The Cost of Passion: How My Aversion to Money Impacted My Business

I'm not motivated by money. Sure, I like it. I need it. But it's never been what gets me up in the morning. Even now, I'm in the top 90% of earners in the United States, and yet I still hate making it. It's not that I dislike having money; I love the freedom it provides. I just can't stand the part where you have to chase it. The thought of clawing for every dollar or negotiating every deal down to the last cent doesn't fill me with energy—it drains me.

This lack of motivation to fight for money goes way back. When I was a a wee lad, I was hanging out with a group of friends, and one of them threw a couple of dollars on the ground—I think it was three or four crumpled bills, nothing major. But what happened next was pure madness. My friends lunged for those bills like their lives depended on it. It turned into a real-life Lord of the Flies. Bodies scrambling, tripping over each other, all for a few bucks. And there I was standing there watching the chaos unfold. I remember thinking, "I don’t have that in me." I didn't want it that badly That was the first time I realized that I don’t have that natural instinct to fight for money.

Fast forward to today, and not much has changed. I still don't have that fight. The amount of hours I’ve worked for clients without billing them—well, let’s just say it would make my wife weep. It’s not that I’m unaware of my value or that I think my time is worth less. It’s that I genuinely love what I do. I love the problems my clients bring to me. I love the thrill of diving in headfirst and working through challenges, the satisfaction of cracking something wide open that seemed impossible. I love the work. And because I love it, money always seems like an afterthought. I get into the flow, solve problems, make things happen—and then I forget to care about the invoice.

I’m fortunate, for sure. My family doesn’t have to worry too much about money. We’re good—except, of course, when Tax Day comes around, and I realize I’ve been a little too generous with my time.

Last year, I took on a new client that I absolutely love working with. They’re fantastic—passionate, interesting, doing work that is genuinely the most interesting I've ever work with. When we first started, I quoted them 10 to 15 hours per week. But here’s the thing: I don’t do well with keeping track of hours. If I’m motivated by the work, I’ll work however long it takes to get the task at hand done. I won’t cut myself off because I hit some arbitrary limit. I just do the work because, honestly, I want to see it finished, and I want to see it done well.

And so, week after week, this 10 to 15 hours ends up being more like 20, then 25, then 30 hours some weeks. I just kept telling myself "It's fine, I'll make it up later," or "This is just what is needed right now."

But then as the end of the year nears, and I had to face the numbers. I had to look at what I’d actually billed versus what I’d actually worked. I left a lot of money on the table this year. I loved the work I did, and I’m proud of what I accomplished, but the truth is, I wasn’t fair to myself, to my family, or even to my other clients.

I got so caught up in the passion, in the love of the work, that I lost sight of the bigger picture — the business side of things, the sustainability.

This realization has forced me to reevaluate how I approach my work and my relationships with clients. I’ve had to accept that being passionate about the work is great, but it can’t come at the cost of financial stability — for me or for my family. I need to get better at setting boundaries, at valuing my time properly, at diversifying my energy across all my clients instead of getting tunnel vision on just one.

So, as I move into 2025, I’m making some changes. I’m readjusting my engagements. I’m putting systems in place to keep myself accountable, to make sure I’m billing accurately, to make sure I’m spreading my time where it needs to be spread. I’m still not motivated by money, and I probably never will be — but I’m learning that it’s okay to prioritize it sometimes. It’s okay to say, "This is what my time is worth, and I need to honor that."

I know I’m not alone in this struggle. There are so many of us who love what we do, who are driven by the work itself rather than the paycheck. And that’s a beautiful thing. But it can also be dangerous if we let it go unchecked. Passion is powerful, but so is financial health. And in 2025, I’m aiming to find the balance between the two — so that I can keep doing what I love without sacrificing the stability that my family and I deserve.