Time to get real though. It’s not possible to walk around all day in this state of adrenalinized vitality – way too exhausting.
So what does everyday passion look like?
My ideal (not always achieved, by the way) is to wake up with a brief clutch of excitement about what the day might offer, go to bed having had a belly laugh or two, and experience a calm sense of knowing that what I’m doing matters, helps, and challenges me. A dose of “thrill” thrown in here and there adds sparkle. And even having a worry to gnaw on or a problem to solve is part of my passionate living.
My not-so-good days are those in which I feel like I didn’t accomplish much and didn’t intentionally relax either, was disorganized, or didn’t connect well with others. On those days, I know I hold back. I ration my passion.
So how do you invoke a life with more passion?
One big secret for me has been to dial back on my mind’s heady intellectual activity. I recognize that my brain is my ultimate steel trap.
Instead, I am learning to feel the signals of my body. Even now as I write, I notice I am antsy in my chair, anxious to capture and convey what my body sensations are telling me, and eager to just let the words flow.
What are you feeling in your abdomen right now? Would you be able to describe the physical sensations?
How about your chest? Or neck? Or lower back?
I suspect each of us has our own very personal experience of passion and yet the outcome is likely to be universal – our souls and minds and bodies feel juiced up every time we work and play from a place of passion.
Are to willing to stop rationing your passion?
What happens when you do?