I walked into that room running on empty—
the whole afternoon had been the simply-
getting-through, the bare minimum managed,
the enthusiasm: banished.
But the room had it—four people deep
in something they actually cared about, the sweep
of the genuine moving through the air like weather.
I stood at the edge and pulled myself together.
The borrowed enthusiasm is real enthusiasm—
I pulled the room’s energy into the chasm
of my flat afternoon and ran it hard.
The borrowed enthusiasm: the card
I play when my own is running in the red.
The room had it, I caught it, fed
myself on the group’s wanting—I borrowed
and it worked. The enthusiasm followed.
There’s a science to the positioning—
I find the person in the room whose conditioning
the air with genuine interest, the one
who’s actually lit about the thing. Done
right, proximity is transmission.
I don’t fake it—the borrowed’s real once the mission
of the transfer is complete. I’m running
on what the room was giving. Stunning.
The question is the finding of the rooms—
the rooms with actual people, the perfumes
of the caring, the ones who show up lit.
They’re rarer than the couch but worth it.
The borrowed enthusiasm requires
the room, the people with the fires
of actual interest still burning inside.
I show up. I find them. The borrowed: tried.