I once took a widely-popular personality test.
When I finished answering all of the questions, I got this analysis:
I qualify as an introvert.
And then it went on to say something about how introverts have a “rich inner life”…blah, blah, blah.
No offense to all those introverts out there, but I was kind of hoping for something like “life of the party,” or “mover and shaker.”
At least I can rest assured that I’ve got bounteous booty in my brain.
With that in mind, I wish to pontificate on the subject of Valentine’s Day.
Love it or hate it, I can’t believe it’s already the middle of February! And even though I can count on less than six fingers how many of my twenty-something Valentine’s Days have been “significant” (and only three of those qualify for significant with out the “ ”), I’ve always kinda liked it. I’m not ashamed. I just like to think of it as a maraschino cherry on the sundae of honest love and appreciation.
I mean…just because I celebrate Christmas, Thanksgiving, the Fourth of July and St. Patrick’s Day doesn’t mean that I necessarily submit myself to the buffetings of sappy capitalism. And it certainly doesn’t mean that I’m not giving, grateful, patriotic and seeking for my pot of gold all the other 361 days of the year. I try to be a loving/able person, so, why should I not celebrate Valentine’s Day? Besides, aren’t maraschinos over-the-top anyway?
But. I digress.
My sermon on V-day will come in two parts: Passion and Hearts (with maybe a smattering of Red Hots). Now don’t think I'm getting all mushy on you, because surely my thoughts might surprise you.
Part I
So, two days ago, on the matatu ride home from work, Aaron looked over at me and must have sensed that I had retreated to my rich inner recesses and said,
“What were you thinking right there, right in that moment?”
I looked over at him like do-you-really-want-to-know? and said,
“Che, Malcom X and the Apostle Paul.”
(I keep good company in those recesses, I tell you.)
I had seen a picture of Che on another matatu (actually his picture is everywhere). That got me thinking about people with intense passions—like Malcom X—which could be used for good or for bad—like the Apostle Paul (formerly Saul). See…not so random.
Several minutes later, I must have still had that glazed look on my face, because Aaron said, “And what are you thinking right there, right now?” I had to admit, I was still thinking about passion. Only this time, I had added a memory of high school into the mix.
I was reliving a moment when, while sitting on Ms. Barney’s couch at lunch time with “the group,” eating lunch like we did every day, Sara gave a pretty convincing monologue about the necessity for passion in one’s life. And then I believe she went on to confess how Bono gave her reasons to live.
Passion.
Like the fruit? I hadn’t really thought of passion in that context before.
What was my passion? …Did I have a passion?
This thought really bothered me.
It took me a good while to figure that out. But I finally did. And although it wasn’t a lyrical genius from Ireland, I, too, felt that my passion gave me reasons to exist. Yes…it really did reach deep into my soul, and make life worth living.
I’ll leave you wondering about what that may be, because that moment of self-discovery isn’t really the point of my ramblings. My point is that perhaps V-day can speak to more than just roses and red foil. It can be a stark reminder not of our relationship status, but of our passionate status: how well do we endeavor in that which makes not only life meaningful to us, but us meaningful to life?
Have you ever stopped to think about it?
Like the zealous souls who seized their day for good [or bad], you can never be sure how your passion might change you, that someone (special or not), and...perhaps...the world.
(Stay tuned for Part II.)
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