I don’t know how many times I have thought of a topic to write about, sat down, and couldn’t find the best words.  I really admire my writer friends, especially those that string together interesting storylines for a living. I generally think best in numbers and colors, but that does not always translate well outside my brain. Part of the problem is probably fear based. Words come from the soul, and it can be very frightening to bare one’s soul to the world. My friends will continue to love me, whether I write well or not.  But, will others?

The struggle between passion and ration runs rampant in my brain.  Ration tells me to stay in my comfort zone, to stick with what I know. I can properly set my expectations that way. It might be a tad bit boring, but it is safe. Ration tells me, even when involved in passionate activities, to view things logically and a bit clinically.

Case in point: I have dove a specific dive site, Bari Reef, in Bonaire probably close to 200 times. I justify that I like it because it has been named the reef with the most fish species spotted in the entire world. In reality, I like it because I know what to expect. I know the current, I know the best entrance and exit spots, I know what I will see at 25 feet, at 45 feet and at 90 feet. I love watching the wrasse in the middle of the water column at around 50 feet. I wonder where they are going.  I like floating in the middle of the school with a feeling of belonging, while the fish swim around me, a few stopping every so often to look me in the eyes in greeting. While one could make the argument that diving is a passionate sport, I am aware that I absolutely have a rational approach.

Passion in general scares the hell out of me.  It is the emotional impulses. While it has the ability to invoke deep pleasure, it just as easily can invoke deep pain.  After Scubahubby had his motorcycle accident, ration drove me to the hospital and allowed me to make it home safely.  Passion was the animal the enveloped me in grief and fear once I safely made it through the door, realizing I was almost made a widow before the age of forty.

There is a whole new passion versus ration argument as my fortieth birthday looms near.  An illogical fear of impending doom.  It’s just forty, for Christ’s sake.  A number, and not even a prime number at that. The whole where am I going and where have I been questions begin to form in my mind. Every so often, I need to remind myself that passion, in and of itself, is not a bad thing. Logic is not a bad thing, either. But there should be a balance. As a Libra, born under the sign of the scales, one would think this would not be a hard lesson to learn. But, it is a lesson I have been working on for almost forty years. Along with the lesson that you should not wash stuff that is red with stiff that is white, unless you want all your stuff to be pink. I’m still working on that one, too….

At least I am not 40 yet…. And, I’m not a man…