“Do what you love.” “Do what you enjoy.” “Do something that makes you happy.”
This is the advice we grow up hearing – from teachers, parents, motivational speakers, and Pinterest quotes. It sounds perfect: simple even. Find the one thing that sparks joy and build your entire life around it. A hopeful formula for success and happiness. But behind this well-meaning mantra lies a quieter truth: turning passion into obligation comes with hidden costs we rarely discuss.
The first problem that comes to mind is pressure. When we’re told to make our passion our purpose, it suddenly becomes high stakes, and the stress levels increase. It’s no longer something we enjoy – it’s something we feel we must excel at. A hobby becomes a skill to perfect, a talent becomes a responsibility to maintain, and the thing that once freed us can start to trap us. Enjoyment slowly shifts into expectation. If you don’t constantly improve or achieve, it feels like you’re failing at the one thing that was supposed to be “your” thing: to make life meaningful.
Added, is the fear of losing the joy itself. When you pair your happiness with a single interest – sport, a subject, an ambition – you risk losing both if things go wrong. Injuries, setbacks, boredom, or simply growing up and changing can all make your passion fade. But because the world has told you that this is your thing, stepping away feels like giving up on yourself. Young people especially feel this weight: if you stop loving what you love, who are you? Are you losing part of your identity too?
A bigger hidden cost is the pressure to monetise the things we enjoy. We live in a culture where every hobby can be a business, every talent a career, every skill a “side hustle.” Art becomes content. Funny jokes turn into TikTok videos. Writing becomes a personal brand. The moment you share something you love, people ask: “Have you thought about selling it?” But when passion becomes productivity, joy becomes work. The fun disappears, replaced by deadlines, metrics, and the expectations to constantly produce and perform. The thing that once gave you energy starts to drain it.
There’s also a silent injustice in the idea that everyone should “do what they want.” The truth is that not all passions can pay the bills. Most careers are built not on love, but on stability. Some of the most important work in the world isn’t glamorous or exciting. And telling people that happiness depends on passion makes ordinary, essential jobs seem lesser – even though society relies on them. It creates a world where doing something simply because you’re good at it, or because it matters, feels like settling for something you didn’t want to settle for.
And finally, doing what you love can make you forget to love anything else. If you are putting all your energy into one passion, this can crowd opportunity for friendships, rest, new hobbies, or unexpected interests. It narrows identity instead of expanding it. The world becomes small – not because you lack ambition, but because you’ve invested all your identity in one corner of yourself.
This doesn’t mean we should stop pursuing what brings us joy. Passion is powerful. It motivates, inspires, and shapes us. But it works best when it’s free – not pressured, monetised, or forced into purpose. Doing what you love should be an invitation, not a demand.
Perhaps we need a new kind of advice, one that acknowledges reality and protects joy:
“Do what you love – but don’t make it carry the weight of your whole life. Let your passions breathe. Let them change. Let them be just one part of who you are, not the sole definition.”
Because the real magic of doing what you love is not in achievement, perfection, or success – but in the simple, private joy of loving something for no reason other than the fact that it makes you feel alive.
