Notes from An Alien

~ Explorations In Reading, Writing & Publishing ~

Passion’s Gift . . .

Theresa Sonoda is one of my blogging buddies.

She wrote a post recently that blew me away!

She gave me permission to reproduce it here :-)


It Took Me 57 Years

Artistic expressionism.  Drive.  Passion.  I get it.  I finally get it after 57 years and 9 months.  And I’m one of the lucky ones.  Many people go their whole lives without getting it.   Many people go through their entire lives in robotic motion, sans emotion, taking up space…wasting precious time.  I don’t want that to be me.  That will not be me!

I saw a beautiful human being rendered a crying, hopeless, helpless mess on a reality show this week.  The show was called, “So You Think You Can Dance”.  The man was so engulfed in his dancing that he failed to connect with his audience and, unfortunately, came to this realization mid-performance.   The poor soul ended up in a pitiful crying-heap, mid-stage, with not one understanding or compassionate comment offered to soothe his pain.   He simply gave too much of himself and we, the viewing audience, were ill-equipped to accept this raw and disturbing emotion, and consequently did not know how to respond.   What a shame!

This set me to wondering how often this behavior triggers negative/confused/hurtful response from people in everyday life…to those just trying to share their passion, to express their feelings in the one way they’ve discovered does it for them, whether it be dancing, writing, acting, art, poetry, sculpting, singing, mothering, loving or speaking…by those who want to open their minds but haven’t quite grasped the means by which to do so.   How do we all come together?   How do we all understand one another?   I just wish I had the answer.  I can only ask the questions, and hope I open some minds and lubricate the thought-processing mechanisms that are our brains.

Fifty Seven years is a long time to walk this earth and not have a passion, not have a voice, but somehow I managed it.  Fifty Seven will forever be my very favorite age because at 57, I discovered writing.  I discovered my voice.   For those of you who do not have a passion, you will not comprehend my journey, and I would strongly and desperately advise you to find that passion.   For those of you who know how it feels to write something that moves you to tears…those of you who know how a poem represents your sadness, in a way nothing else can….those of you who know how drawing a picture of the clouds viewed from your bedroom window completes you and helps you sleep at night…don’t waste your discovery, your passion!  Use it to fulfill you.  Use it to make your life sweeter.  You’ll never use it up, as long as you keep using it.   It dries up when you quit.  Funny how that works.

Tonight I write from my heart, and to my friends with love.  Don’t worry about me because I’ve found my voice, my passion, and my life is so much sweeter because of it.  If you haven’t found that passion, look for it.  Find it and embrace it.  You won’t believe how much fuller your life will be when you find your voice.

Much love from a happy 57 year old writer/mother/grandmother/sketcher/humorist/lover/friend/daughter/human.
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22 responses to “Passion’s Gift . . .

  1. tsonoda148 May 31, 2011 at 1:52 am

    Thank you so much for putting me up on your wonderful blog. What an honor! And? You made my whole day!
    Much appreciated.


  2. Karla Telega May 31, 2011 at 1:54 am

    I read it on her website, but it’s well worth a second look.


  3. Once May 31, 2011 at 9:26 am

    What a beautiful testament to the reason (or at least one of the reasons for which we live on this planet. There was something in this kind person’s comments that resonated quietly but firmly within my heart concerning the wonders of interacting within this life with the result of internal joy. I have never met this person, nor is it probable that I will; I have lived in this world, however, and there is no small comfort in the knowledge that there are other souls with me even as I write who appreciate the potential of compassion for someone other than one’s own soul and circumstance. Having thought much about looking back on forty-two years of teaching in classrooms, it occurred to me while reading this lady’s comments that even if I cannot truly remember the names of souls I have met in classes, it is an axiomatic fact that I do remember that in each year, I was privileged to have met at least one truly memorable soul in the making, one fit for tears of gratitude within me that I was a witness to what these young ones were before they were what they were. Had I simply addressed the “children” and “youth” that sat before me, perhaps I might have missed the point. I saw in them, however, a potential for hundreds and thousands of days and acts within these days that benefit souls fortunate enough to encounter them, and this I saw before the fact and before they had ever left the cocoon. It’s one of the joys of teaching. I know, then, at least forty-two beauteous lights that no doubt shine brightly even as I write and even though I have no idea what they are doing, where they went, and what their respective ends might be.

    Yes, indeed; there must be some reason other than passing judgments and dispensing sentences on every thing and everyone in God’s universe and something of this realization must include the stupendous act of witnessing the beauty of souls notwithstanding their outward semblances, faults, differences and dubious accomplishments, but centered on the wonder of their actual creation and existence in this world. Included in this must be a realization of one’s own mystery, one’s own gracious bestowals on others without the need to wait nor the expectation consummation in some kind of round of applause, in short, the true reason for one’s own loving creation by the Hand of God, Himself.

    Yes, I have written words that reduced me to tears; if one hasn’t experienced this, it can never be conveyed to another anymore than expressing what one feels when falling in or out of love. It must be experienced to be known and recognized, and once encountered, it has no less effect that the birth of compassion within as one consults without with others through one’s own attempt to manifest the spirit of creation over and beyond the mere act of being or crude and often tedious inclusion in existence, itself. What a gift to this lady; what a gift to all of us, the recognition of the power and beauty of human compassion born of divine creation.

    I hope to thank the lady in question through this comment for sharing so poignant a moment with her readers.


    • tsonoda148 May 31, 2011 at 3:40 pm

      Hello and thank you so much for your thoughts, kind words and wisdom! So very wonderful to meet another person who understands how my life has been enriched through my personal writing discovery. We make our own extensions, and writing comes from our core, I truly believe that. I am so happy to have met many talented and insightful people online and in real life who have and are making the same journey. Sharing my writing, reading yours (and theirs) fills me up beyond words.
      Thank you so much.
      (and thank you Alexander, for putting me in touch with your readers by displaying my work. I would be honored to return the favor soon)


  4. Selena Wolff May 31, 2011 at 11:56 am

    Alexander, thank you so much for posting this. I feel a kindred spirit in you and in Terri. What a wonderful way to start my morning!

    And check out The Write Words, my new home on the web:


  5. John Paul Mahofski May 31, 2011 at 12:46 pm

    I thought this to be very inspirational!


    • tsonoda148 May 31, 2011 at 3:43 pm

      Thank you so much John! I normally write fiction and/or humor, but sometimes something triggers my heart and thought-processes and I have to write about it. I’m sure we’ve all been there! Your comments are very much appreciated.


  6. cmmarcum May 31, 2011 at 1:13 pm

    Thank you for this post. Sonoda has put into words that comfort zone or safety net that I sometimes forget but always fall back on in times of doubt.

    We often allow our ambition to overcome our art. We must pause and reflect on how wonderful it is to have a passion, to have an art form, to keep company with our muse.

    Success or failure be damned. There is nothing else that warms me.


    • tsonoda148 May 31, 2011 at 3:49 pm

      Beautifully said! I want to finish the book I’m working on (my first, and I’m a long way from finishing) and I want to self-publish an ebook, but I can’t get in a hurry because I don’t want to lose the very reason I write in the first place. Writing for pleasure brings me peace. If that sounds a bit existential, it probably is. But it’s true. I’m currently working on my Masters in business Organizational Culture, and the workload is massive. I have to write paper after paper, and then the professor assigns more papers. Sometimes I just have to stop, grab a glass of wine, and sit down with my laptop for some escapism writing. After that, I’m able to resume my studies. Writing is a part of me that I never want to lose.
      Sorry for the long-windedness of this reply, but I get excited!
      Thank you,


    • Alexander M Zoltai May 31, 2011 at 3:53 pm

      Indeed, “Success or failure be damned.” The Fire Rules !!!


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