I was reading ’s On Fire when something in it sparked this piece.

You can see it.

Not always, but when it’s there, you know.

That fire. The spark behind someone’s eyes when they speak about the thing that moves them. Their voice shifts. Their hands come alive. They lean in. Not to persuade you, but because something inside them refuses to sit still.

They’re not just talking.

They’re burning.

It starts with curiosity

Passion rarely shows up wearing a name tag.

It doesn’t come with a business plan or a clean five-year roadmap. It begins as something smaller. A flicker. A fascination. A strange magnetic pull.

You notice a detail no one else notices. You return to a question that seems to have no useful answer. You reread a paragraph, not because you didn’t understand it, but because it made you feel something.

That’s curiosity.

Follow it long enough, and it deepens. It sharpens. It refuses to let go. It turns into passion.

That’s how the fire begins.

What makes you go?

Passion doesn’t always arrive as a lightning bolt. Sometimes, it’s the slow build: the strange obsession that keeps you coming back. The skill you can’t stop refining. The subject you can’t stop Googling. The thing you talk about differently.

Maybe it’s the movement of shadows across a wall.

Maybe it’s jazz harmony.

Maybe it’s ancient ruins or the ritual of tea or how moss spreads across stone.

Maybe it’s your fascination with time.

Or silence.

Or symmetry.

It doesn’t need to make sense to anyone else. It doesn’t need to be efficient or impressive or monetizable. It just needs to feel true. Because whatever makes you go: that’s your fire.

And it’s not a luxury. It’s a direction.

When the battery drains

We spend a lot of time doing what we think we’re supposed to do. We sign up for courses not because they thrill us, but because they might lead to a promotion. We say yes to roles that sound impressive, look good on a CV, and tick off all the sensible boxes. We choose projects that align with the company strategy, not because they ignite something in us, but because they make sense.

And for a while, it works. We’re productive. Responsible. Structured. On track. From the outside, we’re moving forward.

But somewhere along the way, something starts to fade.

You sit down to do the work and notice the absence of energy. The excitement you used to feel isn’t there. It’s replaced by a sense of going through the motions. Hitting deadlines, performing well, showing up… but feeling oddly absent from your own efforts.

The battery sinks, but you keep pushing. You think maybe it’s just stress. Or fatigue. Or needing a holiday. But the rest doesn’t fix it. Because the problem isn’t effort. It’s emptiness.

The truth is, we’re often not tired. We’re disconnected. Disconnected from what actually moves us. From the spark that once made us curious. From the deeper part of ourselves that knows the difference between productivity and purpose.

This kind of exhaustion doesn’t come from overwork. It comes from doing work that doesn’t belong to us.

Passion isn’t a luxury. It’s not an optional extra to add after everything else is handled. It’s fuel. Without it, we can still function, but we don’t feel. We lose colour. We lose clarity. We become efficient shells.

The work might still get done.

But the soul doesn’t come with it.

There’s no logic to passion, and maybe that’s the point

One of the most persistent myths is that passion should be practical.

We’re told to find a purpose, but only if it fits inside a spreadsheet. Follow our bliss, but only if it can be monetized. Get curious, but only if it leads somewhere respectable.

But passion doesn’t work like that.

Shigeru Miyamoto, the legendary Nintendo designer, created The Legend of Zelda not from a business plan, but from a childhood memory. He remembered exploring caves near his home, that feeling of awe and curiosity and he spent years trying to replicate that sensation in pixels and sound. He wasn’t building a game. He was building a world, piece by piece, from pure wonder.

Maria Callas, one of the greatest voices in opera, would rehearse a single phrase for hours. Not to sing it more beautifully, but to feel it more truthfully. Every breath, every syllable had to carry the emotional weight of the role. She wasn’t performing for applause. She was chasing something sacred.

Agnes Martin spent her life painting quiet, imperfect grids. No drama. No spectacle. Just pale lines and soft balance. She would often destroy her work if one mark felt wrong. To most people, it was minimalism. To her, it was devotion. Her fire lived in silence, in control, in the unbearable desire to make something feel right.

And yes, there’s also James Dyson, who famously built 5,127 failed prototypes before one finally worked. Not because he had to. Because something in him wouldn’t stop until it was right.

This is what passion looks like:

Not always profitable.

Not always understandable.

But always alive.

Passion is a compass

We wait for passion to feel like confidence. Or clarity. Or joy. But it usually doesn’t. More often, it feels like restlessness. Like friction. Like something unfinished tugging at you. It doesn’t always offer a map, but it does offer a direction.

Curiosity turns your head. Passion moves your feet. It doesn’t ask, “Where’s this going?” It asks, “Can you feel that pull? Good. Follow it.”

Real growth doesn’t come from strategy. It comes from staying in the room when the work gets difficult. Not because you have to, but because you can’t not.

Passion is what keeps you there.

It’s what makes you start again after version 12 flops. It’s what makes you care about the details no one else even sees.

Haruki Murakami treats writing like training for a marathon. Up before dawn. Same desk. Same rhythm. Every day. Not because it’s easy, but because when the magic shows up, he wants to be there.

Gymnast Simone Biles doesn’t just practice to compete. She practices to master. She lands moves that no other athlete attempts. Not for the spotlight, but for the truth of what the body is capable of when mind and fire align.

Growth isn’t always explosive.

Sometimes it’s quiet. Repetitive. Devotional.

But in that firelight, something shifts.

You don’t just create better work.

You become someone new.

What fire looks like

Fire looks like devotion to the invisible. Like giving hours for seconds. Like honouring a gesture that almost no one else will notice.

In Spirited Away, there’s for example a brief scene where Chihiro crouches to put on her shoes before returning to the spirit world. She taps each toe to the floor and then stands.

That moment lasts four seconds.

Director Hayao Miyazaki insisted that it feel authentic. That her body weight, her breath, her emotion all be present in that tiny action.

It took days to animate.

Not because it was necessary for the story. Because it was necessary for the truth.

That’s fire. (In the video below you can discover many more of these beautiful moments)

Chef Jiro Ono, from Jiro Dreams of Sushi, massages an octopus for 45 minutes before it’s served. Not because customers demand it. But because texture matters. Because technique matters. Because there’s reverence in every detail.

Beyoncé rehearses routines for hours past “good enough.” Not for show. But because she knows the difference between working and transcending. And she won’t stop until it transcends.

This is what fire looks like:

It’s purpose.

It’s presence.

It’s building something that no one asked for, because you need it to exist.

How to find and follow your fire

🔥 Don’t wait for permission — If it pulls you, pursue it. That’s enough.

🔥 Protect your strange — Your obsession doesn’t need to be understood. It needs to be followed.

🔥 Follow energy, not logic — Ask: Where do I feel most alive, even when it’s hard?

🔥 Get obsessed — Obsession is where transformation lives.

🔥 Let it change you — If you’re not becoming someone new, you’re not deep enough yet.

🔥 Keep showing up — Even in silence. Even in failure. Fire grows by friction. Strike again.

This is what I believe. That curiosity isn’t just an interest. It’s a signal. A spark. A summons. And when you follow it, not because it makes sense, but because it makes you feel alive, you start to burn brighter. Stronger. Truer.

You don’t just grow in knowledge.

You grow in heat. In spirit. In becoming.

Because fire doesn’t just power you.

It remakes you.

Let it burn!! In a good way, of course

This article isn’t just about passion. It’s about direction.

About choosing to live in a way that’s not just efficient, but lit from within. Where what guides you isn’t a checklist, but a current. A pull. A flicker of something that makes you feel more awake.

So maybe now is the moment. Not for answers. But for a pivot. A slight turn toward what stirs you. What energises you. What you haven’t dared to take seriously, until now.

Find the spark.

Feed it.

Follow it.

That’s how the fire begins. 🔥