"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.
