The origin of the word Passion means suffering. The most famous example of the original meaning of the word is the Passion of the Christ, which all about that big ol’ walk to Calvary.
We all have our passion walks.
One of mine happened today, though it wasn’t quite as dramatic as JCs.
But I’ll get back to that in a second.
The first passion walk I had was in Waterloo, Ontario. I was interning at an advertising agency. It was winter and I had waited for a bus that decided to not come. I started walking across town to the agency. I remember slush, wet boots and a panic at being late. As I approached the front door, I said very clearly No.
Soon after, I moved to Toronto, which ended up being more my kind of town.
Another passion walk happened in Santa Monica, California. I was walking up Wilshire and came across one of my print ads all wadded up in the gutter. Ugh. I walked in the door of the crap agency I was working at and said very clearly No.
Luckily, I got laid off soon thereafter and ended up in a better place.
The final passion walk happened today in Woodland Hills, California. I was walking through the behemoth Rite Aid parking lot. The heat of the valley was beating down on my head and wafting up from the cement. Mr. Heroin asked me for spare change. I declined with a smile. He said I was very beautiful as he stared at my boobs. I had to jump over a stream of God-knows-what liquid to get to my car. I started up the car and sat in traffic inside the parking lot. Finally, I walked in the door of Office Town and said very clearly…
Not today. But one day.