Passion Doesn't Strike. It Rises.
It started with a message in the private chat. Not a big one. Just a quiet celebration tucked into the morning thread. "I've started painting again…" And there it was. That word again. Passion.
It started with a message in the private chat.
Not a big one. Not a public post with confetti and caps lock.
Just a quiet little celebration, tucked into the morning thread.
“I’ve started painting again… I got so much joy out of getting that easel because of my connection with you. I’m finally making progress on writing and illustrating the children’s books that I’m passionate about…”
And there it was.
That word again.
Passion.
We talk about it like it’s supposed to announce itself with a neon sign.
Like one day you’ll wake up and BAM—clarity. Purpose. Direction. A burning desire that makes everything else fall away.
But the truth is, most of the time, it doesn’t strike.
It builds.It builds in stolen moments.
In late-night urges, in that odd magnetism you feel toward something you used to love but forgot how to touch.
It builds in community.
In rooms like ours, where nobody’s trying to be the expert, but everybody’s practicing the art of returning to themselves.
When she shared that story, I flashed back to the first time I realized my own passion wasn’t gone—it was just buried under a thousand dusty layers of obligation, performance, and daily grind.
I didn’t have a grand vision, but I did have a notebook and a decision:
To keep writing until something true came out. That was the beginning.
And now? A year later?
I’m watching women who thought they were too old, too tired, too late—
Choose themselves again. Pick up their brush. Start their book.
Not because I told them how.
But because they saw the light flicker in someone else and said, maybe me too.
That’s what passion is.
It’s not loud. It’s contagious.
And it becomes possible again when you’re not trying to find it alone.
The Lie We’ve Been Told About Passion
For decades, we’ve been sold a story about passion:
That it’s something you FIND.
That it’s supposed to feel CERTAIN.
That if you don’t have it by a certain age, you missed your window.
But here’s what I’ve learned watching women rewire their lives at 60, 65, 70:
Passion doesn’t expire. It goes dormant.
It goes dormant because:
You spent 30 years raising kids and there was no TIME for what lit you up.
You spent decades in a career that paid the bills but didn’t feed your soul.
You spent years being CONVENIENT—showing up for everyone else’s vision while yours collected dust.
And one day, you woke up and thought:
“I don’t even know what I want anymore.”
But here’s the thing:
You DO know.
You’ve just been trained not to listen.
How Passion Actually Returns
It doesn’t return in a flash of inspiration.
It returns in WHISPERS.
A whisper that says:
“Remember when you used to paint?”
“Remember when you wrote poetry in college?”
“Remember when you could lose an entire afternoon in the kitchen, experimenting with recipes?”
And for most of us, we hear that whisper and immediately shut it down.
“That was a long time ago.”
“I’m not good enough.”
“What’s the point?”
But what if the whisper isn’t asking you to be GOOD?
What if it’s just asking you to RETURN?
The Woman Who Started Painting Again
When she wrote that message in our chat, she wasn’t announcing a career change.
She wasn’t declaring herself an artist.
She was just naming the truth:
“I started painting again.”
Not every day. Not with a plan.
Just... again.
And you know what happened?
Other women in the chat started saying:
“I’ve been thinking about picking up my guitar.”
“I used to write poetry. Maybe I’ll try again.”
“I signed up for a pottery class.”
Not because I said “go find your passion.”
But because ONE woman gave herself permission—and that permission spread.
That’s how passion returns.
Not in isolation. In RESONANCE.
My Story: How I Found My Way Back
A year ago, I was 69 years old.
I had no car. No steady income. No clear path forward.
But I had notebooks.
Decades of them. Filled with words I’d written in margins, on receipts, in spiral-bound journals I’d shoved in drawers and forgotten about.
And I had a choice:
Take a $13-an-hour job I didn’t want...
Or bet on the whisper that said: “Your words could help someone.”
I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t have a platform.
I just had the decision to start. So, I did.
I started writing. Daily. Publicly. On Substack.
And here’s what I discovered:
Passion doesn’t show up BEFORE you start.
It shows up BECAUSE you start.
The first posts were shaky. Uncertain.
I didn’t know if anyone would read them. I didn’t know if I had anything worth saying.
But I kept going.
And slowly—one post at a time, one comment at a time, one connection at a time— Something caught fire.
Not because I had it all figured out. But because I was WILLING to figure it out as I went.
What If You Don’t Know What Your Passion Is?
I hear this all the time:
“I don’t have a passion.”
“I don’t know what lights me up anymore.”
“I’ve been so busy taking care of everyone else, I’ve lost myself.”
If that’s you, here’s what I want you to try:
1. Start with what you keep thinking about.
Not what you SHOULD be passionate about.
Not what looks good on paper.
What keeps showing up in your thoughts when you’re washing dishes or driving or lying awake at 3am?
That’s not random.
That’s your soul trying to get your attention.
2. Start with what used to make you lose track of time.
Before the kids. Before the career. Before the obligations.
What did you do that made hours feel like minutes?
You might say: “But that was so long ago. I’m not that person anymore.”
And I’ll say: You’re right. You’re not.
But that PART of you? It’s still in there.
3. Start with one thing you’d do—even if no one clapped.
This is the real test.
If NO ONE saw it. If NO ONE praised you. If NO ONE said “good job”—
What would you still want to do?
That’s your passion. Not the thing that gets you recognition. The thing that feeds your SOUL.
And if you’re sitting here thinking: “I honestly don’t know. I’ve been disconnected for so long, I don’t even have a whisper”—
Start even smaller.
Start with: What do I NOT want?
Sometimes we can’t hear what we’re DRAWN to because the noise of what we’re TRAPPED in is too loud.
So start with subtraction:
What am I doing that drains me?
What obligation am I keeping out of guilt?
What am I performing that doesn’t feel like me anymore?
Clear the noise first.
The whisper will come.
Passion Doesn’t Require Permission
Here’s what I’ve learned watching women reclaim their passions:
The biggest obstacle isn’t time. It’s not money. It’s not talent.
It’s the belief that you need permission to start.
Permission from:
Your family (to take time for yourself)
Your spouse (to spend money on “your thing”)
The world (to be good enough to try)
Yourself (to want something just for you)
But here’s the truth:
No one is going to give you permission.
You have to take it.
Come Sit With Us
If you think you don’t have a passion…
If you’ve been waiting for clarity before you start…
If you’re afraid it’s too late, you’re too old, you’ve missed your window…
Come sit with us.
Because in this community, we don’t retire. We don’t fade. We don’t wait to be invited.
We rewire. We reclaim. We follow the flicker.
And day by day, in the chat, in the comments, in the quiet celebrations no one else sees—
We remember:
Passion doesn’t strike.
It rises.
It rises when you give yourself permission.
It rises when you see someone else do the thing you’ve been afraid to try.
It rises when you stop waiting for certainty and start moving toward the whisper.
And it rises faster when you’re not doing it alone.
So Here’s My Invitation:
What’s the whisper you’ve been ignoring?
What used to light you up that you’ve set aside?
What would you do—even if no one clapped?
Share it in the comments.
Not because I need to know.
But because NAMING it is the first step toward RECLAIMING it.
And who knows?
Maybe your whisper will spark someone else’s.
Maybe your “I started painting again” will be the permission someone else needs to pick up their guitar.
That’s how passion spreads.
Not through grand announcements.
Through quiet celebrations.
Through one woman saying: “Maybe me too.”
You’re not too late.
Your passion isn’t gone.
It’s just waiting for you to come back.
P.S. If you’re ready to stop waiting and start reclaiming—this is the space for it.
In our private chat, women are sharing their quiet victories daily. Not performing. Just DOING.
“I started painting again.”
“I booked the trip.”
“I said no without explaining.”
30% off annual subscriptions through January 17 + a “We Don’t Retire, We Rewire” mug.
There you go again Monica, talking about me behind my back! How DO you dig up this dirt on total strangers lol? Every time I read your Substack, there’s a line or 10 that grab me. This morning it was: “because they saw the light flicker in someone else and said, maybe me too.”
That’s exactly what happened to me just before turning 69. A colleague was musing about chucking it all and changing their career. My knee jerk reaction was why would you walk away from an established career at your age… and within a nanosecond it flipped to “Why the hell not?” But I wasn’t just thinking of them. Within days I started writing a book, which is now approaching publication, ideas for course and product ideas are overflowing and I’m getting close to launching. Along the way I’ve discovered passion, purpose and joy.
Thank you for clarity, Monica. I will turn 72 next week. I bought myself a brand new flute for Christmas, as my flute from high school days is antique and unplayable. Last week I made the decision to retire this coming fall, and notified HR. I had been marveling at my own growth points and now I realize, with your help, that I’ve been listening to the whispers of my soul!! My ears are going to stay open going forward.