Lately I have been thinking about passion. Not that kind of passion, the kind of passion one can feel about their job or hobby or talents. I think everyone agrees that loving your job, for example, is a good thing. And loving your job so much that you feel passionate about what you do is a rare and wonderful gift. Imagine looking forward to going to work every morning because what you do excites and fulfills you! I admit it would be strange to walk into the post office and be greeted by an employee with a giant smile and enthusiastic “how may I help you?”, but wouldn’t that change your entire mailing experience? What I am wondering is, why are we wary of other people’s passion? Why would that enthusiastic postal worker make us uncomfortable?

I posted briefly about how upset I am about the passing of Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter. My sadness has surprised my friends and family. “I’m, uh, sorry for your… loss?” they tell me. I understand their confusion. After all, I’ve never watched his show. We don’t even have cable. I’ve never met him or been to the Australia Zoo or seen him in action with the giant crocs he loved so much. But I have always felt an immense respect for this man whose adoration for what he did and the animals he worked with positively radiated through the television screen. He used his celebrity status to show the world the beauty he saw in all living things, giving a voice to creatures that had none. Everything I have read about his death says the same thing, calling him a “passionate conservationist”. But a few articles have also mentioned that Australia was kind of embarrassed by him. It reminds me of junior high, when what mattered was being cool. It was not cool to love math or science or music. You could not sit in the front of the class and be cool. You could not seek out extra credit assignments in a class you just loved and be cool. To be cool, you had to be detached. Indifferent. A very public and passionate love for Australia’s deadliest snakes probably doesn’t fall into the category of detached and indifferent.

I wonder if having passion exposes your vulnerabilities?

As humans, are we conditioned to seek out and bruise those unprotected parts of each other for our own gain?

One thing I have noticed about myself is that I can’t look at people’s faces when they sing. Their emotion and passion is too close to the surface, and seeing that exposed feels like a private moment that I shouldn’t be witnessing. That might also be why I am so terrified to sing in front of other people- for fear of them seeing that in me. I suppose I want to protect the passion I feel for life so that someone doesn’t find a way to use that to hurt me.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this subject. Why is it that witnessing someone’s passion makes us turn away?