激情跟著我們,工作轉化為激情

有一個明確的激情跟著我們嗎？ 讓你的工作轉化為激情 ! CAL NEWPORT

在 2004 年的春天，在大學畢業那年，我對自己的未來的職業生涯麵臨著一個艱難的決定。 我有一個工作機會，微軟和麻省理工學院的計算機科學博士課程的錄取通知書。 我也有我的第一個非小說類的書 -- 選擇成為全職作家的手稿，。 這是三個顯著不同的職業道路，我不得不選擇哪一個適合我。
對於許多我的同齡人，這個決定已經充滿了焦慮。 長大後，我們被輔導員告知，職業建議書，新聞媒體和其他 “ 跟著我們的熱情。 ” 這個建議假設我們每個人都有一個預先存在的激情等待我們去發現。 “ 的思想，如果我們發現這個呼召，並匹配到我們的生活的勇氣，我們最終會幸福的。 如果我們缺乏這種勇氣，我們會無聊和未完成的 - 或者，更糟糕的是，在法律學校。
一小群人，這個建議是有道理的，因為他們有一個明確的激情。 也許他們一直想成為醫生，作家，音樂家等，並且無法想象任何東西。
但這一理念提出了很大的壓力，我們其餘的人 - 和需要長期的審議。 如果我們不小心，它告訴我們，我們最終可能會錯過我們的 “ 天職 ” 。 即使我們做出選擇，我們仍然沒有不受其影響。 每次我們的工作變得困難，我們都推向生存危機，對許多人來說是一個令人討厭無法回答的問題集中在： “ 這是我真正的意思是什麽做的？ ” 這個常數無疑會產生焦慮和慢性跳槽 。
在大學畢業那年，我認為我的選擇，我知道的所有關於這個邪教組織的激情和要求。 但我選擇忽略它。 其他職業理念驅使我是基於這個簡單的前提：特質，引導人們熱愛自己的工作是通用的，有一點做的工作的細節。 這些特征包括一個自主意識和你的感覺，你做什麽，有一個在世界上的影響。 數十年的研究工作場所的動力支持這一行動。 （丹尼爾 · 平克的著作 “ 驅動器 ” 提供了一個很好的總結本文獻）。
這些特點可以發現大量的就業機會，但他們必須贏得。 寶貴的技能是很難的，需要時間。 在新崗位上的人，是不正確的問題， “ 這是什麽工作提供給我的嗎？ ” 但是，相反， “ 什麽我提供這份工作嗎？ ”
回到我的故事，隻有很少考慮後，我決定去麻省理工學院 到我的一種職業理念，我相信，我的職業生涯中的所有三個有可能轉化為激情的來源，而這種自信釋放我的擔心做出了錯誤的選擇。 我最終選擇麻省理工學院，主要是因為有輕微的東海岸的偏好，但我會一直前往西雅圖微軟總部附近同樣內容。 或者提前從我的第一本書，我可以放低了姿態，寫在一個安靜的小鎮。
在我的最初幾年，作為 ​​ 一名研究生，我當然不享有不可動搖的感覺，我找到了我真正的使命。 博士生培養的開始可以是粗糙的。 你還沒有足夠熟練作出貢獻的研究文獻，它可以是令人沮喪的。 在麻省理工學院（ MIT ）這樣的地方，你周圍的光彩，它可以使你的問題是否屬於。
如果我訂閱的 “ 按照我們的激情 ” 正統，我可能會留在最初的幾年，擔心，我並沒有感受到愛我的工作每天。 但我知道，我的成就感會隨著時間的推移，我在我的工作變得更好。 所以我努力工作，我的能力的增長，所以沒有。
今天，我在喬治城大學（ Georgetown University ）的計算機科學教授，我熱愛我的工作。 我可以借鑒我的經驗是最重要的一課，這無關搞清楚在早期激情的年齡，我的意思是教授。 我選擇這個特定的路徑沒有什麽特別的。 重要的是，一旦我做了我的選擇，我做了什麽。
其他年輕人不斷地想知道如果職業柵欄的另一邊草是綠的，我提供了這樣的建議：是不是你遵循的激情。 這件事情，會跟著你，因為你把在艱苦的工作，成為寶貴的世界。

September 29, 2012. .

NYTimes.com

Follow a Career Passion? Let It Follow You By CAL NEWPORT

IN the spring of 2004, during my senior year of college, I faced a hard decision about my future career. I had a job offer from Microsoft and an acceptance letter from the computer science doctoral program at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I had also just handed in the manuscript for my first nonfiction book, which opened the option of becoming a full-time writer. These are three strikingly different career paths, and I had to choose which one was right for me.

For many of my peers, this decision would have been fraught with anxiety. Growing up, we were told by guidance counselors, career advice books, the news media and others to “ follow our passion .” This advice assumes that we all have a pre-existing passion waiting to be discovered. If we have the courage to discover this calling and to match it to our livelihood, the thinking goes, we’ll end up happy. If we lack this courage, we’ll end up bored and unfulfilled — or, worse, in law school.

To a small group of people, this advice makes sense, because they have a clear passion. Maybe they’ve always wanted to be doctors, writers, musicians and so on, and can’t imagine being anything else.

But this philosophy puts a lot of pressure on the rest of us — and demands long deliberation. If we’re not careful, it tells us, we may end up missing our true calling. And even after we make a choice, we’re still not free from its effects. Every time our work becomes hard, we are pushed toward an existential crisis, centered on what for many is an obnoxiously unanswerable question: “Is this what I’m really meant to be doing?” This constant doubt generates anxiety and chronic job-hopping.

As I considered my options during my senior year of college, I knew all about this Cult of Passion and its demands . But I chose to ignore it. The alternative career philosophy that drove me is based on this simple premise: The traits that lead people to love their work are general and have little to do with a job’s specifics. These traits include a (1) sense of autonomy and (2) the feeling that you’re good at what you do and (3) are having an impact on the world. Decades of research on workplace motivation back this up. (Daniel Pink’s book “Drive” offers a nice summary of this literature.)

These traits can be found in many jobs, but they have to be earned . Building valuable skills is hard and takes time. For someone in a new position, the right question is not, “What is this job offering me?” but, instead, “What am I offering this job?”

RETURNING to my story, I decided after only minimal deliberation to go to M.I.T. True to my alternative career philosophy , I was confident that all three of my career options could be transformed into a source of passion , and this confidence freed me from worry about making a wrong choice. I ended up choosing M.I.T., mainly because of a slight preference for the East Coast, but I would have been equally content heading out to Microsoft’s headquarters near Seattle. Or, with the advance from my first book, I could have hunkered down in a quiet town to write.

During my initial years as a graduate student, I certainly didn’t enjoy an unshakable sense that I had found my true calling. The beginning of doctoral training can be rough. You’re not yet skilled enough to make contributions to the research literature, which can be frustrating. And at a place like M.I.T., you’re surrounded by brilliance, which can make you question whether you belong.

Had I subscribed to the “follow our passion” orthodoxy, I probably would have left during those first years , worried that I didn’t feel love for my work every day. But I knew that my sense of fulfillment would grow over time , as I became better at my job. So I worked hard, and, as my competence grew, so did my engagement.

Today, I’m a computer science professor at Georgetown University, and I love my job. The most important lesson I can draw from my experience is that this love has nothing to do with figuring out at an early age that I was meant to be a professor . There’s nothing special about my choosing this particular path. What mattered is what I did once I made my choice.

To other young people who constantly wonder if the grass might be greener on the other side of the occupational fence, I offer this advice: Passion is not something you follow. It’s something that will follow you as you put in the hard work to become valuable to the world.

Cal Newport is the author of “So Good They Can’t Ignore You.”

2012 年 9 月 29 日。 。
NYTimes.com