“Passions can always be nurtured, whereas, in order to work, what you know how to do must be useful to someone.”
— Papy
Among the sayings I repeated over the years, this is perhaps one of the most practical. It comes from a distinction I consider important: we can love something simply because it makes us feel alive, whereas work begins when what we know how to do meets another person’s need. A passion may remain private and freely pursued; a profession, by contrast, exists within a relationship.
I do not consider this saying an infallible law, but an invitation to look at the world realistically without abandoning our desires. Nurturing what we love and learning to be useful are not opposite paths: they can become two parts of the same life.
A passion does not always have to become a job
We are often told to turn every passion into work. It is an appealing idea, but it is not always necessary or even possible. Some passions deserve to remain free from income, obligations and other people’s expectations. We can nurture music, reading, sport, cooking or any other interest even if it never becomes our profession.
A passion is not wasted simply because it does not produce a salary. It can refine our sensitivity, teach us patience, bring people into our lives, comfort us in difficult moments and remind us who we are. Its value may lie precisely in being freely pursued. Not everything we love must be sold; not everything that matters must be measured.
Work begins with an encounter
Work truly begins when an ability answers a need. Knowing how to do something is not enough: that knowledge must solve a problem, lighten a burden, create beauty, bring order or provide a service. In this sense, working means entering into a relationship with others.
The useful question is not only “What do I enjoy doing?” but also “Who could benefit from what I know how to do?” The first helps us recognise our inclinations; the second teaches us to listen to the world. When those two answers meet, work can become more than a duty: it becomes our own way of contributing.
That is why I also used to put it more briefly: “If you know how to do something, you will always find work.” This is a statement of hope, not a literal guarantee. Life can be unfair, opportunities may be scarce, and even a capable person can go through periods without work. Its meaning is different: a genuine, well-developed skill that answers a need makes it more likely that we will find our place.
Being useful does not mean being subservient
Saying that what we know how to do must be useful to someone does not mean accepting every request, giving up our dignity or allowing others to exploit us. The usefulness I mean is not servility. It is responsibility, attentiveness and the ability to understand what good we can offer without losing ourselves.
Dignified work requires mutual respect. Someone who offers time, preparation and experience is not a tool to be used, but a person with limits, rights and aspirations. Being willing to help does not mean being permanently available; helping does not mean erasing ourselves; adapting does not mean abandoning our principles.
We must also have the courage to recognise that not every market demand deserves to become our purpose. We can ask not only whether something is wanted, but whether it is good, honest and compatible with the person we wish to become.
Talent grows when it becomes skill
Talent on its own is a promise. To become dependable, it needs practice, discipline and humility. We must learn, make mistakes, begin again and accept that the world changes. What was sufficient yesterday may no longer be sufficient tomorrow. Continuing to learn is not only a way to protect a job; it prevents us from becoming prisoners of what we already know.
Competence is not merely technical. Listening well, keeping our word, arriving prepared, collaborating and acknowledging our mistakes are qualities that make even the brightest expertise useful. People often seek not only someone who can perform a task, but someone they can trust.
A person is worth more than their work
There is, however, a boundary I never want to see blurred: professional value is not the same as human worth. A person is not worth more because they earn more, nor less when they are unemployed, ill, elderly, retired or unable to work. The market may put a price on a service; it cannot determine the dignity of a life.
Work can bring independence, responsibility and fulfilment, but it must not become the only name by which we define ourselves. Before we are workers, we are children, parents, friends, fellow travellers and people capable of love. Even when we produce nothing, we remain worthy of care, respect and presence.
What I would like to leave you
I would like to tell my children this: do not abandon your passions, even when they cannot support you financially. Keep at least one space in your life where you do something for the simple joy of it. At the same time, commit yourselves to learning something well enough for it to be useful to others. Observe what people need, prepare seriously, and make sure that when someone entrusts you with a task, they can rely on you.
Never measure your whole life by professional success. If work comes, do it with dignity. If it takes time to arrive, do not consider yourselves failures. If it changes, have the courage to learn again. And if a passion never becomes a job, that does not make it useless.
Work begins when what we know meets another person’s need. But life becomes full when, beyond work, who we are meets someone to love. Learn, therefore, to be capable without becoming merely useful, and to be useful without forgetting to be free.