Soft Handed, Callous

When I was in high school, our youth pastor told us about the summers he spent working construction to make ends meet. He would put in these long shifts carrying heavy things in the heat that kept him behaving himself since it was like a preview of the Hell he believed there was. He told us that, to cool off, what he would do is go sit in the porta-potty where the heat was intensified and the baked shit hung thick in the air. He would sit there for a few minutes and then go back to work feeling refreshed because, the air outside seemed cleaner and the 102 degrees didn't seem so bad next to the 115 in the plastic box.

I'm trying to figure out if there's a way I can use this method to increase my ability to channel that raw emotion I keep hearing about into writing. Is a porta-potty analogous to a passionate but short-lived relationship?

On a related note, there are times I wonder what the context was when someone uttered the words "true love always finds a way" because no one separated from what they think is their true love can be that optimistic.

Or maybe I'm just out of my element.