This is something from Subtle Being I thought I'd put here...

... one thing i've made a note of in my life is that fly-fishing guides tend to be some of the coolest, most fascinating people you'll ever meet in this world. all of them have a story to tell, and all of them are people who have given up most everything to pursue what they really love to do. to be able to make a living doing what you love is, for me, the definition of "success," and it is a rare and difficult path to walk. when you meet such people, you should take the time to get to know them, and listen carefully to what they have to say.
... on that last trip my family made to the mccloud river, we had a guide named chris. after a few days, this is what i had learned about him (from what i can remember and, probably, somewhat embellished... don't you love oral history!!):
... he was very intelligent. he had scored a perfect 1600 on his SATs, was well-read and cultured, and came from a family who had sent three generations to Stanford University. it was expected of him that he study there as well, following in his father and grandfather's shoes. he was a legacy from a successful family, certain to get accepted, and his life, essentially, had been laid out for him by the time he was 18.
... now chris didn't like this, but he was forced by his family to send in an application. in what i think of as a brilliant move, he put his name on top of the application form and sent it in blank. needless to say, he was not accepted, and more importantly he created a huge schism between himself and his family. such an act takes courage--it was a declaration of his independence, you could say, and instead of following tradition he packed up his things and moved to northern california, where he became a fly-fishing guide and a world-class whitewater kayaking instructor. i believe he is now in asia, studying the ancient art of chinese medicine, after some eastern wisdom more or less saved his life from a number of significant health problems.
... what i'm saying is that this was an exceptional human being, walking his own path in life--someone who i intuitively knew to have a real understanding of life; someone who was really "walking the walk," instead of just talking about it; someone i knew i should listen to, and heed what he had to say. i'm writing all this because i want to share it with you too. "truth's kept secret become poisinous," as the saying goes...
... so one day on the river, while the two of us were standing waist-deep in a swift current tying on flies, chris relayed to me the following piece of wisdom about life. since then (maybe 6 years now), it has come to be one of the most insightful observations i've ever heard, and i think about it every time i set out to learn something new (right now, that's the mandolin). to understand it brings humility, and a willingness to practice and learn. it provides a context, or a "map" of sorts, in which one can move steadily past the common barriers to knowledge, in any given field or aspect of life. all that being said, here it is:

There are four stages of learning.

Briefly, they are:
1. unconscious incompetence
2. conscious incompetence
3. conscious competence
4. unconscious competence

More fully, they are as follows:
First, one is unconsciously incompetent: one does not realize how much there is to learn, or how far one has to go, or how bad at something (to put it bluntly) one is. It's like, for example, when one spends a few weeks learning an instrument, then hears some famous musician play a solo, and one thinks, "that's not so hard, i could do that! there's nothing to this thing at all! what's the big deal?" Or, as another example, when one hears the idea that E=MC^2, and thinks "okay, so what? matter equals energy, what's the big deal?" This is the first stage of learning--one is not conscious of how incompetent one is.
Second, as one progresses and learns more, one becomes consciously incompetent: one learns enough to catch a glimpse of how much there is to know, and one realizes, with humility (and sometimes despair) that one knows practically nothing at all about whatever one is trying to learn. One sees a long road ahead, and fear often creeps in alongside self-doubt. This is when you re-listen to that guitar solo and your jaw drops in awe, because you are now capable of understanding how absolutely incredible it is, and how far you are from ever attaining that level of mastery over an instrument. Or, to use a mathematical example again, it's when you realize what it took for Newton to invent calculus all on his own. This is the second stage of learning--one is conscious of one's own incompetence.
Third, after much hard work and a disciplined commitment to improvement, one achieves the level of conscious competence: that is, one is able to display competence in a given area or endeavor, but only with concentrated effort and constant focus. After countless hours of dedicated practice, for example, one can perform a very difficult song on the guitar, but one's mind is completely focused on the task. In other words, you can do it right, and well, but only by really thinking about what you're doing. This is the third stage of learning, and it can take years to achieve--here one is consciously comptetent at a given skill.
Fourth, and finally, comes the last stage of learning--unconscious competence. This is the level of mastery. At this stage, achieved only after many years of dedicated effort (or, for those lucky few, right away... like Mozart sitting down and writing out a completed symphony from his head at age 3...), one no longer has to think in order to perform. The mind is still. The skill becomes an expression of one's very being. In music, one plays without reference to "scales" or "chord progressions" or the rules of harmony, but rather one speaks through a given instrument as easily and as naturally and as flawlessly as one does through the vocal cords. You don't when you talk--that is, one isn't consciously aware of the muscles one has to flex to form a sound, or the grammatical rules one must follow to speak one's native tongue--you simply do it. This is the fourth stage of learning--where one is fully competent without being conscious of the fundamentals of the art. You talk, you ride a horse, you play a string of notes, you cast a fly rod, you know, intuitively, where the fish are going to be. You solve an equation, you type words on a keyboard, you ride a bicycle as easily as you walk... remember when you needed training wheels? Or when it took all your concentration not to fall over on your side? Though there is still an infinite amount to learn at this stage--infinite possibilities to invent or discover--one has achieved a level of mastery, where the act has become an expression, really, of who you are.
It can be the task of a lifetime to progress through all four of these stages in even one area of any given lifetime. To do so requires a level of sacrifice and surrender, perseverence and courage, willingness, humility, and commitment that is extremelt rare in our society. It doesn't go unnoticed, either--society recognizes and reveres mastery in all its forms, whether in a cello player, an athlete, a racecar driver or a buddhist monk. Granted, there are those with a "God-given" gift, but they are rarer still.
To master any path--to "walk a path with heart," as Don Juan taught--and to traverse it to its full length is the true goal of every living creature on this planet. It is the only path to happiness, and the only one that can go on forever. This truth has been repeated throughout the ages.
"Master thyself," proclaimed the Buddha, "...in all things be a master, of what you say and do and think."
"Know thyself," said the Christ.
In other words, to pursue what you really love--what you do in joy--is the very meaning and purpose in life. To have an act, or skill or art or vocation, that you really love to do is the highest, most noble, most paramount endeavor that one can attempt in life, and the only one that will bring you "happiness."
or, as my dad used to say, "you have to find a passion in life..."
so tell me...
what's yours?