Passion Can Burn

I am not the type to wear a suit jacket at home.

Who has a closet full of penny skirts and matching blazers.

I own three blazers, and I found two of them half a decade ago.

I'm realizing I'm not the type to work myself to the bone.

And it's frustrating.  Why then did I take honors classes and push myself so hard... I don't push as much anymore.  I am ambitious, but perhaps physically or perhaps with perspective, I'm prioritizing finding a balance.  A character in a movie I'm watching comes into work the day after getting left at the alter.  I'd be at home with a bucket of cookie dough and bottle of booze, and whatever friend wanted to join me.  I'd sooner spend time with those I love than sit at any desk, and I'm realizing perhaps more than anything I could ever be doing at that desk.

The narrative of every story that inspires me is hard work.  I don't know why or when, but at some point it feels as if that fire in me has started to glow less.  I don't know if it's malcontent or laziness, but there's a palpable change.

I'm hoping to figure it out soon and either what ignites that flame, or a complacency and appreciation for a fire so delicate that it doesn't burn me.