“Ten thousand hours is the magic number of greatness,” said Malcom Gladwell in his 2008 book “Outliers.”

I read the book sometime in high school, when my interests varied and my passions had not yet been determined. At 16 years old, Gladwell’s thesis was difficult to digest. But I gathered, to be extraordinary at anything – whether it be fiction writing, ice-skating or programming – we’ve got to put in 10,000 hours of practice. In broader terms, success is more dependent on preparation than innate talent.

At the time, I had just begun taking AP classes and thought myself quite the academic. Though I did well in school, my time outside of class centered on no activity in particular, aside from reading too many coming-of-age novels and playing the occasional Pokémon sequel. It was a naïve existence fueled by an education system that emphasized “well-roundedness.”

I thought, since my time wasn’t being spent perfecting my future work, was it being wasted? Success must take into account all these things we do before we find our life’s purpose, right?

The “10,000 hour rule” depressed me. I was no child prodigy in the arts. I didn’t play a sport. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life. I was under the impression my interests would just “fall into place.”

It’s been four years, and I’m still left clueless about my life’s purpose. I’ve come to think of success stories as romanticized notions of greatness that are impractical to live up to. To consume my life with an interest for 10,000 hours feels a little overwhelming. I guess moderation is a bad thing.

I understand what Gladwell was getting at – people aren’t just born with a set of natural talents that make them masters of their craft; they’ve got to put in the work to get them there. What upsets me, though, is that in 20 years, I’ve not yet found an interest I can put that much time into.

Maybe this is it. I guess it always comes full circle. If I can’t find something I’m willing to commit to, then I won’t be successful. Everyone wants to be a savant in something, but maybe it’s possible to gauge success by personal fulfillment and not society’s expectations. Do I want to be world-class because it’d “be nice” or do I want to be world-class because I enjoy what I’m doing?

In the back of my head, I always knew this was the case, that I’d have to decide sooner or later what to with my future. I’ve done that whole getting good grades thing and following the norm. It’s time to shift focus.

I encourage everyone reading this to not end up like me. Doing well in school is only half the battle. Find something you love, stop reading this, and go do it.

Tarif Haque is a sophomore majoring in computer science. His column runs weekly.