Professional passion.

One of the (incredibly lofty) newspaper internships I'm applying for requires that I write an "autobiography" of at least 500 words. Writing about myself isn't terribly difficult (I mean, I do it on here often enough) but trying to remember and decide what's important from the 21 years of my life thus far is strange, at best.

Perhaps the most notable aspect is something I think about often--passion. I think about it and it confuses me. I'm not sure that I have a passion.

I'm a passionate person, that isn't the problem. I'm passionate about life. I still want to do many things. But mainly, these things are not productive on the measurable scale of capitalist development. I feel indifferent about things like running a company or creating products. The many things I want to do are controlled entirely by me--going to X country, learning X language, learning the capitals of every country in the world, learning to cook X kind of food, learning to play a certain instrument, writing a novel, walking or biking a long distance, learning to better understand and appreciate things like physics. None of these things are marketable.

In writing an autobiography for a journalistic internship, I am probably expected to express a passion for journalism. In fact, I do not have one. The truth is, as I've rolled around and peeked at various careers, journalism is simply the most appealing in that, I imagine, it allows me to be as much myself as possible. It gives me not unlimited, but very generous independence in constructing a "product." It allows me to continue learning diverse things on the job as part of the job. It allows me to leave the building and be outside and journey to new places. I am not passionate about the process of framing a journalistic story, but I am often interested in the subject and passionate about my freedom.

Because I have no "professional" passion, I fear the ease of being depressed or at least uninspired in whatever future occupation I am swept into. As I get closer to graduating, this "swept into" thing feels more and more likely. I am a picky human being, hugely idealistic and easily dissatisfied and discouraged. I will have to make money. My skill set, background, and experience are not unusually compelling. And I don't have a professional passion. That means, more than likely, I will have to devote hours to producing something I don't care about rather than learning.

Not sure how to spin this one, autobiography readers. You will want to hear about how my passion for journalism developed and I can't give you that one. All I can offer is why journalism may be one of the few livable options I foresee.

In any case, it doesn't matter a whole hell of a lot. This is the sort of supremely high-end paper that will hire wunderkids who set up makeshift video reports after the tsunami struck on their Thailand vacation, or did independent investigative journalism on the perilous refugee situation in a Central Asian country, and then published it on their blog.

All my blog's got are long-operated, occasionally updated reflections on my life.

Most people I know are excited about working. I am not. I feel dread. Where are you, marketable passion?