Definition Of Passion

Passion cannot be defined by hours work, miles traveled, or praise given. It can only be measured in the direct result of actions. Smiles across faces, laughs to be had, memories that will forever be set in the minds of those who not only choose to embrace the moment, but cherish it. Tonight I heard a fellow cook talking to his son on a cell phone and before I left I’ll never forget the smile on this giant man as he said “I love you more” and chuckled slightly, gleefully if you will. The look at the barber shop today from a dad hearing from his wife “well, you could always help out with the kids too” and he chuckled and replied “well I could…” while reading a magazine and smiling at me. Something told me it was her idea to bring the heathens out into public and it’s something he was used to by now, and probably
proposed it to be a bad idea.

The passion of the cook expressing love to a son he can hardly see. An overheard conversation of “I have a baseball glove for him…yeah, I’m doing my best to break it in for him too…” Someone could write something magical about it, but what can I write about it? An elaborate story of a memory a father wants to have with his son? No. I can only tell the truth about what I heard and share the passion of father and a son.

Perhaps insomnia is a direct result of being overpassionate. I do belive there is a fine line between passion, and neurotic. Passion is wanting to share your love for said thing with others, neurotic is drilling other people into the ground because you have a degree for “what you love doing” yet you never show it. People never get to see it, taste it, hear it…and when someone does? It’s viewed by others as “why does he get special attention? Where is he when I really need the help?” The list could go on and on. And on and on.

Passion is a desire. Passion is sitting at the back door for an hour waiting to get in. Passion is walking upwards of five miles a day in extreme heat to make it to work. Passion is waking up still drunk and not complaining because you made the mistake the night before and working your shift. Passion is blood, sweat, tears, physical fatigue, muscles on fire.

Desire it what drives it. Desire for a raise, for a notice, a pat on the back, a heartfelt thank you, a satisfied customer, a customer who says they will return, a customer who gets sad when you aren’t there to make their food the way they like it without having to even order. Sure, they may not remember my name, but I remember their face. I know what they like, I can see when their day isn’t up to par, and they can read my face like I can theirs.

They know that if I make their day, they just made mine.