Not everyone develops a strong relationship with their work over the course of their life. Many people do what they do simply to make a living, not because they enjoy it. In other words, they do it because they have to. There is nothing to blame them for. The world has always been harsh in this regard — it does not allow everyone to truly “find themselves.”
That said, it is possible to move in that direction. But it often requires a significant amount of energy, and many are not willing to invest it. Whether it is worth it — to pursue only what one is truly passionate about, to fully realize one’s potential — is ultimately a deeply individual question. For me, the answer is simple. But there are so many people in the world, and each of us is different.
Some are more fortunate — they genuinely enjoy their work. Yet even then, many operate only at a comfortable level. I am not saying that is inherently wrong. It can be beneficial for personal well-being and health. But there is often a strong sense of individualism there, along with a more limited awareness of broader economic and social dynamics.
Their relationship to work tends to be narrowly defined. They do it for themselves. Positive feedback pleases them, of course. But beyond that, they rarely think about the impact of their work — not beyond what they directly experience. There is little sense of connection to those who ultimately receive the value they create.
At that point, it is no longer just about enjoying the work — responsibility enters the picture. Responsibility is a powerful concept, but its meaning varies greatly from person to person. It is not entirely intuitive. One arrives at it through other traits — primarily empathy and purpose — and through applying them in a meaningful way.
A responsible person begins to care deeply about the quality of their work. They think about it. Not out of anxiety or fear of consequences if the work is done poorly. That is not true responsibility — it is closer to what I would call false responsibility.
They feel a need for their work to serve others.
Put simply: that people receive something of real value in exchange for what they pay. They care about those who depend on their work — those who receive it. This extends beyond end users to colleagues, partners, and suppliers alike.
They take satisfaction in work done well. They care about continuity — about whether others continue to expect high-quality results from them. They want to be a clear choice. They want people to return and repeatedly seek out their work.
Reputation matters.
A reputation built on quality is hard to destroy.
Professionalism cannot be achieved without replacing the selfish "I" with a more responsible and considerate "we".
This shift is reflected in the whole person, especially in their character. Unfortunately, this is not something that can be easily taught. Not everyone will adopt it. Not everyone will understand why it is worth prioritizing others over a purely self-centered approach to work.
Still, I would not call this elitism. It is not about others — it is about ourselves. Criticizing someone who, at their core, is trying to serve others through their work is not only short-sighted, but also socially and economically counterproductive.
Professionalism is a desirable trait. It should be supported. People who are capable of it, or moving toward it, should not have obstacles placed in their way. Everyone benefits from it.
At times, it feels as if there is less and less space for this today.
Professionalism, as a value, is almost being redefined as a luxury — something most people cannot afford.
As if it were something extra. Something that needs to be paid for. Something society cannot sustain. Really?
Even on the side of workers and service providers — is there a reluctance to be more professional? Is it too demanding? Too uncomfortable? Is it easier not to try, and instead comment on others?
People are generally not guided toward investing in themselves in this way. It does not emerge on its own. It is not an innate trait. So where is it supposed to come from?
Do we want professionalism to disappear? Would life actually be better?
A professional must, among other things, be able to distinguish between personal life — where they hold their own views and act according to personal preferences — and the state in which they operate through their work.
In that professional mode, one steps back. There is less room for personal bias. Objectivity grows. So does consideration for every decent person one interacts with.
Professionalism runs against excessive selectivity. A professional must actively look for common ground. It is, in a way, part of the job.
When done well, these two worlds remain separate. Exceptions will always exist — we are only human. But this is precisely why self-reflection, composure, and a healthy sense of ego must be part of a professional’s toolkit.
Ego should never speak for them.
Their work should.
This effect can be observed everywhere — if only more people who are capable of it chose to pursue it, and others better understood its value.
Rooted in Me
Work that lacks the potential to create real impact or carry broader meaning has never truly fulfilled me.
I have always been drawn to the idea of a calling, or to higher ideals in general. Not in a naive sense — but as something that can be lived out in a grounded and fulfilling way.
Over time, this mix of views gradually formed a direction — one that kept leading me toward further reflection.
Until I realized that professionalism provides a way to unify these inclinations into something concrete.
There was a shot of a baker speaking about his relationship to his work. At one point, he said: “Of course, you have to keep moving, but I believe that if you do things properly, people will appreciate it.”
For some reason, it felt natural to me then, and still does.
At the time, I also spent a lot of time watching documentary programs. They often presented the world with a kind of directness and clarity, laying the foundations of my values — perhaps more than school ever did — and helping shape the perspective I carry to this day.
I grew up hearing stories about successful Czech individuals and their businesses. My father often spoke of them as something worth admiring, but somewhat distant from our own reality — perhaps understandably so. I never truly saw it that way.
I often felt that nothing already achieved by others was inherently out of reach.
I didn’t feel the need to reinvent things.
Instead, I found myself thinking about what a person is capable of, given what others had already done, and was drawn to applying that same energy to my own creative pursuits.
As with anyone, this was a time when my sense of reality was still forming. Since then, a certain idealism has stayed with me — but it has been tempered by realism.
A Defining Turning Point
I had this inclination in me early on, even when I first started exploring programming. But the defining moment came later.
Fortunately, I did not have to search for long. I came across a strong role model.
I had the opportunity to observe someone — and to listen to their explanations of many important principles — who had spent nearly thirty years in software engineering. An American, working in an environment that is, in many ways, the cradle of modern computing.
He was not someone standing on the sidelines. And although I would never describe him as career-driven in the conventional sense, he had naturally reached a level where his authority was unquestioned across different companies. He worked on many interesting projects, some of which he would occasionally share.
He lived the craft. He loved technical challenges. It was clearly visible — and yet everything he did was delivered with humility, ease, and a willingness to help whenever he could.
The intensity of the engineering culture I absorbed through him was enormous. People outside the field often described him as a genius. He commanded genuine respect.
But what impressed me the most was not just the depth of his knowledge — it was his professionalism.
He operated with the calm of someone who had encountered countless problems across different levels. Watching him work created a sense of certainty — that no problem is unsolvable. There are always paths forward. What is required is will, confidence, and persistence.
Observing him at work was more valuable to me than theoretical university lectures.
What resonated with me the most, however, was his overall approach to work.
He was reliable. Predictable in the best possible sense. Systematic. Methodical. Precise.
He showed me how even the most difficult problems can be solved step by step. At times, I was later able to push even further — driven by the momentum and sense of capability I gained from those methods, and by having the space to experiment.
He had an exceptionally strong work ethic. And that awakened something in me that had, until then, been somewhat dormant.
Earlier in my life, I had explored many different fields and tried to build many things. One thing was always common: I kept thinking about how things should be done properly. I believed there must already be established ways of doing things well. I was not interested in reinventing the wheel.
I cared more about doing things right than doing them quickly. My sense for quality is precise — sometimes to a fault. There were periods when it made things harder. But introspection helped. Over time, I learned to manage it better.
Among other things, I came to understand the relationship between effectiveness and my own well-being. I learned to set boundaries. To create conditions in which my professionalism could not only survive, but continue to grow.
Although I gradually became more independent from my mentor — I have always been drawn to finding my own answers — he showed me that what I had felt internally, but had never clearly seen in someone else, could actually work in practice.
I believe that this direct exposure to what is often referred to as “best practice” was what pushed me, at the right moment, to fully commit and start working on myself like never before. More than during my university studies in other fields.
I wanted to reach a level that felt truly appropriate to me. To live by certain standards. To maintain high expectations of myself.
It was difficult to fully believe that this was possible — until I saw it firsthand. That people like this exist. That they are valued for their work. That they can live this way while also maintaining a balanced and fulfilling personal life.
Of course, one can also arrive at this realization through books — through reading about historical figures, for example. But I was never particularly drawn to biographies.
And yet now, I feel a certain closeness to those kinds of people.
I do not know exactly how exposure to a true professional affects others. But this is how it affected me.