I can still remember sitting at some high-school function, listening as some sort of speaker or another droned on about "following our passion". I remember laughing out loud as I sat there.
My passion at the time was fast cars and pretty girls, and at the time I could afford quality in neither of them. In my limited experience, it was already pretty clear that nobody was going to just give me the money required for either of them. Regardless, I was pretty sure that if I followed my passions to their logical endpoints, I was more likely to end up in prison than being Time Magazine's "Man of the Year", so the whole thing kind of rolled off my back.
The "follow you passion" thing always sounded like the Haight/Ashbury philosophy of somebody who was blessed with either good looks or a trust fund (or both) anyhow. It was understood that smart-mouthed punks from small towns in flyover country would need to work in order to acquire things. The trick was in the matter of finding a trade or craft (and that it would be something practical was without question) which suited the raw material I'd been given, and which the marketplace would fairly compensate. I needed it to be tangible, something where I could directly see the results of my effort. Becoming a small cog in a mighty wheel was not going to cut it.
My problem was impatience. School seemed like kicking the can down the road, since I couldn't really major in women, cars, and heavy metal. I was wired to work, and so I worked. A lot.
I didn't have a friend named Steve Wozniak, so I wasn't going to "build the future". I'd grown up digging ditches and baling hay, and my lack of exposure to the nerve-centers of the Death Star left me with the distinct impression that my life's work would be... well... work. I understood that my vocation would probably not be a passion or a vacation, but rather something I'd need to get up and do every day for the next 50 years or so-- something I didn't actively hate, but also something I wasn't going to do just for the heck of it.
I was glad to eventually find something I was good at which was compensated at a level I felt was comparatively fabulous. My search was certainly not targeted in any way, and I doubt I would have chosen it if all of the options had been laid out in front of me. I certainly didn't leverage all of the raw material I'd been gifted.
But it suited me, and it turned out I was good at this thing and that people wanted to give me decent enough money to do it. It mashed buttons inside my head I didn't know I had. I wouldn't have done it for free, but I didn't mind the lousy stuff that drove most other people away. It was unquestionably better than any job that came before it. The stress that is baked in the cake releases just the right amount of adrenaline to clear my head and point me straight problems which need to be solved-- and if there has one thing I have consistently liked, it is an adrenaline high. The stubbornness that checkmated me in other undertakings drove me to solutions in this vocation. It's been a good fit.
My job afforded me the opportunity to explore many avenues I never would have had otherwise, and paid for things and experiences I never thought I'd have-- but I've never thought about doing it for fun. When I am done doing it, I'll be forever done with it.
I've got family and hobbies, and I try to live with a purpose greater than my own comfort in order to provide fulfilment. At the core, like most of us-- I'm selfish and lazy, and I've tried to shake these tendencies off. "Following my muse" has always seemed like a great way to make sure that nothing I did really mattered to anybody but me.
I know that there are people for whom work is something they'd do for free, but they seem to be outliers and freaks of nature to beat up old pipefitters like me. I look at it the same way I look at professional athletes or titans of commerce or exceptionally attractive people-- it's nice for them, but it has no relevance whatsoever to my situation. I feel like my situation is more common than not.
I'm running what I've got, and what I've got is baked in the cake. I'm not chasing after any rainbows until my slice of cheese is well and fully moved. I figure I'll know when that time comes. If that means I'm forever a small fish in a small pond, I'm 100% good with it... as long as I've got a family who loves me, a decent place to live, cars to tinker with, and some purpose larger than myself.
We should all be so blessed.