You Don't Have to Know What You Want to be When You Grow Up

When I was younger, adults loved asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up. It seemed like such a simple question, and I assumed that at some point, the answer would become obvious.

I thought adulthood would bring clarity. I'd choose a career, find my place, build a life, and eventually arrive at some version of myself that felt complete.

Well, here I am.

I've built a career I'm proud of. I've developed expertise, taken on leadership roles, managed teams, and learned what it means to make decisions that affect more than just myself. I know my strengths, I understand the value I bring to an organization, and I've become increasingly intentional about the kind of work I want to do.

And yet, I still don't have a final answer to that childhood question. The difference is that now, I don't think I need one.

We ask young people to make some of the most consequential decisions of their lives before they've had much opportunity to experience life itself. Choose a major. Pick an industry. Find your niche. Build your résumé. Establish yourself. Keep climbing.

And for many of us, that's exactly what we do.

We work hard, develop professional identities, and build careers around the skills we've spent years refining. Eventually, we reach a point where people recognize us for what we do well. We become the experts, the managers, the leaders. But there's an interesting contradiction that comes with professional success. The more established we become, the more difficult it can feel to imagine doing something different. After all, we've invested years getting here. Why would we want to change direction now? My answer is simple: Because growth shouldn't end when we become successful.

The person I was at 22 made decisions based on what she knew about herself and the world at that moment. She couldn't have anticipated everything that would shape the next chapter of her life. She didn't know what becoming a parent would teach her about priorities, patience, and perspective. She hadn't experienced the challenges of managing people or the responsibility that comes with leadership. She hadn't yet learned how success can build confidence, how failure can build resilience, or how loss can fundamentally change what we consider important. She did the best she could with the information she had.

I'm grateful for her ambition and the choices she made. But I don't believe those choices should determine every opportunity I pursue for the rest of my life. When we talk about professional reinvention, we often make it sound like a major life event. Leaving a career, starting a business, going back to school, or walking away from everything familiar to pursue something entirely new.

Sometimes it looks like that. But I think some of the most meaningful professional growth happens in much smaller, quieter ways. It happens when you write something and realize you have a perspective worth sharing. When you accept a speaking opportunity that makes you a little nervous. When a conversation introduces you to a career path you never knew existed. When you develop an interest that doesn't fit neatly within your current job description. Or when you catch yourself thinking, I'd really love to do that someday. I've learned to pay more attention to those moments.

As leaders, we spend so much time encouraging other people to develop, take risks, and recognize their potential. We identify strengths in our colleagues, challenge our teams to think differently, and celebrate people who step outside their comfort zones. We should be willing to offer ourselves that same encouragement.

Being good at something doesn't mean it's the only thing we're capable of doing. And being successful in one chapter doesn't mean we have to keep writing the same chapter forever.

There's also something incredibly valuable about remaining curious. Curiosity keeps us engaged, adaptable, and open to perspectives we might otherwise overlook. It makes us better learners and, I believe, better leaders. It reminds us that experience and possibility aren't competing ideas. They can, and should, exist together.

Earlier in my career, I thought professional success meant eventually reaching a place where everything made sense. I'd have the right title, the right experience, and a clear understanding of where I belonged. Today, I see success a little differently.

I still value ambition. I believe in working hard, developing expertise, and being excellent at what you do. I also believe there's a responsibility that comes with leadership, and that experience should give us the confidence to make thoughtful decisions about our futures. But I no longer believe a successful career has to follow a perfectly predictable path.

In fact, I think one of the advantages of getting older is realizing that we have more options than we once imagined.

There are opportunities I'm interested in today that wouldn't have occurred to me ten years ago. There are skills I want to develop, conversations I want to be part of, and experiences I hope to have that extend beyond the career I originally envisioned. That doesn't mean I chose the wrong path. It means the path has helped me grow into someone who can see new possibilities.

Maybe that's what we should be encouraging, particularly among women who have spent years building careers, supporting families, and meeting everyone else's expectations. We don't have to choose between appreciating what we've accomplished and wanting something more. We can be proud of where we are without assuming it's where we're meant to stay. So instead of asking whether I've finally figured out what I want to be, I've started asking myself better questions. What am I curious about? What do I still want to learn? Where can I make a meaningful contribution? And what opportunities might I be overlooking simply because they don't fit the career plan I made years ago?

I may never have one definitive answer to what I want to be when I grow up. And at this point in my life, I hope I never do. Because I don't want to spend the rest of my career simply being who I've already become. I want to keep discovering who else I can be.