I see people getting passionate about truly meaningless things--sports, writers, religion--and I don't understand how we are so willing to hold on to things that really make no difference. Does it matter if Stephen King's characters are flat while Flannery O'Connor's are not? Does it matter if some people swim on swim on the Sabbath, while others only wade?
I catch myself often as well. I get worked up because Trudy left peelings in the sink, and it takes me some time to realize how stupid I am being.
Passion is a glorious thing, and as such, it is easily distracted from its purpose.
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