“Follow your passion.”
It is probably one of the most repeated pieces of advice in modern life. It appears in commencement speeches, self-help books, career blogs, and motivational videos. We are told that somewhere inside us lies a passion waiting to be discovered, and that happiness depends on finding it.
But is passion actually a thing?
Or is it an idea we have collectively romanticized?
Think about something you once believed you were passionate about. You bought the books, watched the videos, maybe even spent money on the hobby. For a few days—or a few weeks—you were completely immersed.
Then, without warning, the excitement faded.
The guitar gathered dust. The language-learning app stopped sending meaningful reminders. The notebook filled with ambitious plans remained unfinished.
If passion were real, why does it disappear so easily?
It makes me wonder whether passion is less of a human instinct and more of a modern invention—an attractive idea that keeps an entire self-improvement industry alive.
For most of human history, people rarely asked themselves what they were passionate about.
Centuries ago, kings spent their lives pursuing power. They fought wars, formed alliances, defended kingdoms, and expanded borders. Whether they won or lost, they continued along the same path.
Their soldiers fought—and often died—for their rulers. Blacksmiths forged weapons. Farmers grew food. Maids cleaned castles. Cooks prepared meals.
It is difficult to imagine a medieval king abandoning his throne because he discovered a passion for painting landscapes.
The exception, perhaps, is someone like Gautama Buddha, who deliberately walked away from duty in search of something deeper. His story stands out precisely because it was so unusual.
For everyone else, life was shaped by obligation.
They acted because duty demanded it.
In fact, duty has probably been humanity’s greatest motivator for thousands of years.
Before duty came survival.
Hunter-gatherers did not wake up asking what fulfilled them. They hunted because hunger demanded it. They gathered because winter was coming. Survival dictated action.
As agriculture emerged and societies became more stable, survival slowly gave way to responsibility. Families, kingdoms, religions, and professions created duties that defined a person’s life.
People did what was expected of them.
Not necessarily because they loved it.
But because that was how society functioned.
Perhaps satisfaction came not from chasing passion but from fulfilling responsibility well.
Today, we live in a very different world.
For the first time in history, millions of people have enough safety, education, and free time to ask a question our ancestors rarely could:
“What am I passionate about?”
That question itself is a privilege.
When your basic needs are met, your mind begins searching for meaning instead of survival.
Maybe that is why passion feels so important today.
Or maybe we have mistaken novelty for passion.
We confuse excitement with purpose. We expect work to remain endlessly inspiring. We abandon pursuits the moment they become repetitive, forgetting that repetition is part of mastering anything worthwhile.
Perhaps passion is not something you discover.
Perhaps it is something that emerges after years of showing up.
Not because every day is exciting.
But because you continue despite the ordinary days.
When I compare our lives with those who came before us, I cannot help wondering whether passion is a luxury made possible by modern abundance.
Or perhaps it is simply a story we tell ourselves because, for the first time in history, we have the freedom to choose.
Either way, I find myself questioning whether “follow your passion” is timeless wisdom—or just advice that only makes sense in a world where survival is no longer the primary concern.
