Don’t we wish they were one and the same? Because that’s the dream, right?
Picture this: Each morning you waltz down the cobblestone path to your vine covered studio, clad in a breezy white linen tunic with soft leather (vegan leather if you like) shoes in teal or raspberry or sage that appear to have been crafted by a hobbit to your exact specifications, but on you they look somehow elegant and effortless.
You slowly sip your cold-brewed coffee as you prepare to start your day. You’ll spend the next 2 or 3 hours on a painting, or that screenplay you’re writing; only interrupted by the chirps of the chubby bluebirds on the windowsill as they serenade the Shetland pony in the field across from your organic garden.
Your phone rings and it’s your editor or your agent or George Clooney hoping you can join them for a quick bite–on their yacht–to discuss how much they love your current paintings/screenplay/novel/in-depth exposé of what is really in tofu.
Oh, and then you wake up. And realize that although what you really want to be doing is paint/write/share your brilliance, reality hits. You know what I’m talking about; those pesky things like paying the electric bill, raising the children (apparently they don’t raise themselves) and going out for the occasional meal you don’t have to cobble together yourself.
So is it unrealistic to expect your passion to hand you a paycheck now and then? Maybe. But when you get right down to it—maybe your passion might take the form of writing or painting but it’s really about what your purpose is in doing that thing. Do you want to help people say things that are hard to say? Do you want to bring joy and happiness to others? Do you want to stir things up, rattle a few cages?
Because maybe if you switch “your what” to focus on “your why” you can start to imagine the value—and if it resonates with some, it might just resonate with others.
Then you can spend the afternoon strolling through the woods to find that hobbit cobbler–I hear he now offers those shoes in celadon.