The Thing About Passion
May 5, 202Five
Over the past few years, I thought I lost it.
The fire. The drive. That thing that used to wake me up at 2AM with ideas too loud to ignore.
Back in the day, I was always creating. Sketching in class, reciting lines from my favorite movies and shows over and over until I won the Oscar in my head, making beats in my room with YouTube tutorials running in the background, writing bars like I had something to prove — because I did. I had hunger. Passion. It wasn’t about being famous. It wasn’t even about being good all the time. It was about expression. Freedom. That feeling when something in you connects with something outside of you and suddenly — boom — the world makes sense.
But somewhere along the way… life got louder than my art. Life was like the noise-cancelling headphones shutting out any noise and chatter of passion speaking to me. Work. Rent. Family stuff. Social media. The constant pressure to be “doing well.” I kept telling myself I was just taking a break. But days turned into weeks. Weeks into months.
And then one day I looked up and realized: I hadn’t made anything just for me in a long, long time.
Losing your passion feels a lot like losing a friend. At first, you don’t notice the distance. You’re “just busy.” Then one day you scroll past someone else creating — someone dropping a verse, or painting, or dancing like they’ve got the universe on their side — and it hits you. That used to be you.
And yeah, sometimes jealousy creeps in. But mostly? It’s grief.
I grieved that version of myself who didn’t care what people thought. Who just did the thing. Who wasn’t so scared to suck. Who didn’t wait for the “perfect time” to start. But here’s what I’ve learned since: Passion doesn’t disappear. It waits. Quietly. Patiently. Sometimes painfully. But it waits.
I’ve started finding it again — not in some grand, cinematic moment, but in quiet shifts. Brainstorming at the gym. Freestyling in the shower. Talking film with a friend and feeling that same rush I used to get when I was a kid geeking out over new episodes. That excitement? That spark? The passion knocking again.
And more recently… I’ve come to know one of the most beautiful human beings I’ve ever met — a dancer, an artist, someone who moves like the music lives in their bones. Being around them has lit something in me. Their presence, their flow, the way they show up in their art without apology — it reminds me of who I’ve always been. And who I still want to become.
So I’m following that feeling. Not like some dramatic movie moment — but slowly. Awkwardly. Some days I create and it feels like magic. Other days it’s trash and I hate it. But even then, I feel *alive* again. Reconnected. To something at least, even though I don’t fully know what it is.
That’s the thing about passion — it’s not a straight line. It bends. Twists. Doubles back. What lit me up at 18 doesn’t always hit the same at 28. And that’s not failure — that’s growth. The more I let go of who I thought I *should* be, the more I find who I actually *am*. And sometimes… it takes someone else’s light to help you see your own again.
I’m not “there” yet, whatever that means. But I’m here. Making again. Feeling again. And maybe that’s what passion really is — not some grand achievement, but a quiet choice you make every day to come back to yourself. So if you’re lost, just start small.
Write one line. Draw one sketch. Hum one melody. Follow the thing that pulls at you, even if it doesn’t make sense yet.
Because the thing about passion is…
It’s not about being fearless.
It’s about showing up scared — and doing it anyway.
— o
