How I Fell in Love with My Passion
The Moment That Changed Everything
If you’ve ever witnessed a perfect New Mexico sunset—plush oranges melting into fiery reds, streaks of lavender curling across the horizon—you know it’s the kind of beauty that makes you stop mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-chew of your breakfast burrito, and just feel something. That’s where this story begins: with awe.
I was eight years old, barefoot in the adobe courtyard of my parents’ gallery, holding a paintbrush like it was my very first crush. My dad had handed me an old canvas he deemed “unsellable” (translation: no one got it), and I went to town. Rusty reds, vibrant yellows, and accidental globs of green—you could say it looked... abstract. “Georgia O’Keeffe would be shook,” I remember Dad saying, which was his way of validating the hot mess my tiny, sweaty hands had just created.
But for me, that moment wasn’t about mastering art. It was about realizing that the act of creating—playing with color, making a mess, shouting “Voila!” like a magician unveiling her trick—had its own kind of magic. From then on, I wasn’t just surrounded by art; I was in love with it.
My First Love Triangle: Art, Writing, and “Real Life”
Here’s the thing nobody tells you about growing up: passions don’t always announce themselves neatly. They’re not like a barista calling your name when your chai latte is ready. They’re messy, and sometimes, they turn into a love triangle between what you want to do, what you can do, and what you think you should do.
For me, that triangle showed up around my sophomore year of college. I adored painting and chasing sunsets with my sketchbook in hand, but I also realized that words were my ultimate paintbrush. I’d stay up late stuffing notebooks with poems, short stories, or the beginnings of really bad novels that read like dollar-store knockoffs of Willa Cather. This creative tug-of-war was thrilling, but also confusing: how could I choose between my first love (art) and my new flame (writing)?
Admittedly, I tried dating the “real world” for a while. You know the type: practical, stable, pays the bills on time. I took a job editing ad copy that made dry toast seem exciting. Let’s just say it wasn’t a vibe. Being surrounded by cubicles felt like reading a bland dating profile that says things like “I love long walks to the coffee machine.” I wanted color, connection, and stories that stretched beyond company slogans.
Falling (and Staying) in Love with My Passion
Here’s the thing about passions: they have a habit of waiting for you, even when you ghost them for a bit. After my underwhelming foray into the corporate world, I went back to my roots. I took a risk and started writing for a small arts magazine, covering quirky local painters, a master weaver who spoke with threads as if they were old friends, and grassroots galleries housed in buildings so old, the adobe seemed to whisper stories.
That leap humbled me—and reignited something. Passion, I’ve learned, isn’t just about the thing you love doing; it’s also about the why behind it. For me, it’s the spark of human connection, the way a painting or a story can feel like someone just handed you their diary and whispered, “Here, see me.” It’s the shared vulnerability, the deep sigh of recognition that says, “I get it.”
Those desert artists taught me that creativity is a dialogue, not a solo act. They also taught me resilience—because not every creation is loved and not everyone will “get” your work, and that’s okay. The part that matters? Keep going.
What Dating Taught Me About Passion
Okay, here’s where it gets interesting. Falling in love with your passion has more in common with dating than anyone likes to admit. It’s not just fireworks and first kisses; it’s awkward first dates, some heartbreak, and a lot of ghosting in between. Allow me to explain:
-
Infatuation Isn’t Sustainable
Remember when you first fell for someone, and it felt like a rom-com montage of sunsets and inside jokes? Yeah, that energy is great… until life shows up with dirty dishes and arguments about who’s hosting Thanksgiving. Passion is the same way. In the beginning, it’s obsessive, intoxicating, and thrilling—but the longer you stick with it, the more you learn the balance of showing up on days when it feels meh. Consistency is sexy, y’all. -
Compatibility Takes Time
Your passion doesn’t always come fully formed. Like any good relationship, you have to nurture it, experiment, and—yes—fail spectacularly sometimes. My early attempts to blend writing and art were cringe-worthy collages of “deep” abstract paintings paired with equally cringe poetry. But guess what? Those disasters taught me what doesn’t work, which nudged me toward what does. -
Sometimes You Need a Break
Every relationship has moments where you hit pause. Stepping away from art and writing to explore other options wasn’t me “cheating” on my passion; it was me giving myself space to see if we had what it takes. Spoiler: we do. -
Criticism Hurts, but Growth Feels Amazing
The first time my short story got rejected by a magazine, I cried into a plate of chile rellenos like I’d just been dumped via text. But over time, I realized critique isn’t rejection—it’s guidance. Much like honest feedback from a partner who says, “Hey, maybe don’t wear socks with sandals,” it pushes you toward better choices.
Actionable Tips for Marrying Your Passion
Now, let’s get practical—because while my journey involves romance, crying over chile rellenos, and endless New Mexico sunsets, your passion might look different. Here are a few ways to kindle and rekindle that fire for what you love:
- Start Ugly: Like dating, the beginning doesn’t have to be pretty. Let yourself stumble, make horrible mistakes, and create things that might end up as cringe content for your memoir someday.
- Find Your People: Passions thrive in community. Surround yourself with others who understand your obsession and can help you grow. Just think of them as your creative wingmen.
- Make Time for It: Your passion is like a needy pet—it won’t survive on leftovers and neglect. Schedule time for it. Treat it like the priority it deserves to be.
- Stay Open to Surprises: Sometimes, your passion leads you places you didn’t expect. For me, that meant blending storytelling, art, and human connection. Trust the journey, even when it feels weird.
- Celebrate Small Wins: Maybe it’s finishing a poem, selling a painting, or translating your idea into action. Whatever it is, pop some metaphorical (or real) champagne and bask in the glory.
Conclusion: Your Passion is Your Love Story
At its core, falling in love with your passion is just another way of falling in love with life itself. It’s about finding the things that light you up, push you forward, and make you feel whole. It’s messy, unpredictable, and occasionally awkward—but isn’t love always like that?
So, whether your passion is painting, coding, baking the perfect sourdough loaf, or singing show tunes off-key, don’t give up on it. Date it. Flirt with it. Commit to it. Because, as I’ve learned under Santa Fe’s endless skies, true passion is the kind of love story worth sticking around for.
