In the past, I had many dream jobs that I envisioned myself to be in.
I wanted to be a gynaecologist on the vague assumptions that I’m good at biology, get to interact with women and babies, and that being a doctor is a prestigious occupation. This dream of mine was shattered pretty quickly when I discovered I had an intense fear of gore (blood, pain, etc) and am horrible at Chemistry.
Then, I wanted to be a lawyer because my cousin was studying Law. This dream was snuffed out once again after I joined the Debate Club and realised I am so bad at impromptu speeches and arguments.
After three years of studying Communications at university and landing an internship at an agency, I aspired to be a Creative Director. Isn’t it just so cool and fun to be in-charge of creative campaigns and launch them to the world? I’m okay with low pay and long working hours. Just get me into an agency once I graduate!
An older friend heard about this and smugly told me I’d become more realistic when I joined the workforce.
So, after 5 years in the workforce, am I a Creative Director yet?
Sadly, no, but here’s an insanely important thing I learnt – a more sustainable, and often more fulfilling, path is to work on what you’re good at, not necessarily what you’re most passionate about.
We’re constantly told to “follow your passion”.
Find what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life.
It’s a comforting idea, a romantic notion that floats across social media feeds and commencement speeches. But like many comforting ideas, it often overlooks a crucial, gritty truth about how the world, and our own psychology, actually works.
Don’t get me wrong – your passion can and should be a vital part of your life. But asking it to pay the bills, manage deadlines, and endure the inevitable frustrations of commerce can often extinguish the very spark you cherish.
Here’s why divorcing your deepest passion from your daily grind might be the smartest move you make.
1. The burden of expectations can kill joy
When your passion becomes your paycheck, it’s no longer just your passion. It’s now burdened by client demands, market trends, financial targets, and the relentless need to produce.
The moment your baked cookies have to sell, your writing has to rank, or your music has to stream, a subtle shift occurs.
The pure, unadulterated joy that drew you to it can begin to erode, replaced by stress, compromise, and the fear of failure.
Imagine loving to write whenever you’re free, experimenting with different deep ideas and styles. Pure joy.
Now imagine writing to rank your website: tracking web traffic, fierce competition, and a constant worry about dipping traffic. The articles might still be there, but the feeling changes drastically.
The passion can become a chore, then a resentful obligation.
2. Money changes everything
The commercialisation of a passion introduces a new, powerful metric: money.
Suddenly, your inherent love for the activity is measured by external validation – likes, traffic, views, and revenue.
This can warp your creative process. You might find yourself making decisions based on what’s profitable or popular, rather than what truly inspires you.
A musician who loves experimenting with obscure sounds might find themselves forced to produce pop jingles to pay rent. A writer who cherishes crafting intricate narratives might be pressured to churn out clickbait articles.
The drive to earn can override the drive to create authentic work, subtly eroding your connection to the very thing you once adored.
3. You might not be good enough (yet)
Sorry, but this is the cold, hard truth.
Being passionate about something doesn’t automatically mean you’re excellent at it, or that you can become excellent enough to compete professionally.
You tried your best, but that doesn’t mean you should be rewarded for it.
The world rewards competence and value, not just enthusiasm. If your passion is something you’re merely average at, turning it into a career means a constant uphill battle against those who are naturally gifted or have put in far more deliberate practice.
It’s better to be good at something the market values, even if it feels less “passionate” on day one, and cultivate your passion elsewhere.
Kill joy article but! There’s hope.
If chasing your deepest passion as a career carries these risks, then what’s the alternative?
Lean into what you’re genuinely good at.
This isn’t always the most romantic advice, but it’s often the most practical and, surprisingly, the most fulfilling in the long run.
1. The market rewards value
Your competence creates tangible value for others, whether it’s solving their problems, improving their efficiency, or creating something they desire. This alignment translates into career stability, growth opportunities, and financial security – the very things that provide the freedom to pursue passions elsewhere, without pressure.
2. Competence compounds
When you focus on your strengths, you amplify them.
Being good at something makes it easier to get even better, faster.
This compounding effect on your skills leads to exponential growth in your expertise and, by extension, your professional value. The more you excel, the more opportunities arise, creating a virtuous cycle that can lead to unexpected and profoundly fulfilling career paths.
3. Passion can follow mastery
We often assume passion must come first.
But for many, a deep, lasting passion for a field or activity emerges after they’ve achieved a significant level of mastery.
You might start a job because you’re good at it, or because it offers stability. But as you learn, grow, solve problems, and achieve success, a genuine interest – even a profound passion – can bloom.
The satisfaction of competence can be the fertile ground where true vocational love takes root, evolving from “I’m good at this” to “I truly love doing this”.
Ultimately, the goal is to build a life that feels meaningful and sustainable. Sometimes, that means making smart, pragmatic choices about where you direct your professional energy. Let your passions thrive in their natural, uncommercialised habitat instead.
And that’s why I deliberately don’t write my articles to rank and simply let Google do its own work without any other extra steps.
Because while the teenage me dreamed of a fancy title, the adult me found far greater satisfaction in doing what I do well, allowing the pursuit of passion to remain a joyful, unburdened journey, rather than just another item on a corporate checklist.