An Acquaintance of Passion

Living life in the shadow of fame

Lately, I’ve been having a crisis with the word passion.

It’s a word I’ve been obsessed with my whole life. It’s not that I’m not passionate. In fact, I’m probably too passionate about arguably everything. But, my crisis comes from having never been able to channel that passion into something meaningful. It’s the frustration of a lack of passion for the “right” things. Things that will give my life that elusive sense of meaning or purpose.

Throughout my life, I have been lucky (or maybe unlucky?) to have had three friends who have been, from early in their lives, sure about their life’s purpose. They have followed their passions steadfastly to go on to be wildly successful in their careers, to the point of achieving fame, leaving me behind in the dust.* It’s only recently that I’ve come to realize how much that’s been a part of my obsession with the concept. So this is me trying to untangle that - the intertwining of passion and fame and success and self-worth, and what it all means for life itself (so uncharacteristically deep of me!).

* They’re actually lovely people and we just drifted, but that doesn’t sound as dramatic.

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I was an annoying kid. I’m okay with that assessment – it’s definitely accurate. In fairness, I think most kids are annoying. It’s a rite of passage, and one that I embraced whole heartedly.

I was the kid that was constantly putting on little plays and shows, forcing my parents to sit through hours of gymnastics routines where the main event was a poorly executed summersault, choreographing dances that were primarily running in circles, and writing plays with my sister that were mostly just yapping off the cuff about whatever was on my five-year-old mind (to my parents’ credit, they handled it far better than I ever could).

In fairness to me, how could you say no to watching this lil mushroom perform?

Lucky for me, I had a neighbour who was as into the world of performance as me. A fellow dancer, she and I would throw on our costumes and spend weeks over the summer creating complicated plots and characters for our various ballets. With her little camcorder, we would film tv episodes and commercials, editing them together to show off later to our captive (meant more in the prisoner sense than being interested) audience.

At one point, she even started her own fashion line and graciously allowed me to submit my work of art to her collection - an old jean skirt, cut up, with my initials “RI” glued to the fabric in pink felt. (What can I say except it’s now obvious I missed my true calling in fashion design.)

Our hangouts were always merely entertainment for me, but for my friend, it’s clear that she had a passion for our performances and videos that far exceeded “little kid games”.

“I’m going to be famous one day.”

She’d say to me over and over again. I’d nod along, not really understanding what fame was or how it was achieved, but happy for her nonetheless.

In high school, we drifted. She went to a cool, artsy high school and I went to the most opposite of that you can imagine. She hung out with edgy people and dove into the art world, working at her craft and pushing the boundaries at a young age. I was a teachers’ pet, caring only about good grades and thinking maybe I’d give science a go.

We tried to stay in touch, but we were teenagers becoming different people, finding our own place in the world. And one day, though I couldn’t tell you exactly when, we saw each other for the last time.

Well, she saw me for the last time. Many years later, I would be on the subway and see her photo on the front page of our city newspaper. She was a rising photographer, and people were starting to notice. Years after that, she would go on to become a fashion “it” girl, walking runways in Milan, and acting as photographer to the stars. Name an A-list celebrity, and there’s a 95% chance she’s worked with them.

Through pursing her passions, her childhood dream of fame had come true.

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Then there was the musician. He was someone I met while in high school at summer camp. A quiet guy, he’d always shine when he brought out his guitar. We weren’t super close, but I had a huge crush on his friend so I always made a point of hanging around that group. Over a bonfire, he’d play Coldplay for us, mostly Yellow and Fix You, while we’d gather around, entranced by his voice. We’d clamour for more, and sometimes we’d get lucky and he’d sing a song that he wrote.

His style was melancholic and thoughtful, and his ability to capture feelings and moments made his talent clear from the get-go. He was not only good at his art, but intensely passionate about it. He’d play for anyone who would listen, write fervently about his life experiences, and he followed his dream wherever it took him. For years, I was lucky to be on the outskirts of his circle, and I cheered him on as he released his first song on iTunes, streaming it every moment I had a chance to increase the play count.

Eventually, he moved to LA, and as it goes, we lost touch. A few years would pass, and occasionally I’d receive a humble message from him, asking if I could share his songs on my social media accounts since his marketing budget was low. I was more than happy to oblige, feeling honoured to be even within touch of such incredible talent.

Then one day, one of his songs went big. And I mean big. Chart topping big. Grammy nominated big. Still hearing it on the radio and in coffee shops today big.

After years of toiling, he had his break, and his passion now became a successful career, with millions of people around the world hearing his music and singing along.

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And finally, there was the entrepreneur. We met in university, on a group study abroad program. Admittedly, we didn’t immediately hit it off. I thought he was arrogant, and he’d never admit it but he probably thought I was a bit of a nerd (again, not a wrong assessment). Over the months we travelled together, both our walls would break down and his arrogant act dropped. I was still nerdy, but he somehow embraced that and a friendship sprouted.

It grew as we went through big life experiences together over our travels, like a 54-hour train ride or bungee jumping over a waterfall. But throughout the trip, he always seemed a bit restless, like he wanted to make his mark on the world. He had a passion for building communities and connecting with other people.

Travelling brought down our walls and a friendship was born

When we got back to university, he started his first company. It was a clothing company that supported local artists, and his knack at marketing and concept design saw it take off with some success on our campus. Ever excited to be part of something, I’d buy his sweaters and attend his events, but it was hard to be as supportive once I’d graduated and moved back to my home city.

Nonetheless, we’d keep loosely in touch, as I watched him grow his next company, a YouTube channel that was all about taking on new experiences.

And then the moment of virality happened.

A video his group made hit it big time. With millions of views, I watched as a third friend became famous.

That YouTube channel would be reborn into a new company that would go on to garner millions and millions of subscribers. My friend would become a common enough name that while I was on a remote hike in Norway, I would mention it in passing to the teenage daughter of the family I had struck up a chat with, and she’d say, “YOU KNOW HIM???”

A lot of what he would talk about in his videos was, you guessed it, passion. He was passionate about making the most out of life through pouring himself into new experiences, and he brought the world along.

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All of this isn’t meant as a brag. I barely know these people now – I couldn’t get you an “in” and I played zero role in any of their fame.

Rather I’m telling you this because it explains how I view success and passion. I’ve learned that there’s not a jealous bone in my body for other people’s accomplishments. I’ve never felt envious or spiteful when they hit it big. Instead, these relationships gave me huge appreciation for the discipline, dedication, and focus each of them needed to get to where they are now. I’m truly in awe.

But I am slightly ashamed to say I have been jealous of them for other reasons. I’m jealous because of what it took to make them famous. I’m jealous that each of them was steadfast in their passions, knew exactly what they wanted out of life, and ruthlessly went after it.

My lack of life-altering, single-minded, fever burning passion has made me irrationally upset.

And going further, I’ve learned that somewhere along the way, these relationships have unintentionally caused passion to warp with success in my mind, and thereby with self-worth. It goes like this:

If I don’t have true passion, then I can never reach peak success.

If I can’t reach peak success, then I will never be good enough.

If I’m not good enough, then I will never make a mark on this earth worth remembering.

If I’m not worth remembering, then why bother trying.

Yikes…right?

In moments of self-pity, I think of the artist, the musician, and the entrepreneur, and I feel like I’ve been left behind, relegated to a life of boring normalcy.

So I push in other ways. I make myself run further. I travel to places that make me feel excited. I gun for those promotions. I try new hobbies and network with new people, always hoping for a spark and an “A-HA” to show that I have finally found my passion – my purpose in life. And then I would be that person who was relentless and single-minded in my pursuits. And then I would hit it big (or even moderate) and live happily ever after, making a living off something I deeply care about. And then my life would have meaning and worth.

But I’m in my 30s now, and I’m coming to terms with the fact that this is very unlikely to happen. And in my 30s, I’m gaining a new appreciation for what that means.

I’m learning that passion doesn’t need to mean soul-burning obsession that propels you forward. It doesn’t need to mean the be all and end all of your career. And it doesn’t need to mean that without it in abundance, you have nothing and are nothing.

Passion can be the curiosity that makes you seek out novelty in the every day. It can be the thing that gives you a little nudge to take a chance or put yourself out there. It can be the small acts of love you show your friends and family (or dog) each day. If you let it, it alone can give your life meaning. Not in the loud, noticeable way that I saw growing up, but in the quiet moments, the ones where you get excited about something you’ve tried or celebrate a small win. Even this level of passion can leave its mark on the world.

I’ve also learned that I love being surrounded by passionate people. That in and of itself, can rub off on me and infect me with joy. I’ve made major life decisions, in part based on following the passions in others (including marrying my husband who is incredibly passionate about his work). Putting myself in groups where other people have found their purpose makes me feel like I’m not being left behind, but that I’m along for the ride.

All of this has made me realize I’ve taken the wrong thing from that word passion this whole time. To have passion doesn’t mean your life will be filled with wild success or fame. On the flip side, not having wild success and fame doesn’t mean your life can’t be filled with passions big and small.

It's getting easier to see those three friends and not immediately compare myself to them, forcing me to come up short. For now, I’m finally learning to embrace my role as more of an acquaintance of passion rather than its most ardent follower, and create a small life that I can be proud of.