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The Secret to Loving Your Work (and Living to Tell the Tale)

There’s this German TV show I love. It’s one of those wonderfully slow-paced, feel-good programs where a guy drives around the countryside, poking into little-known corners of the world, visiting old craftsmen, artists, and those wonderfully eccentric people who always have a twinkle in their eye and a suspiciously large number of half-finished projects lying around.

You know the type. The ones who start their sentences with, "Ach, back in my day..." but then promptly pull out a blowtorch, a chisel, or an embroidery needle and create something breathtaking.

But here’s the thing—they’re not just working. They’re living. They LOVE what they do. They’re in their seventies, their eighties, sometimes even their nineties, and they’re still at it. Not because they have to, but because they want to. Because whatever they do—be it woodcarving, painting, weaving, or some bizarre skill no one’s even heard of outside their tiny village—it’s their thing.

And I think there’s a lesson in that.

"You work to make a living. You live to make a life."

Now, let’s be real. Most of us didn’t grow up dreaming of spreadsheets, meetings, or answering emails at 11 PM because some guy named Todd in accounting can’t figure out how to attach a file. But passion? That’s something else entirely.

Think about it. When was the last time you lost track of time because you were so into something? That’s what these artisans have figured out. They’re not counting the days to retirement. They’re too busy doing the thing they love.

And you know what? That’s exactly what writing feels like to me.

Writing: A Job, A Passion, and the Occasional Existential Crisis

I write because I have to. Not in a "help, I have deadlines" kind of way (though, let’s be honest, that’s also true), but in a something inside me needs to come out kind of way. The same way a painter sees a blank canvas and immediately envisions a masterpiece, I see a blank page and think, What if a ghost lived in a Victorian attic and solved murders with a talking dog?

Normal thoughts. Totally normal.

Writing is my version of those old-world crafts. It’s the thing that keeps me up at night with ideas, the thing I’d do even if no one paid me (which, let’s face it, was definitely the case in the beginning). It’s also the thing that gives me the occasional identity crisis when I realize a plot hole is big enough to drive that German TV guy’s van through.

But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Find Your Thing, Love Your Thing, Do Your Thing

Maybe you’re a writer. Maybe you bake, paint, sculpt, or build tiny ships in bottles (which, by the way, HOW?). Whatever it is, do it because you love it. Do it because it feels right. Do it because one day, some curious TV host might drive up in a van and ask you, "So, why do you still do this at 85?"

And you can grin, wipe the sawdust (or ink, or flour, or paint) from your hands, and say, Because I can’t imagine my life without it.

That’s the secret, my friends. Find what you love. Do it for as long as you can. And never, ever let Todd from accounting ruin your passion.

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