What is the line between obsession and desire? Would you know it if you crossed it? How would you find your way back? Would you even want to?
"You seem kind of...obsessed." The words hit me like a wet washcloth. I've been thinking about it for a few days now. Lately my outdoor adventures have hit a fever pitch. I keep trying to go farther on the bike and on foot. When I only go a few miles, or an hour, I agonize. Maybe I should go out and run three miles. Four. Because I didn't get enough out of that hike. You know, just because. I ate brownies today. I don't want to get out of shape. Winter is coming.
I have met obsession before and I know its bittersweet taste. In my early twenties I ran and ran. Everything I did revolved around my next run. I wouldn't go away for a weekend because I might miss a run. I ran inconveniently, in storms and ice. I stared at my running log, looking for that perfect number--40 miles a week, at less than 8:00 pace.
That was obsession, but the flip side of obsession is passion. People without it bore me. Even if it is something I would never do in a million years--tele skiing, snowboarding, the Western States 100--I like to see fire in their eyes. It is fascinating, primal, seductive. I get those people.
If this post sparks something in you, riddle me this: What's the line you walk? How do you keep from falling in?