We humans are always curious about each other. We want to know who we meet, what role they play in the world, and how to place them in our mental system of categories. That’s why perhaps the most common question in social settings is: “What do you do for a living?”
It’s a question that feels safe, simple, and familiar. It sets a frame for the conversation. If someone says they are a teacher, a police officer, or a project manager, we immediately get a picture in our head of who they are—or at least who we think they are. Work becomes a shortcut to identity.
But is that really the whole truth? Are we what we work as? Or is that just a small piece of a much bigger puzzle?
Work as identity
Tying our sense of self to our work is nothing new. For generations, people have defined themselves by their occupation: the farmer, the blacksmith, the priest, the doctor. The title became part of the name, almost like an inseparable label.
In today’s society, that tradition remains. When we meet for the first time, our job is almost always the stand-in for our entire person. It makes things easier—but also very reductive.
Because what happens if you don’t have a job? If you’re retired, unemployed, on sick leave, or between careers? Do you then become nothing? Of course not—but the question suddenly feels uncomfortable, both for the one who asks and the one who answers.
This shows just how strongly we still associate work with identity.
The harder question
Then, the other week, I was asked a different question: “What do you love to do?”
And I noticed that it was much harder to answer. Where the job question can be handled with a single word or title, this one demands something deeper. It requires me to stop and ask myself: What really gives me meaning? What gives me energy? What do I do even when nobody pays me, even when nobody is watching?
It’s a question that strips away roles, salaries, and expectations—and instead directs the gaze inward.
When the answer isn’t clear
And I didn’t have a clear answer. At first, that was frustrating. I am someone who has always done a lot—created, organized, led projects, built things. But to put into words what I love to do, regardless of external demands—that was harder.
Maybe I’m not alone. Many of us live such busy lives that we almost forget to stop and feel. We live inside roles, deadlines, and responsibilities, and we become skilled at delivering. But when asked what we love, there’s silence.
And maybe that silence itself is a sign that we need to pause.
What does it mean to love doing something?
When we talk about “loving” to do something, it’s not about temporary pleasure or entertainment. It’s about that thing that carries us even when it’s difficult. That thing we return to again and again, because it feels like part of our innermost self.
For some, it’s creating—painting, writing, building, making music. For others, it’s relationships—being with family, listening to people, contributing to community. For yet others, it’s movement—climbing mountains, running, swimming, feeling the body in motion.
But often, it’s not just one answer. It’s many—and they shift throughout life.
Work, passion, and balance
Here’s an important point: not everything we love to do has to become our job.
We live in a time where passion is often confused with career. “Follow your passion” has become a mantra. But the truth is, not everything we love thrives as an income source. Painting for self-expression is not the same as painting on commission. Writing to heal is not the same as writing for the market.
Realizing that can be liberating. We can have a job that provides structure, stability, and community—and still nurture our passions on the side. One doesn’t cancel out the other.
Searching for the answers
So what do you do when you can’t answer “What do you love to do?”
You start searching. Not necessarily for the ultimate answer, but for the small glimpses of energy and joy in everyday life.
– What makes me lose track of time when I do it?
– What do I long for when I’m stuck in something else?
– When do I feel most alive?
It might be small things: taking a walk in the forest, listening to music, having a deep conversation with a friend. It doesn’t have to be grand. But there, in those moments, we find clues about who we are beyond our job titles.
A generational shift
There’s also a generational dimension. Previous generations grew up with work as identity. To be your occupation was natural, because the job often lasted for life. But the world looks different now.
Younger generations change jobs more often, freelance, run projects, travel. They don’t define themselves as tightly by job titles, but by interests, values, and lifestyle. They can say: “I love to travel, I love to create content, I love to play music”—and that becomes as valid as a professional title.
For those of us who grew up in another era, that might feel unfamiliar—but it’s also a reminder: we are not only what we do for money.
What I realize myself
When I reflect more, I realize that I love creating structure in chaos. Taking something messy and making it work. Building something where nothing existed. That might be projects, events, collaborations—but it can also be everyday situations.
I also love being in nature. Breathing fresh air, feeling the wind on a mountain ridge, seeing the sea open up on the horizon. That gives me a sense of freedom that no words can fully describe.
And maybe what I truly love is the combination: being in the human chaos of ideas and projects—and then returning to the stillness of nature.
When the question changes us
The question “What do you love to do?” is more than casual curiosity. It can change how we see ourselves. It can make us question routines, roles, and priorities. It reminds us that life is more than work and performance.
And maybe it’s precisely this question we should ask more often—not only of others, but of ourselves. Not only “What do you do for a living?” but “What do you love to do?”
Because it’s in the answer to that question that we find who we really are—beyond roles, beyond the machinery. That’s where our humanity lives.
Conclusion
We are always curious about what people do. But maybe we should be even more curious about what people love. Because in passion and joy, there’s something far more revealing than any job title on a business card.
And maybe we don’t always need to have a ready answer. Sometimes, it’s enough just to ask the question—and let it guide us closer to the life we actually want to live.
By Chris...
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