The Bee, the Body, and the Search for Passion

Passion isn’t a lightning bolt. It’s a bee in a garden. A whisper spoken into the air. A practice repeated until life responds.”

I used to think passion was something you found—sudden, dramatic, undeniable. But I’ve learned it’s cultivated in practice: in showing up, in sitting with the flow, and in facing the discomfort that most of us run from.

One summer afternoon, I whispered to the bees in my garden, asking them to help the flowers at the back of the house bloom into fruit. The next morning, a single bee appeared—pollinating what had once been barren. Coincidence, or symbiotic serendipity?

That moment taught me something profound: passion, like pollination, isn’t given. It’s created through practice, connection, and the courage to stay with our emotions long enough for purpose to emerge.