What Do We Live For

"What do we live for; if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?" -Mary Ann Evans (pen name George Eliot; 1819-1880), novelist

Tonight a friend told me she lost her job.  In tears she explained how her self worth had been wrapped up in her profession and I could see the visible distress of loss, confusion and severe disappointment with life on her face.

She excused herself and said, "But, it’s nothing like losing a husband."

"That doesn’t make it any less horrible for you, " I told her.  "Your passion was in your work–I think anytime we lose our passion, we grieve heavily the loss."

Since turning in my book, I have felt a new sweep of depression.  A time of overwhelming hurt with new cycles of loss.  One of the crazy pieces to writing a book is that I want to share it with the very person I am writing about.  I want to show Shawn my "masterpiece" and feel his approval more than any other’s.  I want to get his opinion, have him edit the words or offer to type a few pages of his own. 

Yes, indeed–losing passion is a passionate loss.

All the more proof to me that we need each other.

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