The tension between loving what you do and making a living

To “love what you do” is a really new idea. And we’re lucky, because it’s an idea born out of relative global stability, and the ability to choose our own future. Our grandparents did not have this luxury — their lives were shaped by world wars, famine, and global explosions of racism and policy. They had bigger things to worry about: being drafted; survival; navigating increasingly complex cultural upheavals. They didn’t have the time, money, or resources to pursue their passions. They were lucky to even discover if they were passionate about anything.

Getting paid for work you like to do is fairly new. And it’s definitely privileged: it reflects a unique position to choose. The economy, while not stable, sustains creativity and rewards meaningful risk for the first time possibly ever. If our parents are supposed to model our expectations, we’re looking at a generation that sacrificed themselves to their pension plans. We’ve seen our parent’s experience of life as a compartmentalized one: work and life had almost nothing to do with each other. They were thinly bound together by the income generated by a job, but so much of one’s life was spent trying to escape their work. I don’t want to split my life in half. I want my work to galvanize my life, not to dull it. My generation could either ride their American dream into obtuse stagnation, or diversify. So we diversified: our method for staying sane.

But with change comes choice. While the working force before us made choices based on their financial position, family work, and ability to go to school, we are finding these paths aren’t relevant to our desire to forge our own way. While traditional schooling is still required for traditional professions like becoming a doctor or lawyer, it’s basically obsolete in the realm of entrepreneurship. Following your dreams down a path of self-reliance and unstructured employment is hugely irrational. Which is why my advice is to start on this when you’re young and have no real idea of what the consequences are. It is difficult to be irresponsible when you are older. The willingness and ability to refuse things like healthcare and a salary diminish rapidly with a mortgage and children. And the benefits aren’t just personal. A new business is like a little tree sprout: very easy to kill. Without a stable of clients and revenue, and the experience to know that the bad times will end, your new venture will absolutely feel like it is spinning its wheels and burning your money. Once you’ve weathered the dark times of your business, you know how to face it the next time it shows its ugly face. Starting a business is about the pleasure of experiencing that pain again. It means you have won, and you know how to beat it. The friends that I drink with–also entrepreneurs–can attest to this. They can also attest to the balming powers of a support group in similar positions. And for alcohol.

To me, and people like me, such hurdles look like speed bumps: I’ll feel their impact, but I’m not going to be derailed, because I have an unflagging confidence that this is going to work out.

So know this. Doing what you love means staring failure in the face every single day. You make friends with your potential to fail. You know it. And it means that that failure is personal. The tension between having made the choice to do what I love, and making a living–it exists because they are the same thing. My work isn’t my life, but I have made a life’s work.