Posts Tagged ‘Passion’

I’m Not Sorry

Posted: January 8, 2019 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

I try to pride myself on being tough, but only a select few – not limited to my dogs and Netflix playlist – understand that I’m entirely the opposite. I’m a sucker for the feels. I’m a gudgeon for a genuine love story. I’m a sap for stories of redemption, or just two older folks still flirting with each other after fifty years of marriage. My exterior is hard, my innards are soft and lined with a venomous passion that might someday be the death of me as it makes its way through my heart. I feel. And I feel hard. This is not an apology.

If I were to catalog the entirety of my dating history it’d be a long and ridiculous path toward frustration and let down. Why? I’m thirty-five, how have I not found ‘the one’? How have I not found any singular one to last long enough to keep me away from the chick flicks? I watch chick flicks as a means to remind myself that I’m not done yet, she hasn’t come, and it’s possible that she still will. They’re tacky and cliche and littered with loads of unrealistic plots and feelings that don’t generally happen in real life. But, what if they do? What if they have? What if they ARE? I don’t watch them with the hope to continue an unrealistic love story via film, no. I watch them to find a reason to stop watching them, to create my own. At this juncture I’ve got enough stories to write a book – “The Impassioned’s Playlist.” I’d never do that, of course, because I’d have to detail my shortcomings and those of my counterparts. I’m not here to put anyone on blast as the blame would be directed right back to me. They’ve ALL been my fault and here’s why, it’s the same reason for all of them: passion.

Do you guys ever watch a movie and cry during any and every scene trying to elicit some sort of emotion? Yeah me too, all of them. ALL of them. Do you ever hear a song and feel all of your hairs stand on end and your adrenaline rush straight from your heart to your eyes? Me too, all of them. Do you think that every feel-good movie is directed specifically at you? Me too, all of them. Do service dogs make you cry? Does the term animal cruelty make you want to stop everything and become a vigilante to save them all? And lastly, do you put every ounce into every relationship because you feel it’s the one, the end-all, be-all of great loves? Yeah me either, idiots. Who does that!? Jk, I do. It’s me. I’m referring to myself, halfwits. Of course there’s no jk. I feel on a level far greater than what I’m emotionally capable of handling. The two aren’t directly intertwined, emotion and feeling, you know. I feel intensely, passionately, fiercely. But I do not feel intelligently. I feel blindly. That’s not to say that my emotional intelligence is lacking. No, it’s to say that my emotional level is broken – there is no peak. The highs are uncontrollably high. And this is where the dating woes come in. I put in everything. There have definitely been the scenarios where I haven’t, but those are the ones that have taught me TO give it my all. I don’t take anything for granted anymore because I’ve loved and I’ve lost. I’ve definitely lost – more than what most will ever have in a lifetime. But those losses have taught me to lover unabashedly. To feel uncontrollably. And to BE, passionately.

All of this is to tell you that I feel harder than I’m capable of controlling. And I don’t want to. I’d rather love scary hard and end up falling on my face, than love conservatively and dampen what I feel. The issue is not that I need to reel in these extremes, the issue is that no one, thus far, has been able to handle it. I don’t wait because time is fleeting. I don’t hold back because time is fleeting. I don’t hide what I feel because time is fleeting. I don’t love with anything less than an intense level, because time is fleeting.

My name is Ross, this is not an apology.


Image result for dramatic love scene crying

I don’t own the rights to being a Cry Baby. 


I control my thoughts. I control my actions. I control my everyday routine. I control my guard that keeps both females and friends at a distance. I control my health, or lack thereof. I control my diction and articulation. I control my potential for triumph, and possibility of defeat. I control me. You control you. Though there are are other forces that control all of us – a higher power, if you believe in that; a government, if you subscribe to that; a credo, if you’re inspired by that – we’re all ultimately in control of ourselves, intrinsically. It’s not just an inalienable right granted to us by these great United States, it’s a power that weakens us – a weakening power – how’s that for a nonsensical juxtaposition?

I brainstormed for this post and realized that it was ridiculous to brainstorm an idea that should come from deep within. It shouldn’t need to be brainstormed, it should flow freely. I then realized that I bind my creativity by control. It’s not something anyone else has imposed on me, it’s my own error. That error is how I’ve lived the past twenty-eight years of my life. What the fuck, right? This thought applies not only to politics, but just about every single aspect of our lives. Even if you don’t think you’re a control freak, you’re wrong, to an extent. Do you measure the amount of sugar you put in your coffee every morning? Do you keep tabs on the speed you drive to work? Do you dismiss crazy ideas or recommendations your friends give, about anything? Everyone does. Why?


This won't ever be me.

It’s part of the human condition to want to control your normalcy, whatever that might be, and to limit the amount of crazy or the unexpected. Just the same as you’re conditioned not to walk into oncoming traffic, you’re conditioned to keep things unfamiliar out of your life unless you’re almost certain it won’t interrupt your journey toward happiness. However, control isn’t simply keeping the bumper of a 2003 Ford Explorer out of your grill, it’s keeping you from living the uncertainty that is life. Lots of people write about living your life and letting go, and being free. Fuck all of that sappy, cliche, quasi-religious talk. This post isn’t about the mistakes you’re making by controlling your environment and safety – it’s about knowing the difference between keeping control at arm’s length, and allowing yourself to be open to all that is life – to understand the adaptation that every minute of every day offers.

I’m a happy person, but I find myself getting angry or frustrated with things that are out of my control. I find my days impacted by stupid shit I can’t do anything about. I find my ear-to-ear grin erased by the ridiculous actions or words of someone who should have absolutely no significance on my facial expression. That, in and of itself, has inspired this rant. I understand that’s contradictory – writing about outside influences not getting to you, while this post is inspired by the aforementioned. Shut up. Stay focused.

President Obama has made a lot of strives toward the right as of late, and whether they’ve been to boost his 2012 election support or appease the quandary that is Congress, I don’t care. What I do care about is the change from his initial platform to get things done. I don’t need to delve deep into his psyche to figure why he’s made the decisions he’s made, I simply need know that the man has embodied change, the very word encapsulating his presidential essence. Hello, irony.

The President’s ability to wrestle his own control to the ground in order to seek the betterment of not only America, but himself as well, is inspiring to me. Granted, all politicians end up digressing from whatever platform got them elected in to their given office, but don’t let that blind you from the progression that takes place throughout that metamorphosis. It gives us an example of how ugliness can transition to beauty given a short time span, or with the push of constituents, current and future. Whatever. Point is, Obama disgusts me as a President, but even he is capable of letting control find a disculpate through the ugliness that blurs it. We should all be so fortunate.

No, I’m not condoning President Obama’s recent actions, nor him himself. I’m simply saying that he’s given us a loose example of letting go of control, when it hinders something beautiful and amazing on the other side of said restriction. Sure, stay in control of your safety. Sure, don’t bang a hooker you know has AIDS. And no, definitely do not run into oncoming traffic as a way to liberate yourself from control. BUT, live, freely, and let control take a back burner to a passion for life, brought to you by an inner insurrection.

What inspires passion? What moves you to step outside of your comfort zone and welcome life’s challenges and beauties? That answer will be different for each one of you reading this. There is no right or wrong answer. For me, because this blog is all about me (plus I’m selfish as fuck), I’m inspired by everything. There are 439,409,998,713 things a day that inspire me, for better or worse. The good, bad, ugly and everything in between make me feel and appreciate all that is life. Even when shit’s shitty and it seems like there is no solution, there is. There always is. Simply feeling emotion and allowing life to get to you is or should be enough to inspire you. If it isn’t, punch yourself in the heart…it isn’t working and it needs an upstart.

Fixers. Let’s talk about fixers. I just had a short but inspiring conversation with my best friend about being a fixer and all that it encompasses. I’m not sure if it’s human nature or if it’s only a select few who suffer from this handicap, but I’ve realized recently that I’m a fixer. I not only go way out of my way to try and fix my own problems, no matter how impossible to fix they might be, but I also try to fix other people’s problems. Until today, I’ve been OK with that. Even though I’m selfish, I’m willing to put myself aside to help close friends in any way that I can. Today, I realized that I can’t focus my energy on other people’s issues if they themselves are not willing to do the same. No matter how unselfish I’m willing to be, I can’t control what other people do. That’s been a tough lesson for me to gradually learn as a fixer and control freak. It’s frustrating to realize that I, by myself, cannot control other people. I can put forth whatever effort I deem fit and that’s about it. I can use my passion and inspirations to try and solve life. But it’s never that simple. And it’s even more difficult when the person(s) you’re trying to help can’t do that for themselves. I don’t think being a fixer is necessarily a bad thing. I labeled it as a handicap earlier, but I’m not sure if that’s an accurate description as it’s a compassionate characteristics that requires you to put yourself before another person, for whatever reason. In fact, I have respect for fixers. Even though I try to be one, I mostly suck at it because I’m crazy selfish. My frustrations come from attempting to lend a helping hand and having it thrown right back at me. I’m like a turtle. When a turtle feels comfortable with its surroundings, it will peak its head out and explore. But when it’s scared, it will stay in its shell until it feels that its fear has departed. It takes a lot for me to come out of my shell and attempt to feel comfortable with those surrounding me. I don’t trust people. And ultimately, regardless of what Karl fucking Marx thought, people are not intrinsically good. They’re shitty and selfish. This keeps me in my shell. But every now and again, I’ll break through my own protections and peak my head out of my shell. Ten times out of ten, I end up right back in my shell. This is the dilemma I face on a daily basis. I’m sure all of you have faced it as well. But remember, we’re talking about me, not you. ;]

It’s hard for me to understand why and how people don’t vacuum life in as a glorious and beautiful thing. We’re born with a physical case that allows us to grow, and a brain that allows for learning and adaptation to become accustom to our surroundings. That, in and of itself, is absolutely beautiful to me. This isn’t just the wine talking, but life is an absolutely amazing work of art that each of us have the ability to paint, master and perfect. I come across a lot of people who don’t share that view. There are a lot of people who will take the downsides for simply that – a downside. Fuck that nonsense. Every downside or curve that life throws at you is an opportunity to make something beautiful of something shitty. Accept it. Appreciate it. Take advantage of it. And cultivate it into your own. There is absolutely no reason to bitch, moan and complain about the shitty hand life’s dealt you. I do it every once in a while, but with the understanding that it’s an opportunity for me to grow as a person and adapt to the beauty that is life. It’s taken me a long time and a lot of shitty situations to come to that realization. It should have been something realized early on. Life’s a gift, and rather than expecting it to treat me well like I deserve something from it, I can mold it to become my own. How do people in general not see it as the same?

I don’t mean to preach and sound like I know everything about everything and have all of the answers. I sure as shit do not. But what I do have is an understanding that I control my future. I will not make excuses for why NOT to take advantage of that. I will not make excuses for why not to branch out from my safety net and experience everything that life offers. Sometimes it’s scary, but finding yourself in that fear is what makes you, you. It’s what strengthens the fibers we’re weaved from. To find excuses why not to venture out and enjoy the life we’re gifted is incomprehensible to me. If you come to a point where you find yourself questioning a decision, fuck it, go for it. Don’t second guess it. Take chances. Live like you’ve only got one life to live. Live like you’re only here for a 65-90 year period and there’s nothing afterward. Live like you are your passion. Live like you’ve got a burning desire to encompass and embrace everything that comes your way, good, bad or indifferent. Live like you give a shit about the life you’re making for yourself. Live like you’re making a legacy that will be written in books for centuries after you’re gone. Live like you give a shit. And if you don’t, get the fuck off of my page, you have no business here. No more invalid excuses why not to take responsibility and accountability for yourself. I’m tired of that shit. And I’m tired of hearing that shit from people I attempt to care about. No more. No more being a fixer. No more allowing other people’s excuses to restrain them from being great. No more shitty scape goats for why not to take advantage of life. It’s gifted you with itself, stop wasting it.

Listen to this song and allow the lyrics to sink deep into your soul. If you don’t feel it within the depths of you, you aren’t good at music. Eddie Vedder, I fucking love you.

It’s late. I’m tired. I’m irritated. I’m dirty. I stink. And for the first time in a long time, I’m writing this completely sober. At this point I haven’t titled this post because I’m not sure where it’s headed. I feel like the words will come from within and inspire textual greatness through my fingertips, at which point the title will make itself apparent.

A very wise soul once told me that your life journey will lead you exactly where you’re supposed to be, even if it isn’t what you expected or wanted from the start. I’m not referring to fate or destiny…I’m not even sure what I’d call it. But I believe everything happens for a reason. Sometimes it’s made apparent why something has happened at that exact moment, and sometimes you don’t realize the who, what, when, where or why until years and years later, if at all. There is a rhyme and reason to everything, even if it doesn’t always seem like it. Even when your vision’s as blurred with bullshit as is humanly possible, there is still a clearing at the end. I’m not sure if I’ve reached that clarity yet, but recently I feel like I’m being guided toward a direction that might lead to it.

For the past 7 years or so I had absolutely no doubt that my place in life was to become the world’s greatest defense attorney. I can’t tell you why, but I’ve always known that it was my ‘calling’ or whateverthefuck you want to call it. I’d refer to it as my Personal Legend. Fast forward to today, I’m at the point of studying for and taking the LSAT to begin my journey chasing Johnny Cochran’s achieved career as a my hero, and possibly the most renowned defense attorney today. But recently, for the first time since I thought I found my place in life, I’ve started questioning whether or not it’s really what I’m supposed to do. It isn’t a matter of what I want, because I most definitely still want to be a defense attorney, but my Personal Legend might be something even greater. I’m not one to use signs to guide me, my map is a far more advanced GPS system energized and controlled by a burning inner passion that is stronger and more true than any omen or sign can account for. It is more perfectly calculated than any technology available today. And it’s got more drive than any motivational speaker or self-help book can muster up. It’s free. It’s always dead-on. And it comes from a place within that cannot be seen, mapped, analyzed or explained through the most developed diction. It is the center point from which the most unchained anger arises from, and is the emotional drive that allows sympathy, compassion and sadness to put others as priority over yourself. If you’ve ever heard a child abuse or rape story, you have an understanding to some extent. If you’ve ever witnessed someone give their life for another, you have an understanding to some extent. This is the guide I follow. Not a higher being or book, not a religion or cult, not a speaker who ‘knows better than I do,’ or a philosophy from some person who lived hundreds of years ago in a lifetime exponentially different than the one I live today. Passion. I follow passion. Whether it makes me look like a vagina of a man, or an extreme asshole, I’ll take either as I’m allowing my passion to shape me, and vice versa. I’ve posted about passion before but in a different context. This passion I’m referring to is what’s inspired me to sit here and spew my inner drive through my fingertips.

Over the past month, my life’s been turned upside down. And I don’t mean that in some sort of a ‘boohoohoo my life sucks’ kind of way. I mean that my normalcy and routine have changed entirely, and it has thrown me of. I’m accustomed to taking the shit life throws at me and turning it around into a positive. In fact, I thrive on it. When something’s off it becomes a challenge to fix, and I get off on challenges. If life were easy and without challenge, I’d be a boring motherfucker. So would you. The past month has been a different sort of challenge, though. I’ve found this inner passion that burns so much more deep than anything else I’ve ever felt before. I don’t know when it started or why, I just know that it’s made me more vocal (if you can believe that. I’m an obnoxious loudmouth as it were), more angry, more sad, more inspired, more sympathetic and more passionate than I’ve ever been. I can’t take little situations and handle them as I normally would. I’m tenfold more impacted by every little thing that happens, for better or worse. For example, I hate one of my bosses. He’s the epitome of worthless. The dude’s overweight, miserable as fuck, and thinks his money buys him a way out of having to be a decent human being. Imagine the most worthless person you can. Now multiply that times 5,000. That’s my boss. Anyway, there was an issue with making up time off, and I didn’t feel it was valid. Normally, I’d just take it like a bitch and make up hours. But this time was different. I snapped. I told them what I thought, and I didn’t do it pleasantly or in a pleasant tone at all. At first I was nervous, since they could have fired me and I’d have no way to pay for the life I’ve created for myself. But after I voiced my thoughts, my passion took over and I couldn’t control it or keep it in. So again, I snapped. And it felt fucking fantastic. I still have my job. I think that was about the time I realized that my this overwhelming passion wasn’t such a bad thing. It was my way to validate feeling…anything, something, everything. Before, I’ve hidden away those feelings for a multitude of reasons. But today, if I feel it, you’re going to know it.

I’m not entirely sure where I was going with that. Dammit. I grabbed a drink halfway through this, so I’m no longer writing this sober. Okay, passion. Passion. Last week I posted about K. I thought I was done with her. I’m not. And I don’t know why. She’s still just as frustrating if not more so. I pretty much fucking hate her. But one thing I’ve learned about my journey toward my Personal Legend is that, again, everything happens for a reason. I didn’t try to figure out why I had met her or what part in my life she’d play. But recently it’s become apparent that I’ve gained a lot more from her than just a pretty face to stare at when I’m with her. I’m all about aesthetics, and I have a staring problem. But what I’ve gained is a new understanding of where my journey’s taking me. I may or may not still end up going to law school. Had I not planned on it in the first place, I wouldn’t be here, with this new found realization that might change my life path entirely. Meeting K was another of life’s deflections. I was on my path and focused…and she fucked that up. I was angry at first, but I’ve got a new understanding that allows for more clarity. She inspires me to be…me. She’s impossible to get through to. And no matter how open I am or how much of me I put into her, I get nothing back. Normally this would make me fucking irate. And it did. Until I realized that when I’m with her I’m basically venting my soul and its makings. I’m talking to something that says little back with little or no reaction. Ultimately, she’s become a muse. A very frustrating, impossible muse. But one that allows me to voice whatever’s burning inside me. Instead of deciding to close myself off as I normally would after opening myself up and having it rejected, it’s made me see me for me. I understand that sounds lame as shit, but there’s no other way to put it. I’m me, and that’s never going to change. Not for anyone or anything. And I love that. If I hadn’t met her, I would probably still be focused on law school. As it sits now, that’s up in the air. And all I really want to do is write.

I’ve always liked writing. No, no. I’ve always loved it. Words turn me on, mentally and sexually. Okay, maybe not sexually. Jk, they do. In all seriousness, I am absolutely intrigued and infatuated by a mess of letters transformed into a beautiful collaboration of thoughts. Language and articulation are more sexy to me than a 5’8″ blonde with long legs and a defined structure and face. I love them. …Words, and the blonde. All distraction aside, I have to write. I don’t just want to, I HAVE to. Just writing that right now gave me a hardon and a headache at the same time. Pretty sure the headache is from the 239,627,634,679,023,449 things in my head that need to be sprawled onto paper. Even if I’m not a celebrity or anyone particularly important. I’m not a public figure. I don’t have a bunch of tragic stories that I need to share. I’m not a rape victim or the product of a dysfunctional family. I lead a pretty normal life. But what’s in my head is anything but normal, and it needs a release. Writing is that release. Even if it doesn’t help or inspire a single person, it’s what I’m here to do. I know this, because the aforementioned passion that burns in the very depths of my soul moves me to do so. It isn’t just an inspiration or motivator, it’s a movement that is constantly in action. It’s time to stop neglecting it and let it be free.

A Discourse With My Soul.

Though there’s been 234,547,109 issues to post on as of late, I’ve fallen short of my ranting blogitory duties. Yes, blogitory. It’s a word, I promise. And the definition states something to the effect of, “stop being such an anal-retentive word nazi, you anal-retentive word nazi.” Anyway, this post will be short but despite its lack of length, I feel it’s an important aspect pertaining to ALL things, and it’s missing in action as of late. Passion.

Passion is what drives all thoughts and ideas, both moving and lackadaisical. It’s what moves nations to fight for their rights and beliefs, and pushes cultures to maintain their honor and tradition through adaptation and change. Passion is that necessary substance that moves, inspires, motivates, and causes feeling for things that would otherwise be without. Passion is at an all time low in America, and it disappoints me to no end.

Recently, I watched a movie called “The Freedom Writers,” inspired by the Freedom Riders organization and movement during the Civil Rights movement era. The movie was an offshoot of the Riders, using a play-on-words as they used their writings to speak their minds and get their word out, where as the actual Freedom Riders used their physical embodyment to encourage freedom and equality. The movie itself was decent, but it inspired me to do some research on the original group. What I found was amounts of passion flowing through these people that is nowhere to be seen today. They were criticized and abused, literally, for their beliefs but it did not stop them. Throughout history there have been hundreds of thousands of people and groups who have done insurmountable things for good causes and to progress the betterment of mankind as a whole. All of these groups and persons have at least one thing in common- a passion that burns inside them that is absolutely neccesary to quench. And the only way to quench that passion, is to let it out. Today’s politicians don’t carry that lost passion. Athletes don’t carry that passion. Musicians do few and far between, but it’s a different kind of passion that could be described as mild at best, in comparison to the passion that has exploded throughout mankind’s young history. It disappoints me.

What inspires you? When you tell someone you’re passionate about something…are you talking yourself into being passionate? Or do you legitimately feel you NEED to do something with it? Where is that passion? And if you have it, where does it come from, and what do you do with it? I love …well, DID love Glenn Beck, before his recent jump onto the crazy train. But prior, when he was still an obnoxious and partially sane conservative republican voice, he had passion. It might have been misguided and conveyed in odd fashion, but it was there. And even if it was just for ratings and to get his name out…it worked. He had to at least be somewhat passionate about his voice to put himself out there. Going back to the Freedom Riders…they not only put themselves out there, but were beaten, brutally, and knew it was coming before deciding to voice their passions. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the kind of passion I want in me. That is the kind of passion that should be present in every living soul, and seen and heard and felt throughout the world. And I don’t mean that to sound lame and ridiculous, as it might, but I sincerely believe it’s necessary to continue to progress as human beings on earth. And I believe it’s what’s necessary to get through the BP crisis, and our global relations issues, and our economic issues, and our failing health care issues, and our controversial immigration issues as well. Passion is nowhere to be found. And it honestly saddens me. Lastly…I lied about this being a short post. Sue me. I’m passionate, and I have a voice that doesn’t stop on paper or text.