“Mummy?”
It’s bedtime, and my daughter is wearing her Worried Face. What is it that’s standing between her and sleep (or between me and Netflix) tonight?
“I still can’t decide what I want to be when I grow up.”
Stifling a smile, I make reassuring noises.
“Well, I don’t think you don’t need to worry about that right now. After all, you’re only seven.”
She remains unconvinced.
“But… what if I never know, even when I’m a grown up? What if I pick the wrong job?”
Now she’s got me. At 40-something, I can’t shake the feeling that I may have done just that. I’m feeling anxious and exhausted, burned out from trying to shoehorn myself into a role that sounds great on paper but isn’t right for me, because it’s the “sensible” and “responsible” thing to do.
Undoubtedly, the role has changed since I excitedly took it on eight years ago – new people, new expectations, new ways of working. But, perhaps more fundamentally, I’ve changed. In that time I’ve brought two new humans into the world, and lived through a global pandemic.
Perhaps it’s not surprising that I’m questioning my choices, wondering if there’s another way to live.
But how do I explain that to a seven year old?
The one thing I do know is that I need to find my spark again – not just for me, but for my two girls. I don’t want them to grow up thinking work is something that makes you grumpy and sad.
Over the coming weeks and months, I spend hours reading inspiring stories of people who’ve made dramatic career changes. People who’ve turned their backs on corporate life and “found their passion”. Almost invariably, that turns out to be yoga teaching, counselling or life coaching. All worthy professions, I’m sure, but none of them feels like my passion.
So what is my passion? Do I even have one? Where can I find it?
Then one day, I read something that makes everything click into place. It simply says, “What are you doing when you lose track of time?”
Well, I think, that’s easy. Writing. Or, not just “writing” – anything that involves playing around with words on a page. I’m good at it too. Yes, I said it. I’m not one for blowing my own trumpet – in fact, I’m usually crippled by impostor syndrome – but this is something I know I can do.
The good news is, I don’t have to perfect my downward dog to achieve it. I realise that I’ve always worked with words in some way – I just want to do more of it.
So here I am: freelance copywriter, editor and translator, at your service.
Going freelance isn’t an easy decision – I might never earn what I did in the corporate world, and I know I’ll miss the benefits, bonuses and paid holidays. But, after an initial adjustment period in early lockdown (an uncomfortable dining chair, IT teething problems, a potty-training toddler and Joe Wicks haunting my dreams), I realised that working from home really suits me. I was in no rush to return to a busy office, a tedious commute and limp supermarket sandwiches.
The biggest advantage of being freelance is the flexibility to be there for my daughters when they have burning questions about the future. As to my seven year old’s future career path… it will probably be something we can’t even imagine yet. Just find what you’re good at, find what you enjoy – and don’t be afraid to change your mind.
Kate Mounce 