Why does every passion have to become a paycheck?

After living as a Certified Weirdo™ for 42 years, I’m used to people reacting to me like I just pranced out of a flying saucer and asked them for directions to the next intergalactic wormhole.

Particularly when I say things like, “money doesn’t motivate me the way it seems to drive everyone else.”

Sure, I need it to buy the fancier brand of instant ramen at Walmart and to keep my Wi-Fi humming along. But it’s never the first reason I go to my keyboard, paintbrush, or camera.

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Recently, I picked up my Apple Pencil and went through a Skillshare course on creating pet portraits.

The results, shockingly, met my perfectionistic standards. And I casually shared them on Discord and Substack.

People loved my work, which felt great. Until they offered to pay me to create a pet portrait for them.

Flattering? Yes. Sucking every ounce of fun out of what was supposed to be a relaxing way to get myself drawing again? Also yes.

Now, don’t get me twisted. People should absolutely be paid for their time, energy, and skills. And I will always be in the front row cheering for those who can do what they love and earn money from it.

But I have to admit to a dissatisfaction I feel around how no creative outlet can just exist anymore. Every passion seems to have to earn its keep.

What if, for some of us, the satisfaction of creating something without slapping a price tag on it is the whole point?

Must every hobby = hustle?

Tell me if this sounds familiar. You try something new, and everyone expects you to turn it into a full-on enterprise.

Bake a loaf of bread that doesn’t look like a science experiment? You should open a bakery!

Learned to code a simple website? Become a software developer!

Even keeping a houseplant alive might land you an unsolicited pitch for starting a YouTube channel.

It’s like the world decided that nothing is worth pursuing unless a price is attached. Every app and platform practically begs us to zing the cash register upon our passions.

And for some, that’s wonderful. Empowering, even.

But for others, the constant suggestion to monetize feels less like encouragement and more like a reminder that hobbies aren’t valid unless they’re profitable. That if you’re not making money off it, you’re wasting your time.

When we put a dollar amount on everything we create, we risk losing the plot. What starts as something that fills your cup becomes another item on the to-do list.

Deadlines replace daydreams.

Clients replace curiosity.

And, eventually, you catch yourself opening up an incognito window to search, “How to recover from creative burnout.”

For joy, not for sale

There’s something downright magical about doing things just because you love the thing.

Picking up a paint brush without worrying if the painting is “good enough” to sell.

Writing stories that no one ever reads because the ideas are making your brain itchy.

Taking photos of sunsets by virtue of having the pleasure of experiencing one, not because they rack up likes on Instagram.

When currency enters the stage, everything shifts. Your painting isn’t art anymore, it’s inventory. Your writing becomes content. Photos aren’t moments, they’re part of a portfolio.

And it’s not that monetizing creative work is bad. It’s just that for some of us, pleasure comes from the freedom to create without expectations. To explore ideas without thinking about “the market” or “the audience.”

When I painted those pet portraits, I wasn’t looking to become the next big name digital artist. I was giggling about how goofy cats look when their eyes are slightly too big for their head. And marveling that I somehow managed to download every free brush set on the Internet.

I don’t need every hobby to pay the bills or justify itself to anyone else. Sometimes, the act of bringing something to life is justification enough.

Creating is freedom

Some things are worth doing simply because they make the world feel a little less heavy.

We need passions that remind us that we’re humans, not jukeboxes of creative output. When you protect your pastimes, you honor a piece of yourself that doesn’t require an explanation or a perfectly curated result.

When we let go of the idea that everything we do has to generate income, we make space for the perfect alchemy of curiosity and delight colliding, untouched by the grind.

So when someone pushes us to trade creativity for coinage, maybe we should toss them a laptop and say, “Great! You can handle the business plan, marketing strategy, customer complaints, and tax filings. I’ll be over here living my best profitless life.”

Because not everything is meant to be scaled, packaged, or turned into a brand. Some things should stay just as they are: gloriously unprofitable.