'Passion'

At work the other day, I got talking to a man called Harold Bishop*. Harold Bishop* is writing a book. It’s about the belief systems on which the world operates. It’s his life’s work. Harold Bishop* has been writing this book for over two years. It contains realities which need to be spoken. Harold Bishop* wants to open people’s eyes.

A good village barmaid must, in the interests of hospitality, often fight back sarcasm. A good village barmaid hones this skill when working in a rural pub on days like Maggie Thatcher’s birthday, Maggie Thatcher’s funeral, and the day Maggie Thatcher died. As I listen and learn about Harold Bishop*’s book, I continue to empty the glass-washer with pursed lips. ‘Good on you dude, writing a book’ I muster, about 5 minutes later. ‘I could never do that.’ ‘Oh, but you have to do it’ Harold Bishop* replies, eyes sparkling ‘when it’s your passion, you know?’

I do not know. And my insides flinch at the sincerity and fervour with which the word ‘passion’ is uttered. ‘Don’t think I’ve got one of them!’ I say, raising my eyebrows and shaking my head.

The firm, negative response I gave to Harold Bishop*’s talk of ‘passion’ is the same default reaction I have to people to who ask me what I want to do with my life. And I suppose it’s a similar question, as ‘passion’ is often connected with career. ‘Nope, no plan!’ I chirp back at them, wide eyed and contrary, daring them to plonk me in the feckless bin capitalism has created in our minds for people who aren’t driven entrepreneurs. ‘Go on, JUDGE ME’ my following comment of ‘I’ll probably still be serving you pints when I’m 30!’ implicitly says. It’s not that I don’t have thoughts on what I’d like to do after uni, it’s just that I don’t appreciate the world’s insistence that I NEED them. The pressure to find a suitable career path gets very strong towards the end of undergraduate study, and my intense contrariness exceeds even my own bounds of understanding, so I refuse to give people the satisfaction of thinking they can characterize me by my upcoming graduation and my ‘plans for the future’; the gaping hole about to be punched into my existence. I like to think that my final statement of ‘I might just save up a bit of money and then fuck off somewhere’ really hammers this point home.

I normally see ‘passion’ as a by-word for ‘bullshit’. But as I turn away from Harold Bishop* and begin polishing wine-glasses, I find myself staring into my distorted reflection, wondering about this nebulous concept. Trying to think of something, anything, that I really really like. That I need to do. Are some people different from me? Do they actually have ‘passions’? Am I missing something?

On the way to work, I’d jokily complained to my mum’s boyfriend about my inability to really feel the pressure and put in the hours in this final stretch of my degree. The conversation drifted to the topic of work and concentration, and he was stunned to hear that I have never pulled an all-nighter during my study, or in any other area of my life (drinking excluded). Apparently he frequently doesn’t sleep while working on projects. ‘Don’t you ever get so into something that you just can’t stop?’ He asks. ‘No, I’m a well-adjusted human being’ are words to the effect of my response. But later in the night the conversation comes back to me, and I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a level of commitment or interest that I’m lacking. The next day I asked my mum if she’d ever pulled an all-nighter during her degree, and she said she did it all the time. She too, was surprised I never have.

Sorry, I’m just a well-organized and balanced human! I feel should be the conclusion of this post. But a little bit of me is suddenly finding it slightly scary that I might never have a ‘life’s purpose’ (pompous as it may sound) or something to be characterized by as a person. ‘Oh, Harold Bishop*’ folk will say in years to come. ‘Decent bloke. He wrote a book, you know … nah, it was pish. But good on him, I say’. I’ve always been aware that I’m just about the least obsessive person I know. But this new realization that all the people around me have things they do, things they will get lost in, things that are necessary to their existence, makes me wonder whether I shouldn’t too... Is it enough to just mosey along, taking life as it comes with the hope of being generally useful and not making the world worse? Or should I try harder to find a ‘thing’ that I really love, that my sanity bids I do? Are people with ‘passions’ not all bullshitting? Should I stop putting that word in inverted commas?

*denotes name has been changed

I'm turning to the dark side and adding a gimmicky edge to this blog. I thought for each piece I write, I might pick to a song to go with it. You now get and insight into my brain, and some interesting music. I will try and make all my selections a either fun or different, and I promise that if you like similar music to me then you'll enjoy it. So to go with this, I've chosen Kate Bush, Sat in Your Lap. The official two fingers up to passion and drive! I can't recommend that you watch enough, it's one of the trippiest, dramatic-est 80s-est, bestest music videos of all time. She wears a cape AND rollerskates. She is also my hero. 

My only worry is that I have now used this song, and it is probably pertinent to just about everything I have and will write, ever. Hope you enjoy, and let me know if you think this is a worthwhile thing to add to each blog post!