Everyone has that one friend whohad an idea of what they wanted to becomewhen they reached adulthood. You know the type who would inform a group of adults aged 10 that they were destined to become a musician – and possess the ability to support that claim.
Certainly, I was that individual. I had a clear idea from the age of 12 that I aspired to become a journalist. Even before I understood what a journalist truly did, I was determined to be one. I longed to conduct interviews and ask intrusive questions. I desired to be involved in a “story” and move on to the next project the following week. I wanted to submit proposals. I wanted to pick up a magazine or newspaper and find my name listed in the byline.
Every Thursday, my father would bring a copy of Time Out magazine in his briefcase, and we would quickly flip through it with such eagerness that the pages would be torn within an hour. On Sundays, my mother would purchase The Sunday Times, and I would observe the excitement with which she read AA Gill’s review. I began reading it as well, and I became completely hooked.
I completed my first internship at the age of 16 with the Barnet Times. During the following years, I worked in newsrooms, fashion storage areas, high-end magazines, and (less glamorous) mail rooms. I spent many hours transcribing and made numerous cups of tea. As is often the case for us early-blooming young individuals, I eventually succeeded.
At the age of 22, I landed my first job as a staff writer for a women’s magazine. And let me tell you, even though it was extremely demanding, it turned out to be everything I had ever hoped for and more. I never regretted it.
I dedicated 15 years to ascending the career ladder: I contributed to newspapers, appeared on radio and television. I traveled to Los Angeles for a report. One of my articles was acquired by Amazon Film Studios, and I also penned a screenplay. I eventually became deputy editor at Cosmopolitan magazine.
As time went by, circumstances evolved. I stepped away from journalism and embraced a fresh, thrilling role in branded content, and for the first time in my adult life, I was making genuine income. I encountered a man and had a child.
Later on during my maternity leave in 2024, I was laid off. Since my job was deeply connected to who I am and my overall sense of identity, it felt as though everything I knew had collapsed. I was 39 years old.
For more than ten years, I allowed my career to be the main aspect that shaped my identity. It was simply easier that way. If I didn’t want to discuss how terrible my love life was, or my mother’s Parkinson’s diagnosis, or my father’s hospitalization due to a heart attack, or my growing worry that I wasn’t as successful or creative as my colleagues – I could instead talk about any exciting project I was working on at work and everything would be fine.
Suddenly, I was unable to, and it was not.
Because, without even truly realizing it, I had allowed my career ambitions to serve as the foundation for all my life plans. For instance, if I had reasoned that I would be an Editor in Chief by the age of 45 (still a goal I aimed for and longed for), then surely I would be able to afford my dream home and dream life with dream vacations? It wasn’t just my current life that was suddenly put on hold – but the future I had been striving for since my early twenties.
At the beginning of 2025, I returned to work under a fixed-term contract that concluded a few months ago. I also became pregnant again (not part of the original plan, but we were still very happy about it), which made finding another permanent position significantly more difficult—about 80,000 times harder.
I celebrated my 40th birthday and transitioned from someone who had two career moves mapped out to someone who is unsure about what they want to become. For the first time in my life, I don’t have a plan for what’s next, and although it’s frightening, it’s also freeing.
Seeing forty, raising a young child, dealing with nursery expenses, a mortgage, and lacking career direction is definitely not easy. However, it’s also pushing me to consider aspects I’ve never truly allowed myself to think about before. For instance… what kind of job fits the life I have now – rather than how can I adjust my life to fit the job I currently have? Do I want to work in an office five days a week? Would I even be able to handle that with the costs of childcare?
Both of my parents put in extremely long hours throughout my childhood, and their strong work ethic is something I greatly admire and carry with me in all that I do.
However, with a young child, another one on the way, and aging parents dealing with complex health problems, my perspective on life has significantly shifted, prompting me to consider where my time is most effectively spent.
I still desire a satisfying profession, but I have been contemplating the true essence of what that work should entail. Maybe – the quiet voice inside me has begun to suggest – the initial plan was not the most suitable one after all.
Having some time to reflect on the industry I’ve been part of from the inside, and now viewing it from the outside, has been beneficial. It was like a sudden pause in my career that I didn’t realize I needed. The moment I began sharing with people—friends, strangers at my local café, and coworkers—what had occurred and how it affected me, I discovered that many Millennial and Gen X women, similar to myself, who grew up during the ‘You can have it all’ period of the late 80s, have also ended up on unstable professional paths. I am definitely not alone.
As AI disrupts entire sectors and alters job roles, leading to layoffs and changes in the workplace structure in 2025, it’s not only me facing a mid-career crisis. It’s a somewhat challenging yet essential process of discovering a new, more stable approach to work and demonstrating to everyone—especially to myself—how flexible we truly are.
I’m about to welcome my second child in a few weeks, and I have absolutely no idea how I’ll manage when I need to go back to work. However, I’ve come to accept this situation. For someone who is typically a meticulous planner, this has required months of reflection, late-night anxieties, emotional moments, job interviews, outbursts, and carefully prepared lists of “to dos.” But if there’s one thing this year has shown me, it’s that it’s perfectly fine to have no plan at all.
Focus on playing the hand you have instead of constantly thinking about your next move (and those of other players). This serves as a reminder for anyone who needs to hear it that having a plan—though reassuring—can also lead to problems and leave you even more disappointed if it doesn’t work, compared to if you had no plan at all.
Here’s to 2026, with no plans and no expectations. And you know what? It seems quite appealing to me.