I was asked this question last weekend and there is nothing I hate more than a question I cannot answer - especially about myself.
What is my passion?
I like to read.
Is that a passion?
I’d love to be able to write. Maybe this will push me to write more...?
Truthfully? This filled me with questions I can’t answer. Things I have never thought about.
What do I want to be?
Who do I want to be?
What do I want to do?
Where do I want to go?
Do I want to travel?
Does J want to travel?
Where does he want to go?
When can I retire?
Will I ever afford to retire?
Where will we live?
Can I even write?
How many books can I read if I don’t work?
How can I not work?
What do retired people do all day?
Do I like anything else but, books?
What else do I like to do?
How much Bourbon Cream can I bring back from Louisville?
We have a lot of booze here, and I stopped today for more?
What about Jacob?
Will he grow up ok?
Will he get in a fight one day?
Will he be a good adult?
Will this world suck then?
Would I ever move back to Manistee?
Why am I such a loner?
Why do people hate me?
Do I truly lack empathy?
Maybe I can just maintain this weight?
Will I get thinner as I get older like my mom did?
Are her feelings hurt that I missed the anniversary of her passing?
Will I lose my job?
Do I care?
Where would I go?
Where do I want to go?
What do I want to do?
What are my goals for the future?
What were we talking about?
What is passion anyway?
What is mine?
Do I even have one?
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