Have you ever performed on stage or given a speech?

I loved being on stage. Really loved it. Put me in a Bulgarian folk costume or in front of an academic audience, and I lit up like a christmas tree. No nerves. No fear. Just pure energy.

But it wasn’t my calling.

Some things can be pure joy without being your life’s work. Like eating a perfect slice of cake, or catching the sunset at just the right moment. The Bulgarian folk dancing was like that. Moving in sync with the group, feeling the music pulse through the floor, watching the costumes swirl – it was magic. Pure, simple magic.

Same with giving talks. Standing at that podium, sharing ideas, riding the wave of audience attention – it felt great. Natural, even.

But at the end of the day, I chose to write code.

Not because it’s similar to performing (it’s not). Not because it gives me the same rush (it doesn’t). I chose it because… well, because it’s what I actually wanted to do.

I loved performing. Still do. But loving something doesn’t mean you need to build your life around it. Sometimes a joy can just be a joy. A memory that makes you smile. A story worth telling.

Today, my work involves quiet hours with code. No audience. No applause. No swirling costumes or synchronized movements. And that’s exactly right for me.

Those stage moments? They’re like bright beads on a long string. Beautiful, precious, and complete just as they are. They don’t need to be more than that.

Because sometimes the best part of loving something is knowing you can love it exactly as much as you want to, no more, no less. No explanations needed.