My problem with passion
I have a problem with passion.
Passion is the spark. The explosion. The power.
Passion is what thrusts a plane into the sky. It’s the lift of the bird's wings. It’s an unbridled horse, running wild and free.
But passion alone is a plane with no wheels to land, a bird that never finds a perch. It’s a horse racing towards an abounding cliff.
Passion is the gas pedal. It knows no stopping. Passion is always ready at a moment’s notice. To jump out of a plane, to dive off a cliff, and into an ocean. Passion is Go. Go. Go.
But passion alone, is a sun that never sets.
A wave that never crests.
A bread with too much yeast.
A child who never sleeps.
Passion alone will kill you. And maybe others, too.
Passion alone will drive a person to extreme, unthinkable lengths. Passion does not see the train coming. And it will not stop in time.
Left on its own, passion will set itself on fire.
Passion needs a partner, a brake.
Something with wisdom to know the cliff is only a few steps away.
Something to warn when the plane doesn’t have enough fuel.
Something to know when it’s better to wait for the storm to pass.
Yes, I have passion. A lot.
And I may not know God, but I know I am not her.
My problem isn’t having too much passion. My problem is not having brakes that can keep up.
