I am a hopeless romantic who falls in lust and gets in trouble. I

“I am a hopeless romantic who falls in lust and gets in trouble. I love my work and am very productive, yet I always find time to play.” Thus speaks Maksim Chmerkovskiy, dancer and dreamer, confessing with laughter and candor the tensions that live within the human spirit. His words weave together passion and discipline, romance and responsibility, the fire of desire and the balance of labor. In them we find a portrait of a life not lived in halves, but in fullness, embracing both the trouble of passion and the dignity of work.

To be a hopeless romantic is to walk the world with the heart unguarded, ready to be swept away by beauty, by affection, by the thrill of connection. Such souls often stumble into danger, for love and lust are powerful winds that can scatter even the strongest. Yet Chmerkovskiy does not speak with shame. He accepts the trouble as part of the cost of living fully, preferring storms to the calm stagnation of a heart that never risks. This is the spirit of the ancients, who honored lovers like Paris of Troy or Antony of Rome, men undone by passion but remembered forever because they dared to burn brightly.

Yet alongside this fire of romance, Chmerkovskiy places another truth: work. He declares himself “very productive,” reminding us that passion is not license for idleness. Even the most ardent heart must labor, must build, must bring forth creation from effort. The ancients knew this harmony well—Hesiod wrote of ergon, the noble work that sustains life, while still celebrating the passions that make life worth living. To love greatly but also to work diligently is to live in balance, avoiding both the chaos of recklessness and the emptiness of drudgery.

His final admission, “I always find time to play,” is perhaps the deepest wisdom of all. For life is not meant to be only toil and duty. Even amidst labor and passion, the spirit requires joy, laughter, movement without burden. The Greek philosophers spoke of paidia, the divine playfulness that nourishes the soul. Without play, even love can become heavy, even work can become slavery. By holding space for play, Chmerkovskiy shows us how to remain light of heart while living a life of intensity.

History offers examples of this triad—romance, work, and play—woven into great lives. Consider Leonardo da Vinci, who loved with passion, worked with tireless productivity, yet delighted in games, sketches, and whims of imagination. His genius was not born of discipline alone, nor of passion alone, but of a life lived in all its dimensions. So too does Chmerkovskiy’s quote remind us that greatness lies not in denying parts of ourselves, but in allowing all to breathe: the lover, the worker, the child at play.

The lesson here is not to shun trouble, nor to suppress desire, but to guide it with wisdom. To be a hopeless romantic is not weakness, but a sign of a heart alive. To fall in lust and stumble is human, but to rise again and balance passion with work and joy is divine. Trouble, when embraced as part of life’s rhythm, becomes not ruin but texture, shaping the story of a soul that dared to live.

Therefore, dear listener, take this teaching into your life: do not fear the storms of passion, nor cling only to the safety of work, nor forget the laughter of play. Live with a heart open to romance, hands ready for labor, and a spirit light enough to dance. For the fullest life is not one of rigid order, nor reckless abandon, but of harmony between desire, duty, and delight. And such a life, though imperfect, will shine brightly, remembered as one lived with courage, creativity, and joy.