We’re officially on a roll!
Today’s challenge. Not just juicy but soul-delvingly, mind-bendingly wonderful!
“I am passionate about ______________. “
When I first read it, it felt like the beginning of a manifesto, so here goes…not a manifesto, by any means. Let’s call it a ‘passionfesto’…
I’m passionate about injustice; about the power of kindness; about living fully; about self-expression; about letting children play; about Spring days when it feels warm in the sun and cold in the shade – when you can stand with one leg in each and feel the seasons within you simultaneously; about life being too bloody short and needing to live really deep to make up for that; about Fitzgerald and Hemingway and Tolstoy for f***s sake; about not having time to read all the damn books I want to read; about snow and rain and those light breezes you can feel skim across your skin; about hot baths; and sunflowers; and Van Gogh’s bloody beautiful paintings; about flamenco dancers; about gypsy rhythms; about the sea; about Nature in all her glory; about photosynthesis (plants eat light – they eat light!); about meditation; about running fast and hard; about people you just click with and would lay down your life for; about the power of a simple smile; about my faith in humanity and how it spurs me on; about artists and writers and film-makers and truth tellers; about our little hamster and his tiny, tiny, pink-er than pink feet. About squelchy mud and rock pools and cake and tea, Hell yes, about tea. About a tree growing from a tiny seed. About the wonder that causes in me every time I think of it. About baby toes and mistletoes when you’re a teenager and saying ‘thank you’ when someone’s kind or ‘What’s up’ when someone’s down. About reaching out. About reading, silently, aloud or to an old blind man when he asks. About tenderness. About love. About happiness. About quests. Challenges. Bumps in the road. Mistakes. Wrong paths. About wisdom. About writing letters, by hand. About Falstaff and Gatsby and Jane Eyre and Catherine from Wuthering Heights. And Carrie Bradshaw and Leo’s Jack Dawson and James Stewart and – oh my God, yes – about Katherine Hepburn and Lauren Bacall’s voice and Marilyn Monroe’s tragedy and Billie Holiday’s blues and Miles Davis’ jazz and John Lennon’s “All those in the cheap seats…the rest of you just rattle your jewellery” flippancy. About Cinema Paradiso and The Beatles In My Life and video footage of screaming girls at Beatles concerts. About slot machines and donkey rides. About feeling cold or feeling too hot. About being short of breath during a run. About watching my daughter paint. About seeing my son ride his bike. About long bike rides, picnic on board. About lazy summer days. And short winter nights. About falling leaves. And licking icicles. And Mount Everest and the Kalahari. And jaguars. Shaman. And plants that heal. And spaghetti a la vongole. And embroidery. And Leonardo Da Vinci and his mind. And potential. And breakfast, big, filling, breakfasts. And Reese’s peanut butter cups. And – oh my God – just being bloody well alive. Note to self: don’t waste one damn moment of it, ever again. You’d regret that.