How a Museum Gift Shop and a Coffee Stain Changed My Life
The Spark: Finding Passion in the Unexpected
I didn’t fall in love with writing because of some sweeping cinematic moment involving rainstorms, heartbreak, or a tragically inspirational journal entry. Nope, my story is far less romantic. It starts in the gift shop of the Royal Ontario Museum, where I, a curious Riverdale kid, begged my parents for a dinosaur pencil that didn’t even write properly. I still remember clutching that pencil like it was Excalibur, convinced that if I scribbled hard enough in my knockoff composition notebook, I’d unearth the next big idea—fifth grade’s answer to Michael Crichton. Sure, the result was less “Jurassic Park” and more “dinosaur fights robot on Mars,” but something clicked. Stories made me feel alive. And not just in a “this-is-fun” way, but in a “this-is-who-I-am” way.
Still, passion isn't a thunderstrike—it’s more like a sneaky Tinder match. It quietly builds momentum until one day, you look up and realize you’re smitten. And it hit me much later, between university lectures on Shakespeare and a particularly memorable coffee spill at my first arts writing job. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Courtship: Falling in Love with the Craft
Passion can be a slow burn, like the moment in dating when you switch from “What’s your favorite band?” to entering a Netflix password on their smart TV. My early relationship with writing was just as nervous and experimental. At first, I wanted to impress it. Studying English Lit at U of T, I worked overtime trying to sound profound in my essays. I chased “writerly” words like “verisimilitude” because, apparently, I thought that was sexy. Spoiler alert: Writing is like dating—it sees right through your pretensions.
The breakthrough came when I let my guard down. In a creative nonfiction class, I wrote an essay about visiting Kensington Market as a kid, focusing on the hope and heartbreak of handing over my allowance for a bag of cheese buns that would inevitably get squished in my backpack before I got home. It was honest, it was messy, and somehow, it worked. My professor wrote, “This feels alive.” And isn’t that the core of connection, whether with people or passions? When it feels real, there’s no turning back.
Honeymoon Phase: The Thrill of New Challenges
Every passion has its honeymoon phase, that giddy stretch where everything feels electric. For me, this came during my stint at a Toronto newspaper, writing about arts and culture. I got to interview gallery curators and dig into why gentrification was changing my favorite coffee shop into a franchise. The city opened up to me like never before—with every article, every story, I felt like I was falling deeper in love with Toronto, myself, and the craft.
But here’s the thing about the honeymoon stage: eventually, you have to figure out whether this is the real deal or just a fling. Because passion, like relationships, asks for some grit.
The Rough Patch: Doubt and the Coffee Stain
I’d love to tell you that my romance with writing stayed magical—but like my first high school date, there were awkward moments. The biggest doubting-my-soul moment came during deadline crunches at the newspaper. It was my first major article, and as I pounded away on the keyboard, half a latte tipped over my notes, creating a backdrop of caffeine chaos. In that moment—trying to save both my draft and my dignity—I asked myself, “Am I seriously cut out for this?”
Because passion, for all its Instagram-worthy moments, is hard. It’s messy and terrifying, and it makes you question if you’re enough. But here’s what I realized: discomfort is a sign you’re growing. It’s like the jump from flirting to having “Where is this going?” conversations in a relationship. It’s not easy, but it’s worth every awkward word.
How Passion Evolves Over Time
Here’s the truth they don’t put on motivational posters: passion isn’t a fixed point—it evolves. It deepens, gets complicated, shows its quirks. For me, freelancing opened a new chapter in my writing life. I got to explore topics I cared deeply about, from how cities change to how relationships thrive under pressure. My first novel became a love letter to urban landscapes and identity, blending years of experiences, people-watching on Toronto streetcars, and way too many nights debating plot twists with friends over pints.
But being “in love” with your passion doesn’t mean showing up perfect every day. My writing now reflects my life: some days it flows naturally, other days it’s like trying to assemble IKEA furniture with a butter knife. And that’s okay. Passion is like a mature relationship—not about perfection, but about showing up.
How to Find (and Keep) Your Own Passion
You might be thinking, “Great, Dan. This is your story. How can I find MY passion without a dinosaur pencil or coffee-related chaos?” Well, here’s my advice:
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Show Up for the Spark
Passion starts small. Go do stuff that interests you—even if it’s silly or niche. That weird cooking class, a random lecture about ancient maps, or doodling on a napkin could be your version of my gift-shop pencil moment. Just say yes to curiosity. -
Embrace the Mess
Expect the growing pains. Just like dating, passion isn’t love at first sight—it’s about sticking with it when it gets unpolished or imperfect. Dare to stink at first. -
Listen to What Feels Alive
Remember the squished cheese bun story? For me, that essay was a wake-up call to write what felt real. So, ask yourself: When do you feel most alive, most “you”? That’s where your passion lives. -
Let It Grow With You
As you evolve, so will your passion. Let your interests change, get weirder, or more refined over time. Passion is about growing with it, not caging it in a box you picked out five years ago.
Cupid’s Takeaway
Falling in love with a passion isn’t that different from falling in love with a person. There’s the spark, the experimentation, that first “aha!” moment where you realize this could be something big. Then come the challenges, doubts, and late nights when you wonder if you’ve completely lost your mind—but through it all, there’s a pull that keeps you coming back.
Now, when I pick up my pen—or, let’s be real, crack open a fresh Google Doc—I still feel a flicker of that same excitement I had with my dinosaur pencil years ago. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: You don’t need to wait for the perfect moment to find passion. Just be curious, be messy, and be open to surprising yourself.
Because passion, like love, is always worth the risk.
