“Is there anything that excites you at all?”
I mulled over the question, unsure how to answer. Of course I get excited. Over food, for one. And figuring out solutions to complicated number problems.
But I figured that wasn’t what my friend wanted to hear. She was an artist, and she was passionate about her craft. There wasn’t a day when she didn’t have a brush on hand, painting even in the weirdest of places – I mean, who paints in a bar?
Everyone else in our circle was just as passionate. One was so crazy about fitness, she went vegan. Another quit her job to travel the world.
And then there’s me.
“Do you really love your job so much?” my friend prompted when I didn’t answer her.
I sucked in a breath. No, I didn’t. It was driving me nuts. And I certainly didn’t like churning twelve, fourteen hours a day. But what choice did I have? I had to get things done. I wasn’t a quitter, especially when I’d already invested so much of my time, sweat and tears. Even if I’d rather be doing something else.
Maybe it was a different kind of passion.
And with the way she was looking at me, I knew she wouldn’t understand.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.