To me, watching someone do what they love — and do it so amazingly because of their talent and affinity for it — is truly a rush. Kobe knocking down the 3-point playoff shot at the buzzer, Peyton throwing the perfect (and perfectly impossible) touchdown pass, Shaun literally defying gravity as he rides the half pipe to gold — that kind of performance just isn’t possible without passion.

But it’s more than just a sports thing. Anyone who’s ever gone to a Springsteen concert has caught Bruce’s fever for his music, so much so that his performances cannot be contained in fewer than 4 hours. Al Pacino, as the brilliantly ruthless Michael Corleone, disappears into the character, his passion for his craft making that role utterly indelible — and utterly impossible for anyone else to play.  And Steven Spielberg, with his tremendous love of storytelling, has delighted us with the sweetest alien every created — and shattered us with images of the little girl in the red coat in Schindler’s List.

It’s all about the passion, baby.

Which leads me to a 1981 Simon and Garfunkel concert in Central Park. Amidst all the excitement, the crowd noise, and the bright-lights-big-city-ness of the evening, one moment stands out — Art Garfunkel, hands in his pockets, eyes closed, singing a so-beautiful-it’s-almost-sacred version of Bridge Over Troubled Water as if it were just him, the music and the stars. In a voice so pure, so clear, so filled with the love of song, it was enough to bring half a million New Yorkers, myself included, to silence (not an easy thing to do).

Talk about perfect pitch. Talk about the perfect game. Talk about passion. And never stop talking.

© 2014 Claudia Grossman