When I was in high school, I was friends with a kid, older than me, very smart. In fact, I had a phenomenal crush on him, and was thrilled when he asked me out. He was sweet, gentle, kind, and as I mentioned, intelligent. We got along well, bickered because I was something of a loose cannon and he definitely was not, and probably would have been good for each other.

I think what did the relationship in was that I expected him to be more passionate about life than I felt he was. He was always considered and sensible. As an example, he liked jazz, so he decided to take jazz piano lessons. I had a huge fight with him, because I believed that jazz was something born internally- of pain, passion, fire. How can improvisation be taught? I honestly think that was the straw that broke this camel’s back.

Funny, though. He became quite good at the piano, and a few years later shared with me a poem that he had written in the style of Ginsberg’s “Howl”- which was absolutely incredible. In fact, his emotion likely ran deeper than mine, although to look at us, you wouldn’t know it. Under his quiet surface he smoldered.

The “Jazz Brunch” came on the radio today, and it reminded me of this relationship. When you are young, it seems like pairings are limitless- get through with one, and the theory is that another just as good will show up- it’s a seller’s market. Now- meh. I’m carrying a lot of baggage and so is everyone I meet, and I am not sure it will all fit in one car. But I wonder- if I had  been less self-centered, if I had tried to be more observant, would I have seen the “howl” in this man? And what would that have meant?

Or maybe I have just reexamined my definition of passion. I used to think passion was a constant storming of the castle gates- a perpetual tipping at the status quo- but that’s probably just superficial, or at best a symptom. I probably respect intelligence and drive more now than random movement, and see that the former burns with a brighter light.

And burning is really what passion is all about.