A single tone drones on in the background. The taste of wet cardboard lingers in my mouth. It’s been there for years now. The world around me varies from a range of light and dark grays. Monotony clouds the air, suffocating, all-consuming. There are voices that tell me I’m supposed to see past a field of neutral tones, but what’s the use in fighting when you’re used to a colorless existence? It’s easy to sink into it. The emptiness is deafening.  
Every once in a while, the grays and the whites are dyed shades of cornflower, mustard, and lilac. A conversation comes to mind, a friend radiating with confidence, direction, and drive. She is a prism of resplendent glory, a luminary of fiery passion. She is the ROY, G, and the BIV that refract into the trillions of photons, littering the universe with cascades of color. “I want to become a veterinarian.” She says, full of conviction and determination. And for a moment, I can see the colors, too. I cling to her intensity in hopes that somehow, in some way, I could siphon just a fraction of her luminosity. But I know this isn’t true. It isn’t realistic. The colors so radiant and beautiful are fleeting moments at best, and they dissipate in front of my very eyes. I am left, again, with the same drab, monochromatic world that has held me in its grasp for so long. The taste of cardboard returns. Once again, I am lost. I am dull. This is what it feels like to be passionless.
Life without a passion has the consistency of a bowl of cold oatmeal, the texture of stale bread, and the flavor of unseasoned chicken. It’s like navigating the Labyrinth with nothing but a flashlight and a piece of string. It is the feeling that life is a gray, desiccated field, stretching farther and farther into unknowable distances, and you’re treading along it, with the blistering sun on your back, hoping that someday, you’ll find yourself somewhere. Things around you don’t entice you like they once did. The only books that you read are textbooks, and only because there will be a test over the material the next day. As your eyes graze past the lines, you realize how much you don't care about the Bolshevik Revolution. Conversations with adults always somehow end up with questions ranging from “What do you want to be when you grow up?” to “Where do you want to go for college?” and “What do you want to study in college?” The answer is always “I don’t know.” I don’t know where I’m going to college, or what I want to be, or what I want to study because nothing that I’ve done interests me. And I wonder,how did this happen? These are the secrets that only the universe has the answers to.
There used to be a time when the gray skies of my existence were colored brilliant blues, and the barren fields were lush with emerald green grass. Cerulean rivers raged through the cosmos while ardor and zeal poured from me like the Niagara.I had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, but above all, I had passion. There was an endless amount of curiosity for the seemingly boundless days of my childhood. I wanted to be an etymologist. No! A chemist. No! A librarian. I wanted to be everything!]As the years went by, and the refinements of maturity settled, somehow, everything turned into nothing. The rivers were dammed, and the waterfalls were reduced to a mere trickle. The joys that my cello once brought me in the years past only brings me frustration now. I can barely even remember how to play a tune on the piano as it seems that the music has all but left my fingers. At times, I feel as if I am a wooden husk of an earlier version of myself, going through the motions of day-to-day life, trying to find that something that may reignite a fire that was smothered long ago.
On some days, I don’t feel so lackluster. More often than not, the response to my “I don’t knows” are met with “It’s okays" and “You aren’t alones”. And for a moment, the grayscale ethers become just a little more pigmented. It’s a little comforting to know that there are others traversing this limitless desert with you. The dunes conjure up fantastical mirages of false hope as they tower up and disappear into the vast oceans of hot sand. We find solace in the little moments. The moments where nobody has it figured out, and the fear is shared. We’re going to be okay. And I can almost start to see color again.
I’ve learned that there isn’t just one exit. There are side doors, and windows, and roof access points. Sometimes, they let in breezes that tinge the room with different shades of gray. Sometimes, there’s color. More than ever now, it’s both at once. Living life without a passion does not mean living life lost. Not all who wander, and all that. It seems like the motivational posters plastered around the school love that idea, but I think I finally understand what it means. Wandering an unbeaten path has the possibilities of leading to new places and new experiences. I may not have found my true calling, but I can certainly try. There’s an infinite amount of knowledge out there, and an infinite amount of possibilities to find something that I love. There’s an oasis in the middle of the desert. I’ve stumbled upon it. I take a sip. The water flows through my veins, and the world is a brilliant rainbow. It’s okay if it fades again. I’ll be seeing a different shade of gray.