Striding Off to Somewhere

By Steve Carr

I’m drowning in passion­—everyone else’s passions. David’s passion for golf, Kitty’s passion for Idaho history, Pepper’s passion for her dog bone. Now even the advertisers are rubbing it in. A current ad for an electronic device that does it all, from playing Beethoven (the composer) to walking Beethoven (the dog) asks, “Everyone has a passion . . . what will your verse be?”

I don’t know my passion, dag gummit, and if your fancy computer is so great, why can’t it tell me mine?

Recently, on a flight east, while hunkered in my seat searching my know-it-all tablet computer for my verse, my seatmate introduced himself, saying he was an efficiency consultant for a chemical firm. In the same breath, he said, “So what’s your passion?”

My first thought was, this guy’s trying to pick me up. My reaction was a flush of embarrassment at the flattery—no one has flirted with me since high school. Next, I worried about how to let this guy down easy—after first soliciting a few compliments—for we would be sharing an armrest for several hours.