This is a lesson I learned the hard way—and it has stayed with me ever since. Early in life, it was presented to me not as advice, but as an imperative: that your art, design, and creative work should stem from the same source as your hobbies and personal interests. At the time, it sounded convincing. I believed it wholeheartedly.

And yes—this can be true for some. But for me, it created a deep conflict that nearly ruined the creativity I once had. It disrupted the quality of my work, distorted the way I thought, and eroded the methods that had formed a solid foundation for my process.

When discussing this topic, it’s worth examining both how it can support your growth—and how it can quietly damage it. In this reflection, I’ll mostly focus on design work and design process. Not on creativity as expression, or as discovery of the self, but on structured creative problem-solving—often commercial, often practical—such as building digital products, refining services, or shaping physical objects.

In professional design practice, the problem is usually given. It might involve improving the usability of an app, shaping a new technology into a usable form, or distinguishing a product in a crowded market. The task is rarely to find the problem—it’s to solve it. From there, you follow a chain of process that help you reach the goal, without key moment, finding the and defining the problem. It jus following the process of research, ideation, evaluation, prototyping, refinement, and iteration. Every part of that includes tools, methodologies, and ways of thinking that help you navigate the process. And when you’re still learning, it’s all about volume. Trying out different tools, gaining range, and learning how to take a project from start to finish, alone or with guidance.

Through repetition and experience, you start to notice patterns. You discover how your mind works—what fits and what doesn’t. Maybe you realize you ideate best through fast prototyping. Maybe your strength lies in the visual layer of UI, not in UX flows. Perhaps you have a natural eye for interior structure and space, or maybe your designs shine in crafted home accessories that blend both utility and beauty. These are the moments where your thinking and your unique expression begin to align.

With time, this repeated cycle of failure, reflection, and success helps you define your own way of working. Eventually, when stepping into the professional world, you should define yourself by two coordinates: where your skills are strongest, and what part of the process you most enjoy. When those two align—it’s ideal. But when they don’t, that’s not a failure. Say you studied interior design but find yourself drawn to packaging—yes, it’s a shift, but if you’ve internalized the design process, you can remold it. Adapting a familiar workflow to a new discipline is part of what makes you a designer.

Don’t be discouraged if your passion and your strengths seem at odds. Many professionals fall in love with what they’re good at later, not because it was their passion, but because doing it well became fulfilling.

In poorly guided learning environments, especially when lacking experience or critical perspective. The boundary between rational and emotional thinking becomes blurred. Emotion guides the discourse. The question becomes what you love—not what you’re good at. The pushed narrative is that your design work should reflect your passion and unique personality. Love games? Design games. Love movies? Design movies. and etc.

But there’s a flaw here. The process being taught is still rooted in solving problems—yet the problems are now self-defined, vague, or completely absent. The shift from solving structured problems to expressing personal vision isn’t acknowledged. The switch form value based design to entertainment value is not discussed. That leads to a gap: the expectation is to find and define the problem, but no one shows how.

*At the same time, there’s pressure to show a distinct personality in your work. But personality isn’t an object with a turn on button — it forms over time through doing the work, gaining experience, and thinking critically about the process. You can’t force that by simply attaching yourself to what you enjoy. Personal voice doesn’t appear just because you claim it. It comes through repetition, problem-solving, learning and self discovery – finding where you fit. Professional design and personal expression are two separate things. And only with enough experience do they begin to overlap — when you can see both what the need is and what your unique contribution looks like. That’s when the work starts to feel honest and effective.

And so you’re pushed into an awkward space. The problems feel either too small to matter, or too big to handle. The conversation shifts into abstract territory: “Does this have meaning?”, “Can I express myself through it?” or “What unsolvable problem does this solve? instead of “Does it help the business?” And in most cases this angle (what real design is often about) is nowhere in sight.

Logical way of thinking leads to two key questions for anyone in this position:
Can the design process I’ve learned be applied to the field I’m passionate about?
Is the problem I’m solving primarily one of self-expression?

In many cases the answer to reframed questions should be YES! You don’t need to reinvent the wheel. The same process, the same way of thinking, can often be applied across disciplines with surprising ease.

If you’re trained in industrial design, it’s not a huge leap to move into jewelry design. The scale changes, but the conceptual and process thinking remain the same. Likewise, transitioning into digital product design is often natural—the tools and materials are different, but the logic, structure, and user-centered mindset are already there. The core framework doesn’t have to change; you just need to catch up on the craft and the specific skills, alter the already existing framework.

Adapt not by abandoning the process, but by recognizing that the same structured approach is applied in different context.

Here’s my personal take.

I still remember the phrase: “If it’s for everyone, it’s for no one.” It applies here too. You can’t have it both ways. There is a crucial difference between creating for yourself and creating within a professional setting. The moment it becomes work, unspoken expectations arise. You are no longer indulging in discovery for its own sake. You are moving toward a goal—and your process is now shaped by the constraints of that goal.

Eventually, your personal interests shift away from your work. And for a creative mind, that’s a good thing. You need separate, untamed spaces—places for curiosity, experimentation, self-reflection. For me, that space is found in exploring new games, fantasy literature, and wandering without a specific goal. These experiences don’t have to feed my work directly, but they enrich how I think. They offer perspective, distance, and inspiration that I wouldn’t find inside the process itself.

In short, the more distinct your personal interests are from your work, the better. Because emotion clouds logic, and logic cannot fulfill emotion. They are different modes of thinking. Let them coexist, but don’t force them into one.