The time for reflection is nigh. As the city dragged itself back to work last week, many of us wondered what we were doing with our lives. For me, this crisis happens on a Sunday. As the last drop of wine is poured and the afternoon sun sets, the space between what I hope to achieve for myself and the reality of my life start to look soberingly different.
Imagine being able to answer that iconic question, “So what do you do,” with “What I love.” I’m lucky enough to be that person. I’ve always wanted to be a writer, but I moved in other directions until a few years back when I had one of those gross existential moments and decided to pursue my passion. Some serious graft, a dwindling bank account and a few meltdowns later: Here I am. Mine is a success story. Well, yes and no.
We’ve raised generations on a seemingly straightforward piece of advice: Follow your heart. Having put the caste system to one side, we’re now signed up to the dangerous belief that anyone can do anything. With a bright idea, enough passion and a garage, there’s no limit to our potential. When we believe that those who live their dream do so on merit alone, we accept that those who don’t couldn’t be bothered. Its career snobbery 2.0 and our worth is defined by an allegiance to the passion mantra.