Dear World,

Desire dies a slow death.

It’s difficult to dismiss a life-long dream. It dwells in our bones. It laps against our feet , awakening our toes like frigid sea water. It infiltrates our DNA, becoming apart of us.

How then, I ask, do you wash it away?

You don’t.

You’ve heard of a drug addict who gives up cocaine and turns to alcohol. Or the gambler who leaves the tables and takes up chain-smoking. We trade one passion for another. Even the healthy passions. We can not deny something that makes our soul sing. We can not deny the soul, no more than denying the body. Food, regardless of its form keeps us alive, waking up tomorrow morning and the next.

I consider myself lucky to have found my passion. Without proper water and feeding, I’ve discovered it gets hangry, restless and eventually wilts, no different from a flower. Sometimes when life gets in the way, I water it just enough to get by. But to intentionally stifle it?

NO WAY.

We’re designed to enjoy life, not plod through a daily list to check off. For some passion simmers. Short bursts of brilliance bubble to the surface. Others require a surrogate with their own brilliant ideas (think Pinterest). Inside me glows a neon sign and I haven’t found the switch to turn it off. And I hope I never do.

I may have told you it’s over, but it was a lie.

Dear world,