Some evenings as I lie in bed thinking about my day and my quest to figure out where my waking hours went, I just have to put the thought aside.
My day is filled with making a living. Not filled with my passion. Of course, my passion is out of my reach; truly unattainable. But that doesn’t mean I will settle for less.
My passion has told me that there is hope for another passion that may find its way into my soul and heart. Yet I don’t want to search for that passion.
I wonder if we are given one true passion. And, when discovered, should we not only focus on that passion and ignore the possibility of another taking its place?
If we believe more than one passion exists, how can we focus on the passion that has embedded in our mind, heart and soul?
Are there respites in our search? Way stops that fill our tired bones as we search, or wait?
Or are these just thoughts of the tired? The weary? The lost?
Can I ever be happy with a new passion? How would I know if what is there if I refuse to see it?
So many dreams fill my sleep as I drift from these spots. I find myself crying, wrapping silent tears as I think about what might have been; and, what I might miss dwelling on this.
Will rambling fix anything?
I think not.
The Every Man 