Sunday, July 31, 2011
Just an hour a day, every day, for the rest of my life. All I need to devote to my passion is one hour – taken from my other responsibilities and joys. One less hour to watch television, movies or the paint dry. One less hour to read a book or e-mail the people I only know by their dot coms. One more hour to write, to compose, to contemplate my characters means one less hour to cook, clean or go for walks where I take photos of common elements in uncommon ways. One less hour to chat online with the boy I crushed on in high school – the boy who is now a grandfather, or the girl from grammar school I didn’t really like much, but now that we tweet and FB and network online, I simply must keep up with her routine life so my mundaneity seems less ordinary.
But I don’t have an hour to spare, do I?
Is this really my passion or just a passing fancy? Maybe a hobby I think about from time to time and not what I truly love to do. Can I spare a single hour each day to devote to doing what I love to to?