I’ve seen enough tv shows to be influenced by the passionate workaholic worldview of police officers, detectives, firemen, lawyers, and doctors portrayed on the screen. These people work late into the night, rarely seeing family, if they even have one left. They are career-obsessed, often believing they are obligated to save every last possible person to absolve themselves of some sort of past guilt.

It’s a bit formulaic, I admit. That should cause the formula to lose its potency, but it doesn’t. The idea of being passionately engaged in one’s career still grips many of us as a moral imperative.

There’s no reason to begrudge a person pride in their vocation. To love what one does with one’s time is a gift to be treasured.

But when our “why” is based on an uhealed wound, driving and compelling us to “do”, we enter dangerous territory.

For example, all I ever wanted was to be famous. First, I wanted to be a famous singer. Then it was writing books. Then I wanted to be a world famous revivalist. Then a blogger.

There’s certainly nothing wrong with being a famous writer, musician, or preacher. You get into a fuzzy area when your goal is the fame rather than the work. That’s not loving what you do. That’s craving attention.

I doubt many of us would feel proud of that impulse. It’s seen as a sign of weakness. Call it stunted personal growth. Or an obstacle to overcome. For it is only when we find something we love enough to give ourselves to that we find the means to conquer self.

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