Sometimes, it seems like everyone at USC has it all figured out. Hailed as one of the premier pre-professional incubators in the country, the emphasis on students’ success is a cardinal piece of its academic identity. While this ambition yields huge benefits, like the beloved Trojan Family, it can be difficult to maneuver.

Even a cursory scroll through LinkedIn, affronted by the internship announcements, promotions and the extracurricular boasts of your peers, can feel like psychological torture for someone who may not have chalked out the next four decades of their life. How are you supposed to secure a prestigious internship when you don’t quite know what job you want to work? How do you not get left behind? What are you destined to do?

Even though it can take years, sometimes longer, to land on a career verdict, kids are often encouraged to attach themselves to a singular dream job right out of the gate: a firefighter, an author, or, say, a pop singer.

In elementary school, I was determined to be a pop star. When I saw Katy Perry take the Super Bowl stage in 2015, I was convinced this was a window into my inevitable future of worldwide renown.

Somewhere along the way, though, I came to realize that this fantasy was futile. I was never particularly musically inclined and had no real propensity for songwriting. My departure from Grammy-winning dreams felt like a natural part of my maturation, one that most people undergo while they flesh out their interests and talents. 

Despite early aspirations, when the impending reality of financial independence feels uncomfortably near, lots of people, like myself, opt for something more achievable out of necessity. For many, this transition can feel like a resignation. It’s difficult to let go of the naive part of yourself that really thought you might headline Coachella one day, never mind a complete absence of musical prowess, but this pivot into uncertainty is no failure.

One of capitalism’s fundamental “truths” tells us that everyone has a specific purpose that they should dedicate their lives to until they satisfy their professional ambition. But pigeonholing your passion closes off a host of recreational opportunities that can elevate your quality of life. This misguided wisdom reduces our value to a cog in the machine, our sole purpose to facilitate capital instead of enjoying our life via a myriad of hobbies, pastimes and skills.

That’s not to say pursuing a fulfilling career isn’t worthwhile. It’s important to derive as much joy from work as possible, considering that’s where a huge swath of your adult life is spent. According to the United States Bureau of Labor Statistics, the average full-time American employee works 8.4 hours per day. That’s equivalent to 127.75 days a year — more than a third of your life is spent working. So, it’s understandable why people try to synthesize work with pleasure.

An intersection between life and career is inevitable, but to let your aspirations be strictly professional would shortchange you of the world of opportunities that exists outside of the office. Curating this coexistent relationship between life and career can prove difficult, but you don’t have to be proficient at a skill to pursue and enjoy it. 

This semester, my best friend and I signed up for a beginner guitar elective at the Thornton School of Music. Every Monday, we clumsily finger out basic chords, humbly tending to our newfound hobby.

I could practice every day for the rest of my life and would never touch the dexterity of a professional guitarist, but just being able to strum for my family would make the venture worthwhile. A few nights ago, to the assured frustration of my New North hallmates, I stumbled through a complete song for the first time. While I was probably butchering Lizzy McAlpine’s “Spring Into Summer,” I closed my eyes and slipped into an impassioned flow.

The best part of my newly adopted musical habit is that it exists alongside unlimited outlets for fun. I’ve even started skateboarding to class, something that hadn’t even occurred to me a few weeks ago. When I’m not wiping out on the Village sidewalk, the gratification of nurturing a new skill for the sake of enjoyment, not production, surely rivals that of any professional triumph.

So, if you ever find yourself spiraling in pursuit of passion, let yourself find solace in the possibility that you might try your hand at learning, trying, failing and growing long after you submit your retirement papers.