“The only way to do great work is to love what you do.”
When Steve Jobs shared these words, he was talking about creativity and passion.
He was urging people to follow what sets their soul on fire. I used to think that only applied to artists, entrepreneurs, or inventors. I never imagined it would come to define my journey—especially not as a nurse.
Because to be completely honest, I didn’t set out to become a nurse. I didn’t have a childhood dream of working in healthcare. I didn’t feel “called” at first.
Nursing, for me, began as a practical decision. It was something I chose out of necessity, not passion. A stable job, decent pay, opportunities abroad. It made sense on paper. And so, without fully understanding what I was walking into, I took the first step.
In the beginning, everything felt unfamiliar—sterile hospital walls, endless procedures, patients with pain I wasn’t yet prepared to hold. There were times I questioned if I belonged there. But little by little, the job began to change me.
Not all at once, but slowly and deeply.
I remember one of my first patients: an elderly woman recovering from a motor degenerative disease. She had lost most of her speech and mobility. Every shift I would help her sit up, encourage her to eat, guide her through therapy.
Progress was slow. But one afternoon, as I helped her walk a few shaky steps, she looked at me with teary eyes and managed to whisper, “Thank you.” It was the first time I felt the weight—and the wonder—of what I was doing. I wasn’t just helping her heal physically. I was helping her find her strength again.
That was the moment nursing stopped being a job and started becoming something more.
With every shift, I discovered pieces of myself I didn’t know existed—patience I never thought I had, courage I didn’t know I could summon, and compassion that went beyond textbooks or checklists. I became part of stories that mattered.
I witnessed the rawness of human vulnerability and the quiet power of resilience.
Nursing taught me that healing isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes, it’s in the small things: a smile, a hand to hold, a voice that says, “You’re not alone.”
I began to understand that being present—even when there are no easy answers—is one of the most powerful forms of care.
Now, when I walk into a hospital room, I don’t see just patients—I see people with dreams, families, fears, and stories. And I get to be a small part of their journey.
I get to remind them that they’re stronger than they feel, and that recovery, though difficult, is possible. And somewhere along the way, nursing gave me something too: purpose.
It gave me a reason to wake up, even on the hardest days. It gave me pride—not in titles or paychecks—but in the impact I could make, even in the quietest moments. It helped me grow into someone who could inspire others—not through grand speeches, but through simple acts of care.
So when Steve Jobs said, “The only way to do great work is to love what you do,” I believe he meant more than just chasing your dream job. I think he meant finding meaning where you are. Being open enough to let your work shape you. Letting it surprise you, stretch you, and ultimately, lead you to love it—perhaps when you least expect it.
Because sometimes, your path isn’t something you choose.
Sometimes, it chooses you.
And if you’re lucky enough, like I was, it becomes something far greater than a career. It becomes your calling.
