Last week the subdivision where we live hosted an official “Night Out”. It’s an annual event where everyone in the neighborhood is supposed to turn off their TVs and Game Boys, the men set aside their knitting, the ladies climb out from underneath the cars, and everyone moseys on out to the street and gets to know the neighbors. Or something.

(Just so ya know – mosey is an expression that makes one think of an old-time cowboy walking around while wearing those big heavy chaps on his legs, thereby causing a peculiar type of gait reminiscent of wading through deep mud.)

Well, as luck would have it, Mrs. MZM and I were at a meeting that night until about 8 pm, so we didn’t get back until late. As we made our way back through our neighborhood (our place is way at the back of the subdivision), we scanned the side streets for small gatherings but saw very few people out. I’m not sure if we were too late, or if nobody could be bothered – or if it was just too hot (95ºF at 8 pm is a mite warm, even for us!)

Anyway, as we pulled into our driveway, I noticed two men talking in the street about four houses down (hey, it’s OK to play in our street – it’s a short one with a cul-de-sac on each end and thus no traffic). Well, since we’re still relatively new to the street I thought I’d mosey on over and say hello. (Besides, it’d been a while since I’d moseyed anywhere and I needed the practice.)

You’re familiar with the ritual men go through when they first meet each other, right? First there’s the initial sizing up (hmmm… I’m much taller than he is), then a few tentative exploratory questions (“Hey, how ‘bout them Steelers, huh?”, or the classic, “I notice you drive a Rolls Royce. How’s that baby handle in traffic?”), followed by the outright comparisons (“Hey, what do you do for a living?”). It’s called “measuring”, and we all do it, whether consciously or not. Once past that stage, then and only then can we move on to other important “stuff”.

Anyway, as these two fellas and I began the obligatory “what do you do” dance, something interesting happened. As we each told a little about ourselves, you could literally see each one of us light up with enthusiasm as we described what we enjoyed most about what we did for a living. It was really amazing.

It caused me to reflect a bit on how refreshing it was to talk to folks who had a real passion for what they do. You can see it in their eyes, their mannerisms, the way they move their hands and hear it in their voices. I mean, passionate people are fun to talk to and to be with! I had a thoroughly enjoyable hour visiting with them both, despite the constant harassment from our giant Texas-sized mosquitoes.

So, lemme ask ya this: are you passionate about what you do? Are you exposed (eek! no, not that kind of exposure, silly!) to passionate people on a regular basis?

Well, Bubba, maybe you should go out and find some!