#6 After Academia: Should you "follow your passion" or "assume you're not Jay-Z"?
For this entry I take a sojourn in a dilemma that troubles so many of us. But is the maxim "follow your passion" based on problematic assumptions about work, value and happiness?
Regular readers may have noticed it’s taken me a little longer to get this entry out. But since I’m now my own editor and deadline enforcer, I’m giving myself a break. Those internal pressures of productivity expectations have not abated since I left my academic role in August. If anything, being one’s own taskmaster can be less forgiving than having institutional line managers.
After all, there you always are—the boss—knowing and judging what you have and haven’t done.
I’ve also had the external pressure of a book chapter deadline. This particular revision phase has felt like a writing purgatory, especially for a mediocre perfectionist like me. It’s not that I’m unreceptive to feedback and “criticism” these days. But with academic writing, the default evaluative pronouncement is to add more—more theory, more interpretation.
To be fair, streamlining and cutting out extraneous prolixity usually does a service to anyone’s writing.
I’ve never seen an academic editor or reviewer suggest doing less or taking things out. I always find it ironic, especially when you’re told there’s no leeway on word count, and you’re already 378 words over the limit. Wrestling the piece into shape for resubmission has been a struggle. Getting lost in restructuring—moving sentences and passages around—has had a ripple effect, undermining the flow. And I was using every procrastination technique available.
Completeness is such a contingent thing. Is anything creative ever truly complete? You just have to decide to stop. And in academic writing, there’s almost always a compromise for the sake of conformity.
By Friday evening, it wasn’t finished—but I was. Pressing "send" was more an act of self-defence than self-confidence.
During this week of struggle, when I wasn’t exactly "enjoying" writing in the traditional sense, I relied on discipline rather than motivation—let alone creative pleasure—to get something done. I’ve been musing on the contradictory narratives around passion versus pragmatism.
The algorithmic overlords—through some kind of psycho-digital surveillance of my cognitive dissonance (or maybe it was just coincidence)—seem to have taken pleasure in providing a diet of contradictory content about that old chestnut: “following your passion.” Intentional or not, it felt like I was being trolled.
Of course, this dilemma is hardly new. Thinking about what drives and inspires you, what endeavours and actions bring meaning and happiness, and whether it’s possible—or even desirable—to shape those into a career that can sustain you, is a common preoccupation.
There are many subtle variations on this theme, of course. The authenticity anxiety: Am I truly being me? The regret question: If only I had made a different decision, things would be different. The talent paradigm: Am I actually good enough at this? The value maxim: Is this worthwhile? You can no doubt add more. (I’ve made up these particular labels, but hopefully, you get the point.)
In recent years, perhaps heightened by the collective self-reflection COVID provoked, this question has become more pressing. Leaving aside the actual horror of the virus, the pandemic served as a mass experiment in self-reflection for many. Granted, for doctors, nurses, and other “essential workers” (remember that phrase?), the question of whether they were “following their passion” was far more existential. The Great Resignation entered our vocabulary after many chose not to return to work, having taken time away from the rat race. I’ve always found irony in the double meaning of the word “resignation.”
People resign from their jobs because they no longer want to feel resigned in their jobs.
Another factor in this shift is the digital window that offers a panoramic view of seemingly unattainable lifestyles.
The question of how to navigate the passion/work conundrum has an intellectual lineage that spans the social sciences, economics, and philosophy.
On one side, there is what I’m calling the romantic idealist perspective. From this point of view, you should “follow your passion,” “build a career doing something you love,” and then “you’ll never work a day in your life.” American philosopher John Dewey wrote about meaningful work being derived from the personal expression of one’s unique abilities and interests. The mythologist Joseph Campbell discusses the idea of “following your bliss” in the video below:
You can accept or reject the quasi-spiritual grounding that Joseph Campbell uses to underpin his idea of "bliss" as he sees it—an umbilical connection to a joy that is somehow essential to one’s grounding within experience. There is a caveat of realism here that Campbell rightfully acknowledges. Take, for example, the moment when a student’s eyes light up because you’ve managed to open something up for them—you can see that you’ve attuned to their wavelength. This is the zone where “learning” has a chance to flourish.
A quick aside: Without being facetious, it seems that Campbell had more time to devote to his students than the average academic does today. Staff-student ratios now mean that such conversations have become instrumentalized.
But what Campbell is advocating is that one must find a way to shape a life around this “intuition of joy.”
In our Western secular context, it’s interesting how more metaphysical strains of thinking have gained popularity. Perhaps this is a result of growing dissatisfaction with 20th-century societal and institutionally defined criteria for success and happiness. One such advocate of this approach is author Robert Greene:
I have to admit I had a wry smile when I first saw this video. After years of teaching students who saw “writing in Hollywood” as the ultimate dream, it led me to the conclusion that dreams of an ideal life are all relative—a constructed, messy narrative formed out of the chaos of our socialization and psychology.
What’s fascinating, though, is how Greene reflects on the contradiction between soulful creativity and economic pragmatism. His solution is to demand a leap of faith: “If you do what you love, the money will come.”
This is one of those notions that triggers my own cognitive dissonance and is now playing out in real time in my choice to leave academia. I’m sure this advice seems, at best, naive and, at worst, thoroughly condescending if you’re a struggling writer, actor, artist, or sportsperson. You’ve been working for years, honing your craft, trying to reach a point where joy can be expressed without the constant undercut of economic reality. Maybe that’s the wrong mindset to begin with, as Greene alludes to.
I have always been skeptical of this “trust the universe” mantra. The willingness to have faith that serendipity will magically make things fall into place if you just let it happen strikes me, ironically, as a product of Western entitlement (ironic because it has its roots in Eastern religious and mystical traditions). What if you live in abject poverty, a war zone, an abusive relationship, or under repressive religious or political constraints? The very concept of “following your passion” as a possibility can seem like flagrant entitlement.
Without being too pious, I’ve thought about this in relation to my own situation. There are economic and life-support systems that have allowed me to make a more idealistic choice. However, I do find myself having to “trust” that things will work out. I’m not going so far as to say that this intuitive sense—that I needed to rethink what I was doing—will somehow be reciprocated by the universe. But I’ve had to reject the fear of uncertainty, a fear that is both psychologically driven and instilled in us by the capitalist system.
There must be a more pragmatic reading of the cult of “manifestation,” one that ignores the cosmic energy part but keeps the idea that orienting yourself to the world, and the processes and attitudes towards work, offers a better chance at success.
Greene’s mindset ties into the discourse we often hear from celebrities who espouse the “follow your passion” mantra. Success in a field with very low odds may require supreme talent, but the core narrative you often hear from famous people is that single-minded dedication is key. Luck is rarely mentioned.
Below is Margot Robbie discussing the idea of “wanting it more.”:
Robbie seems to suggest a unique type of desire that is so intrinsic and forceful, as to be undeniable. And reading between the lines, you get the impression of an implied paradox: that success is both available to everyone (because it’s about hard work, giving everything, not taking no for an answer etc), and out of reach because the required desire is reserved for the exceptional.
Now, on the other hand, we have the pragmatic realist position. This viewpoint suggests you should ignore ephemeral and abstract notions of passion and instead find what you’re good at—what you have the potential to get paid for—and then work as hard as you can to be the best in that field.
This way of thinking can be linked to well-known historical and philosophical maxims like the Protestant work ethic. Max Weber, in this context, outlines discipline and duty not only as central to the expansion of capitalism and a social necessity but also as feeding a human moral discipline. For Marx, of course, the notion that “following your passion” is even possible within a capitalist context is something to be rejected. Alienated workers are defined by exploitative structures of labor.
That image of the alienated worker is everywhere in popular culture, yet there has been a resurgence of thought that challenges the “follow your passion” thesis.
Mark Manson, author of The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, critiques the discourses of romantic idealism, arguing that it sets most people up for failure and disappointment. In this video (starting at 15:50), he suggests that the often maligned advice of conservative parents—to find a secure career that pays well—is actually the best advice a young person can get:
It’s obvious that the idea of a dream job—a job that’s 100% dream—is a myth. Even if you’re doing something you love, there will always be aspects of the work that are borne out of necessity. There will also be times when the thing you thought you’d always love becomes a chore.
The value of competence—training to be good at something you may not love at first—can create a deep sense of fulfilment. The ability to build on a clear talent, develop something you are recognisably good at, and work to become highly skilled in a particular area is the core idea of So Good They Can’t Ignore You by Cal Newport.
The outspoken Scott Galloway, whose writing and speaking blend business advice with social commentary, makes no bones about his view on the “follow your passion” advice. He claims that anyone who tells you to follow your passion is already rich. Galloway is even more pragmatic than Manson, suggesting that you should deliberately seek out areas where the earning potential is high and there is ample opportunity.
Galloway’s maxim seems to be that economic security is the first principle when thinking about work. When told to “follow your passion,” the implication is that if it becomes difficult—i.e., real work—it’s not your passion anymore. Passion, he argues, should be our weekend activities, it’s fairly safe to assume you are not the undiscovered genius you might think you are.
“Jay-Z followed his passion and became a billionaire. Assume you’re not Jay-Z.”
This raises a fundamental paradox: how do you reconcile the possibility of rarefied (or even just adequate) success if the best option is being pragmatic and going into something the primary aim of which economic stability? As a young person starting out, it’s difficult to know if you have "talent." When you’re young doing the things you enjoy is sort of the point, are most of us the consequence of messy decision-making? Yes, there are prodigies where it seems obvious that their rise to the top is assured. But history is also replete with those who achieved success after years of work or found success later in life when they finally pursued what they always wanted to do.
On some level, most decisions we make about trying something new require a wilful ignorance of the realities of probability. This often means rejecting the advice of parents, friends, and teachers who are trying to steer you away from the idealistic choice toward the pragmatic one. One of the things you hear all the time from those who have “made it” is: "I had to ignore all the naysayers, all the people who didn’t believe in me."
Equally, it’s always abundantly clear when someone needs a cold dose of frosty reality. Somewhere a rogue molecule of my brain still holds the residue of belief that I’m going to be a Wimbledon champion. But even in my youth, that possibility was so unlikely. Sports were my childhood thing, but with my objective hat I can see I was quite good at most things, but never great at anything. I often wonder what would have happened if I’d had a stronger sense of pragmatic direction earlier in life. Still, there’s nothing worse than maudlin "shoulda, woulda, coulda" stories.
This has always been an interesting dichotomy, but it holds even more resonance now as I’ve taken the plunge to leave a stable career in academia. Among many reasons, I felt too constrained by the bureaucracy and managerialism. of Higher Education. I’m hoping that by leveraging the skills and experience I already have, this isn’t a complete shot in the dark. I can always return to an institutional job. Now, working online—writing, podcasting, filmmaking, and educating—I’m spending more time doing the things I want to do. However, I’m realistic about the fact that this must be treated as work, with its ups and downs. And I may come to view it as a mistake.
For the time being, I’m embracing a somewhat contradictory position. I’m leaning into the metaphysical idea that things will work out as they will and that leaning into these facets of creative work will provide the fulfilment I hope they do. But I also hope the value of what I produce will transcend the psychological, the intuitive, and the joyful, moving into the realm of pragmatic economics.
Thanks, I really enjoyed reading this!