If someone had told my younger self that passion wasn’t just a word reserved for grand romances or Nicholas Sparks novels, I wouldn’t have believed them. Back then, to me, “passion” belonged to the pages of paperback dramas stacked in the corner of the local library, not in my real life where chores meant feeding horses at ungodly hours and digging dirt from underneath my nails. But as it turns out, you don’t stumble upon your passion with music swelling in the background. For most of us, it starts quietly—like the kindling of a campfire—and grows louder with time.
Let me tell you how my passion found me, and, more importantly, what it taught me about love, grit, and letting the unexpected take the reins.
Cowboy Boots, Muddy Hands, and Big Questions
Picture this: a scrappy kid in cowboy boots, walking beside a horse taller than most men in my family. That was me. My life on the ranch revolved around early mornings, quiet fields, and the kind of responsibility that forces you to grow up before you even know what “growing up” is. Back then, it was just survival. If you’ve ever carried a sloshing bucket of water across a field in freezing Montana wind, you know it isn’t exactly glamorous.
But here’s the thing: every dull routine, every hour shoveling hay, came with moments of startling clarity. After pouring enough sweat into horse stalls, you begin to notice things. Like how the frost on a paddock gate sparkles differently according to the angle of the sun, how animals can read your mood before you even open your mouth, or how sharing silence with another living creature can feel more intimate than words.
That’s where the spark started. I fell for the quiet beauty of the world around me—its patience, its depth. I didn’t call it “passion” then. I called it life. But looking back, that scrappy kid in boots didn’t realize she was writing the first chapters of the story that still drives her today.
Falling in Love Is Like Breaking a Horse
Here’s a little-known truth about love—be it for a person, a hobby, or even your career: falling in love isn’t a Disney montage. It’s more like breaking in a horse.
For anyone unfamiliar with the term, “breaking” a horse means helping them trust you enough to let you ride them without turning into a rodeo performance. It’s a complicated dance of patience, mistakes, and the occasional moment where you feel completely overmatched. And, my friends, that’s love in its rawest and most confusing form.
My passion—the one I eventually discovered in writing—came to me much the same way. Sure, there were moments of bliss, like the first time my high school English teacher handed me back an essay with the note, “Willow—your descriptions move like poetry.” That felt like flying.
But then there were the moments of near-despair: blinking at a blank page, wondering if I had anything worthwhile to say, or finishing a short story only to realize it was... not great. Slowly (and a little stubbornly), I learned to love the flaws and messiness of my creative life. Mistakes became lessons, and lessons became stepping stones.
So, if you’re wondering what your passion should feel like, here’s my advice: Expect joy and struggle in equal measure. If it feels like something worth staking your flag on, don’t give up just because it’s harder than it looks in rom-com montages.
From Ranch Chores to Romantic Connections
Here’s a funny thing I’ve realized: the lessons I learned from ranch chores and writing stories don’t just stay in their neat little lanes. They often creep into other corners of life—especially relationships.
Take dating, for instance. You know how some people say, “They’ll love you for who you are”? I’d argue it’s more like learning to train a skittish colt. You want to understand their quirks, approach them with care, and know when to give them space. Love—real love—is built on the same principles as connecting with the land or writing stories: patience, curiosity, and a willingness to get your hands a little dirty.
Much like how a horse senses hesitation, people understand when you’re putting on a front. Writing taught me the value of peeling off those layers. When you write, your audience craves honesty—which is eerily similar to the way people crave vulnerability in relationships. Whether it’s a paragraph or a first date, the principle stays the same: show up as you are and let that be enough.
Practical Tips for Finding—and Keeping—Your Passion
Okay, now that we’ve gotten sentimental, let me herd you toward the actionable part of this little soul-wrangling journey. If you’re searching for, nurturing, or rekindling your passion, here are a few truths from one Montana gal who’s been there:
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Start Messy
You don’t have to be good right away. Whether it’s writing, building model airplanes, or rekindling a long-distance friendship—embrace the mess. Passion doesn’t come neatly packaged with instructions. Appreciate the process. -
Find Inspiration in Quirky Places
I’m convinced the best ideas come while doing the most mundane tasks. Washing dishes? Check. Walking barefoot in the grass? Check. If you’re stuck, step away from the grind and let the rhythm of daily life spark something new. -
Balance Obsession with Breathers
Passion is wonderful, but burnout is its sneaky shadow. Remember to take breaks, whether it’s snacking on popcorn while binge-watching an Outer Banks episode or taking a weekend hike to reset yourself. -
Share Your Work Without Shame
One terrifying yet transformative act is showing your work—or yourself—to people who can appreciate it. Whether it’s a poem scrawled at 2 a.m. or a deeply unpolished romance attempt, let someone see it. Vulnerability breeds growth. -
Let Passion Evolve With You
Fun fact: I used to exclusively write nature-inspired poetry and have now leaned into fiction and cheeky articles like this one. Passions aren’t rocks; they’re rivers. Let them flow.
A Conclusion for the Wild Hearts
To this day, I can feel the ache of cold Montana mornings in my bones. But along with that ache comes the most important thing I learned from those dirt-streaked years: a life without passion is like a quiet ranch without its horses—still pretty, but far too still.
If you’re still searching for your “thing,” don’t rush. Sometimes passions aren’t found—they’re grown. And when you stumble, when the process feels like breaking in an unruly colt, remember this: the effort is where the soul lives. Give yourself both grace and grit.
Whether it’s romance, work, or a hobby that gets your blood pumping, passion isn’t the destination. It’s the wild, twisting trail. And trust me, that trail is one worth riding.
