Thinking of people I’ve known over the years, I keep coming across memories of individuals who blazed intensely, almost compulsively, for a period – say as a poet or in a religious practice – and then vanished. And then there are others who have faithfully stayed the course.
It comes down to those who blaze for a season versus those who keep growing and deepen.
We could look at flowers and vegetables that are classified annuals, of course, or to the orchard and vineyard.
Still, I miss the ones who’ve vanished. Their loss reminds me of winter.
Jnana's Red Barn 
Is it a matter of tempering enthusiasm, or just of making sure your roots grow deep enough to sustain? I’ve often wondered.
Or maybe a matter of our personal demons?
When Anais Nin wrote that we each have one, my initial reaction was, “Just one?”
Either way, what follows is a human drama.
Maybe they put all their passion into one event/item and then they are spent. Passion is hard to maintain over a long period of time. But I’m with you. I miss those with passion when their light goes out.