The old saying goes, “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” But after ping-ponging around throughout my college career, I can say that’s only half true—because, what do you mean by love anyways?
Generally speaking, you shouldn’t be pursuing something you loathe as your career. At the very least, you should be able to tolerate it. Otherwise, not only will you hate it, but you’ll hate it so much, you’ll suck at it too.
But when you’re a creative, passionate individual with interests that go against the grain, you’re forced to make a lifetime of compromises.
“Being an artist isn’t a real job.”
“That kind of work doesn’t earn a lot.”
“Don’t take such a risk.”
You might find yourself hating just about everything that isn’t in your interests.
But what about burnout? What if, in pursuing this hobby professionally, you end up having to push yourself so hard that all the magic is ruined? Is there even such a thing as a job you can love doing? Or is all work bound to be miserable? Is it really safe to pursue your passions?
My answer? Yes and no. It’s more complicated than just likes and dislikes.
Our pursuits always have a personal meaning to us. Some of our pursuits are meaningful because they bring us joy. Other pursuits are meaningful because they bring satisfaction, like the pride of a job well done. Some relationships with your pursuits might be very personal, almost private. Others could be public-facing, something you don’t just show off, but always perform under a spotlight. Some could even have an altruistic motivation, like something you pursue to fight for a better world.
When you first approach the question of “should I pursue [x] interest professionally,” you shouldn’t just ask yourself whether you like it; you should specifically ask yourself why. Because you don’t just seriously enjoy something for what it is, but what it means to you.
As a creative person myself, I’m going to use my own experiences as an example.
During my first year at UT, I was juggling two huge interests. For one, I really loved songwriting. Since I started in high school, I have always had this wild dream of performing the songs I wrote in front of a huge crowd. Hence, I would often visit the Cactus Cafe’s open mic and share my songs. At Cactus, people actually listen—they even turn off their phones—and after every set, I got to chat with so many musicians and make a ton of musician friends. Every artist loves a good audience, and what wasn’t to love about Cactus? I got to make music, both inspired by other musicians I was passionate about, all while openly expressing myself. I was living the dream.
I was also fighting for another dream as well. As a pre-law student, I knew that if there was one way I could use my skills for a better world, it was through the law. I was captain of my high school’s Congressional Debate and Extemporaneous Speaking teams, and taught debate to middle schoolers. Then, through my Rhetoric & Writing major, I got to refine my persuasive skills, all while learning more and more about the legal field through pre-law oppurtunities on campus. Everything about the law was so fascinating, but in a mortifying way. Like, did you know that western intellectual property law can’t adequately protect chinese traditional medicinal knowledge due to its fundemental cultural differences? Or, that some Applied Behavior Analysis clinics engage in Medicaid fraud through billing unecessarily long sessions, thereby worsening their patients’ conditions? It’s one thing to know that an injustice exists, but learning about the precise legal vulnerabilities that lead to them is not only eye-opening, but empowering too.
I loved both my interests. Asking me to pick one was like asking a parent to pick a favorite child. Though singing is a lot more fun than a 60-page reading.
Nonetheless, I was walking a delicate tightrope balancing my double life. On one evening, I was even triple-booked with a networking event, an open mic, and a Zoom meeting with one of my orgs. Again, you couldn’t ask me to pick! I couldn’t dream of “giving up” one for the other, no matter how awful my schedule would get.
Then I had to pick. Lo and behold, I got burnt out. I had girlbossed straight into the sun and came down with the most ridiculous fever. I was so upset (and also relieved that it was the weekend and I wouldn’t miss class).
People would always say, “Just keep music as a hobby,” thinly veiling their true opinion: “Music has no value to you other than to amuse yourself.” In my mind, with my crowded Google Calendar, if I didn’t take music seriously enough as a career prospect, I wouldn’t take it seriously at all. Otherwise, that whole Tuesday evening I would’ve spent at Cactus would be best off going somewhere else, like studying, another pre-law event, or a well-needed nap. If I stop taking music seriously, then I stop going to Cactus entirely, then I stop writing music, and suddenly, all my discernible musical sparkle is gone.
Saying to “take the middle ground” is impossible when you’re a person who doesn’t like giving a middle effort. I’m not one to waste my time, especially when, as a college student, I barely have any of it to begin with. If I was going to do anything, I was going to give it my 100%—hence the 50/50 split. But when you do the math, that just means giving my 200% all the time.
Eventually, fate chose for me. As the weeks went on and the horizon of graduation grew closer and closer, my academics got more time-consuming. I was working non-stop, and my brain was far too fried to be as creative as before. Seeing as I had no new (good) songs to perform at Cactus, I stopped showing up.
At first, I thought I was doing something crazy. “Luunivaa, this is the exact thing you said you weren’t going to do.” “Luunivaa, you’re going to get rusty.” “Luunivaa, you shouldn’t even bother going back at this point; they’ve probably all moved on.”
The mental dissonace rung louder and louder at the back of my head each day. Every time I’d try to write something, it just wouldn’t sound right, let alone “hit” the way my music used to. I was freaking out. Did I actually lose my sparkle?
No. I was just being dramatic. And drama makes for good music, so, eventually, with enough anxiety backed up in me, I barfed out a song that I actually liked. In that moment, I finally realized what I had already known this whole time.
I didn’t want to pursue music to become some internet celebrity or pop star, risking exploitation by a label. I didn’t want to spend my days toiling over a filtered, crafted, inauthentic public image. I wanted to pursue music to openly express myself and to share my music with others who will listen. To me, music isn’t about perfection and doing everything to appease an audience. It’s about vulnerability, emotional release, and more than anything, respite. And I don’t need to run away from my other passions to give myself that relief. Quite frankly, I would have time for music as someone who “gives it their 100%, 100% of the time” if I gave my 100% prioritizing my mental health.
So what? Don’t even bother trying to pursue your hobby as a career at all? No way. If I said that, I’d be a total hypocrite—I’m literally a writing major.
Instead, I say this: don’t pursue anything seriously before seriously breaking down what it means to you. Especially as a South Asian, I know firsthand how community pressure can shape the way you think, to the point where you’re not even thinking clearly. But remember that you don’t dedicate your life to anyone’s opinion—or directly in spite of it. You dedicate it to no one but yourself.