Passion

“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”— Howard Thurman

Tomorrow night I’ll give a presentation I’ve been thinking about for at least six months. It’s not for work. I won’t get paid to do it. But I’ve poured my heart into it.

The talk is called “The Inner Game of Softball and Life: An Introduction to Mental Fitness.” I’ll be speaking to about 30–40 guys from my softball league, plus a few friends from around town.

I’ve presented countless times in my career—large rooms, small rooms, virtual rooms. But I’ve never spoken about something so personal, so aligned with what lights me up.

I’ve been working on the outline for a few weeks, mostly in the quiet early mornings before work. And this weekend, I’ve spent nearly every free hour building visuals to support the TED-style talk.

What’s surprised me is how much energy this work gives me. Time slows down. I feel a current running through my body. Not nerves exactly—more like butterflies from anticipation. I couldn’t wait for the weekend to begin just so I could dive into it fully.

When I was a kid, my mom said I could spend hours alone playing with Star Wars figures, lost in imagination. It’s taken a long time to rediscover it, but I’ve found the grown-up version of that joy.

Inspiration

A few years ago, my boss asked me to fill a 30-minute slot at our sales offsite. I had been studying neuroscience through a company-funded course and talking about it…a lot apparently. 

I pulled together a last-minute deck called “Changing Minds Starts with Understanding How They Work.” It was a mix of neuroscience, a psychology book I loved, and some reframing of our approach to how we told our story in a new world of television media.

I was new to the job, three months in, and barely knew ten people in the room of over 100. I was nervous. But I’d already learned that nervousness is often the price of growth. I leaned into it.

I barely remember giving the talk. That blackout adrenaline thing. But afterward, a few colleagues came up with praise. One said something I’ll never forget:

“Did you notice how engaged everyone was? They were leaning forward. I don’t think they’d ever heard 90% of what you were talking about.”

I was shocked. Ninety percent?! I think about this stuff all the time.

That lightbulb moment planted a seed in me that’s been growing ever since. Tomorrow night, the first flower will bloom.

That moment also helped me understand what passion is.

It’s the thing that feels obvious to you, but totally foreign to most others. The thing you can’t not think about. And sometimes, when you talk about it, people tilt their heads—like you’re speaking another language. (Just ask my wife and close friends)

Doubt

The spark of passion usually starts very young. When our days are full of play, explorations, and the pursuit of whatever lights us up.

But that early flame is easily snuffed out. Even with the most loving parents, our culture often shifts the focus away from inner spark toward outward achievement.

Good grades → Good college → Good job → Good salary → Nice house → Nice things = Happiness.

That’s the promise.

The longer we walk that path, the harder it is to step off.  Even if we feel the tug of our passion, it can feel isolating. The gravitational pull of fitting in often drowns out our authentic voice.

That’s how the ego protects us. Our fear of ridicule, rejection, failure is primal—rooted in a time when getting cast out of the tribe meant death. Fitting in was survival.

We don’t need that kind of tribal protection anymore, but the fear still lives in our nervous systems. 

So we go along to get along.

But look around—how many people in their 40s and beyond who “followed the plan” feel deeply fulfilled?How many dream of doing something completely different with their one precious life?

And when we start to feel that tug, and maybe day dream about picking that hobby back up, taking a class, writing a column…we often instantly talk ourselves out of it.

Author Steven Pressfield captures it beautifully when he says “The more imprtant it is to your’s soul’s growth, the more resistance you’ll feel”

Follow Your Bliss

It’s easy to sacrifice our passion for practicality. Going against the grain takes an incredible amount of courage.

Most of us trade in the thing we love doing for the thing we can get paid to do. And we do it so early that we don’t even realize we’ve made the trade.

But our soul remembers. That passion doesn’t die. It just gets buried—beneath layers of responsibility, fear, and cultural hypnosis.

We might fantasize about picking it back up “someday,” when we retire or slow down. But the longer we wait, the dimmer the trail becomes.

I think of my stepdad, Bill. A gifted artist. A wonderful man who created solid ground for my mom, my brother, and me when our world had been upended. 

He spent decades working a job he didn’t love, where he was under-appreciated and underpaid. He did it for us. So we could have enough.

He didn’t have the time or space to make art—but he did find joy in landscaping our yard. That was his creative outlet. His weekend escape.

I used to wake up on Saturday mornings and see him already outside, working by 6:30 a.m., and shake my head.

“What is wrong with him?” I’d wonder. (He’ll be the first to tell you he thought the same of me as he watched me rake leaves.)

Now that I’m a dad, I get it.

Today, retired, he has a studio in a small barn out back. There, he paints watercolors—quiet, beautiful works of art that now hang in my home.

Some of my favorite pieces of art are from his dad, Pop Pop, whose energy I can still feel when I pause to study the brushstrokes. I feel his presence. in my heart.

One day, I’ll feel that way about Bill too.

And maybe, if I’m lucky, my kids will feel that way about me.

Traces of the Soul

When Joseph Campbell says, “Follow your bliss,” he doesn’t mean chase money or success.

He means follow the thing that lights you up for its own sake, with no attachment to the outcome.

Ironically, when we do that, we often create something deeply valuable.

Not just valuable in the market, that can happen, but meaningful to those who come after us.

And the less we care about external reward, the more powerful the gift becomes. Especially if we start working on it while we have time to develop our skills. Over five or ten years, we can become singularly talented in a thing that lights us up.

I wonder if the coming age of AI will require us all to focus more on our innate and human talents that can’t be replicated by machines.

Even if we’re never “discovered,” even if we never make a dime, our passion leaves behind a trail. A resonance.

Like Pop Pop’s paintings. Like Bill’s watercolors.

Like these words I write every week, preserved digitally for future generations.

Maybe my kids, or their kids, will one day read them.

And feel like they know me a little better.

And maybe, just maybe, it will help them know themselves.

I can’t think of anything more valuable than that.

#Coach Kris

P.S. I used to love reading my kids Shel Silverstein poems and I keep the spirit of this one close to my heart.

Put Something In

Draw a crazy picture,
Write a nutty poem,
Sing a mumble-grumble song,
Whistle through your comb.
Do a loony-goony dance
'Cross the kitchen floor,
Put something silly in the world
That ain't been there before.