How a Simple Conversation Unraveled My Entire Career

...and the surprising realization of what had been absent from my ambition

The days blur, the tasks complete, yet a persistent sense of being slightly out of tune lingers. There's a hollowness beneath the surface, a quiet depletion that rest alone can't mend. We call it burnout, the byproduct of a demanding world, the cost of the relentless climb. What if it's the disquiet of a spirit realizing it has chased a horizon that was never its own, a weariness born not of doing too much, but of being someone else for too long?

Photo by Nahid Hatami on Unsplash

There are moments in life that hit you with the gentle force of a whisper, a quiet observation that suddenly illuminates a truth you’ve been unknowingly living. For me, one of those moments arrived in a rather unremarkable setting, a conversation with my leader at work. They were talking about the importance of good pay, yes, but then they added something that landed with the surprising weight of a revelation: "You should also be happy and want to enjoy the work you do." Then they asked me if I was happy.

The awakening wasn't a dramatic slap across the face - it was that subtle whisper in a mundane conversation. It makes me wonder how many other whispers I missed, living in a state where my inner world and self-awareness felt like a strong Wi-Fi signal trying to connect when I was miles outside cellular range - the data was there, but the connection was nonexistent.

Walking away from that conversation, I felt a jolt of surprise. Not at the wisdom of the statement itself, but at the stark realization that the notion of "joy" or “happiness” in my work had been absent from my calculations. My career choices hadn't been driven by passion or a genuine love for the tasks at hand, but rather by an internal drive to live up to this idealized version of myself and not waste my potential, and let's not forget, to make enough money to support myself and help my family. Perhaps influenced by philosophies that caution against the elusive nature of happiness, and armed with the knowledge of how poorly we predict our own future contentment, I had consciously (or unconsciously) steered clear of such a subjective and seemingly unreliable metric in my career planning.

I’d operated under the false premise that competence equaled contentment. If I was good at something, surely enjoyment would follow, right? Wrong. It was like thinking because you can mediate conflicts effectively, you relish tense conversations. I’d also chased the mental high of complexity, believing that constantly challenging my brain would stave off boredom and breed fulfillment. And it did for a while. That intellectual thrill, however, often faded over time, leaving a similar sense of… well, just having completed a task, not genuine satisfaction. Interestingly, as I continued to work on quieting my ego, the things that once brought a sense of accomplishment no longer resonated in the same way. Compliments would come, recognition offered, and I'd stand there, feeling a strange disconnect. A flicker of surprise at my own lack of feeling. I knew I should feel a sense of gratification, but the emotion wouldn't surface. The urge to feign gratitude was strong, ingrained after years of playing the part, a role I continued to inhabit even as my inner landscape had drastically changed. It felt like an actor still emoting on cue, even though the director had seemingly forgotten to call "End scene." But the weight of that pretense had become too heavy. The hollowness was a stark reminder of how much my earlier drive had been fueled by those ego-driven external markers, a well that I now realized was running dry.

But the signs of disconnect were there all along. It wasn't just the external demands of a mentally taxing role - the constant interaction with difficult situations and people, the high-stakes problem-solving under critical deadlines and looming consequences -that fueled the exhaustion. Perhaps having grown up in a stressful environment, I had learned not only to survive but even to thrive in it, my body becoming accustomed to a certain level of chronic tension. Now, however, it was becoming apparent how this ingrained pattern, this almost addictive relationship with stress, was contributing to the internal battle while I was constantly swimming in a self-made cortisol cocktail. The immense energy I spent suppressing my true feelings resulted in a stunted emotional landscape that relentlessly drained my reserves. This internal "work" I was doing kept me able to do my job, and even get promoted, but at the steep cost of the very things that once brought me joy outside those office walls. My workouts were skipped, the joy of cooking dwindled, half-finished paintings collected dust, and books went half-read, all in a desperate attempt to cling to those precious seven hours of sleep. The weight of it all was heavy, a constant undercurrent of fatigue and a profound lack of desire for the very things I used to enjoy.

Then there was the quiet driver I hadn’t fully acknowledged, a deep-seated aversion to being defined by what made me uncomfortable and what I wasn’t good at. Growth, I reasoned, lay in constant immersion in the unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Change was constant and here I was, always adapting. My strategy of diving into discomfort was like trying to become a master chef by only cooking the dishes I hated the most – technically growth, but not exactly a recipe for joy. Little did I know the subtle strain this relentless pushing was placing on my nervous system, the quiet tax it levied on my energy reserves.

Looking back, the influence of my childhood is clear. Growing up seeing my parents constantly struggle to make ends meet, and often going without myself, ingrained a powerful program: provide and secure stability. This also fostered a sense of shame about our circumstances, a feeling of being "less than" in a world that often values financial success. My young mind, in its pragmatic wisdom, saw the corporate world as the most direct route to that safety net, a way to finally know what that felt like.

What I didn't anticipate was the strange alchemy of achieving those foundational needs. The initial relief and gratitude, while real and validating my years of struggle, proved to be a plateau rather than a summit. Slowly, a different kind of unease began to surface. It was as if satisfying the lower levels of Maslow's hierarchy merely cleared the space to finally hear the long-muted yearnings of a different part of myself. Was I simply moving through Maslow’s hierarchy, trading one set of challenges for another, without ever truly addressing the needs of my soul? The job I was once so thankful for now felt different, almost transactional.

I don’t believe the way I approached things was inherently wrong. It served a purpose, a vital one at the time. Self-compassion, I’m learning, is key to honoring that journey without judgment. For many, recognizing this misalignment might mean a significant career shift, a leap that feels daunting. Some may not have the immediate ability to pivot, perhaps lacking financial flexibility or a supportive work environment. For many of us, there are responsibilities - school, children, aging parents, a spouse - that shape our choices. There’s validity in finding yourself in an "intermission" before the next act of your life unfolds. It’s a deeply personal journey, and what it looks like will vary greatly for each of us. We hear stories of people dropping everything and moving to Bali, and for some, that might be the right path. But the path I hope to explore and share is often more about gentle exploration, unfolding in its own time. I hope for people to see that the solution isn't a new destination or external quick fixes, but the inner work we can all cultivate within ourselves.

I’m fortunate in many ways, and I don’t lose sight of that. But I’m also realizing that my creative spirit has been quietly neglected, and it’s time I pay more deliberate attention to that part of myself. You see, beneath the surface of this rational, technically-minded exterior lies a highly creative soul. My first love was art -drawing, painting and writing - and that ability to connect different elements in unique ways, that creative leap, has actually been a strength in my career. It’s a bit of a contradiction, this blend of the highly rational and the deeply sensitive old soul, but it’s a truth I’m learning to embrace. Maybe you too have felt your creative spirit drowned out in your job or day-to-day life or felt that it’s living at odds with what you do or how you’re living. But remember, that very spark -that unique part of you longing for expression -is something you can begin to nurture, even now, wherever you are.

One of the first steps towards reconnecting with myself has been recognizing the tenacious grip of my ego, that quiet voice still trying to steer me back to the familiar, even if it is ultimately unfulfilling. More journaling, deeper questioning around designing a life where work supports the lifestyle I desire (not the other way around), and a fundamental re-evaluation of my mindset around money and abundance have become my new compass points. What trade-offs am I now willing to make for more time, more energy, more alignment with what truly resonates within?

This is a journey, a slow unfurling. And perhaps, if any of this resonates with you, you’re on a similar path of re-evaluation, of listening to those quiet whispers that were once drowned out by the noise of expectation and conditioning. In future explorations, I want to delve into a different way of thinking about our paths. Instead of starting with the traditional career aspirations, what if we began by envisioning the key elements of a life that truly resonates with us - how we want to feel, how we want to spend our time, what brings us joy - and then explored how work can fit into that picture, rather than the other way around? It's about designing a life first, and then finding the work that aligns with it.

What are your thoughts? Have you ever experienced a similar "waking up" moment in your career or life? What does your "intermission" look like, or what creative spark are you longing to nurture? Share your experiences in the comments below.