Why do you want so badly to have a career? Is it possibly to be like everyone else, deriving your sense of self and self-worth from being yet another underpaid and overworked paper pusher or manual laborer? Destitute and despondent, hating your life because you obediently devote it to mindless productivity for no logical reason other than normative social influence and money to satisfy your unbridled consumer fetishism?
Boy, what a fulfilling life—chasing an imaginary pot of gold down a lifelong rainbow of abject misery and false promises, only to reach the end and see, after squandering away the bulk of your life for a fiction, that there never was any dream, no gold, not even the pot, at the terminus of the road of willful wage slavery and depression.
My advice: fuck a career; get a life you can one day be proud and satisfied to have had, instead. Or toil in the mud like most people, doing jobs they don't like for a pittance to buy things they don't need.
You want something to do? Do it. Enjoy it! But don't do what you love while making some rich fuckwad richer. You don't win from that game.