I don’t know what I want to be when I “grow up” – and that’s ok
I’m 35 and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I may never decide; I may just drift along; I may never have a “career”. And you know what? That’s absolutely fine.
There were always high expectations for me. Born to bibliophile parents, I began reading well before primary school and always had to go to the next class up to get books. At secondary school I was labelled a boffin. You know how local newspapers always have to have a photo of some grinning girls holding their A-grade GCSE certificates? I was one of them. On the basis of my A-level predictions, I was briefed about how to apply to Oxford and Cambridge and get through the interviews. Everyone around me took it for granted that I would excel in any vocation I chose.
But I wasn’t one of those kids who knew what they wanted to do.
I loved animals so being a vet initially seemed a logical ambition, until my mum put a dampener on it by pointing out I’d have to put my hand up cows’ bums and put pets to sleep. A teenage love of ‘Home Front’ and ‘Changing Rooms’ led to a short spell of aspiring to be an interior decorator, but let’s be real, my hair wasn’t as nice as Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen’s. Then my dad said he’d always thought law seemed interesting so, impressionable as I was, I decided I’d do that; until I had a week of work experience in a solicitor’s office and saw the grim realities of having to defend people you knew were guilty of violent and sexual crimes.
Then I had an epiphany, as a huge music geek, I should *clearly* become a journalist for the NME or Melody Maker; free gigs, free records, free booze, hanging out with my favourite bands… genius!
So off I went to the University of Sheffield, only to find I was no longer the best in class. Worse than that, my tutor told me I was no good at magazine journalism, but my forte was hard news journalism; the same grim realities I was trying to avoid by not studying law.
Disheartened, I plodded through my degree just to get the certificate, and after graduation I started temping in offices. Through this I was lucky enough to land a permanent post as the personal assistant to a doctor, a job I’m still in 12 years later.
Yet, I continued to feel the pressure that I needed to “be” something.
I did an NVQ in Artist and Band Management (still trying to achieve that pipedream of making it in the music biz), a diploma in publishing (turns out it’s not just reading books all day, it’s actually business/economics/marketing - ugh), and then a part-time Open University degree in psychology.
I loved doing the latter, I’d found something that fascinated and inspired me, and I actually I got a 1st and won some undergraduate prizes along the way, so I decided psychology was *definitely* going to be my thing. I started a master’s degree in psychological research methods. I was going to go on to get a PhD, get everyone to call me Doctor, and then hide away in a lab somewhere quietly doing research all day.
Then I realized the enormous pressures in academia; the long hours, the lack of permanent contracts, the huge amounts of paperwork, the teaching and marking, the battle for research grants, and the resulting strain on mental health. I’m a perfectionistic introvert with imposter syndrome who struggles talking to people and has suffered on-and-off with depression and anxiety; I think we can all agree academia wouldn’t have been the best place for me.
So, I dropped out.
When I scraped through my journalism degree and abandoned my publishing master’s, I felt like a disappointment, a letdown, like I had failed to achieve my childhood potential. But this time, I suddenly got it; I don’t think I really want to *be* anything. I am enough *whatever* I do for work.
I think I was only aiming for some high-profile career because I cared about what other people thought, and because I believed it would bolster my self-esteem, when in reality it would probably have knocked it down further. My dad and my boss keep encouraging me to set up my own company, but I don’t want the responsibility. I like being able to work 9-5 and leave my job at the office.
I am actually happy working in a secretarial role. My main duties are to help someone, and I’ve always been motivated by being able to help. My boss is nice, my office mate is nice, it’s a convenient commute, and it’s in a city I love living in. (Also, I realise how incredibly privileged I am to have a job at all, given how many people are unemployed under our current government.)
When I was temping after university I supported both myself and my still-a-student partner on £8,000 a year and I was happy.
I might not have been able to save, but I paid my bills and had enough left over to spend on my interests – a couple of books, films, gigs, and meals out each month. And really, that’s all I need.
Eighteen is an incredibly young age to expect people to know what they want to do for the rest of their lives and commit to it, and is clearly based on the capitalist principles of the society we live in.
And I think it’s even harder for women. I’m an ardent feminist, but think there’s still a lingering sense that we “should” try to build a career, we “should” lean in and we “should” fight to break through the glass ceiling in order to support other women and combat patriarchal expectations about traditional female roles.
But really, feminist is about equality and freedom, which means we have an equal right to decide to work-to-live rather than live-to-work, to not have a clue about what we want to “be”, and to not have a career.
We are perfectly imperfect, and more than adequate – whatever we do. Tidders x
You can catch up with the amazing Jen on https://www.instagram.com/jentidders/
