passion.

“How do I find my passion? How do I merge it with my career? How do I get out of bed—”

“Stop,” the master interrupted. “I’ve heard enough. Why don’t you ask the politician or the evangelist?”

“I’m asking you.”

“Well, the evangelist selling lies seems to have found more than I. The politician spouting empty promises, too. Yet, so has the blind woman I pass every morning smiling at the pigeons as though they were her children and the disabled man who sings all day while picking rice under the hot sun. You see, passion is only a horse. Or a violin. The more important question is where do you want to go? What song do you want to learn to play?”

“How do I do that?”

“Stop asking how to smile. Learn to be happy.”