We’re sold a story from the moment we’re born. Go to school. Get a job. Climb the ladder. One day, when you’ve worked hard enough, long enough, you can finally live.
It’s the script society hands us before we even know we’re in the play. And most of us follow it without question.
From the first “What do you want to be when you grow up?” we’re trained to think in careers, not in lives. The expected answer is never “happy”, or “free”, or “someone who spends their mornings growing tomatoes and their afternoons reading in the sunshine”. It’s always a job title, usually with a higher-than-average salary (doctor, dentist, lawyer) that slots neatly into the economic machine.
We’re conditioned, generation after generation, to believe that living means working. That our worth is measured in output. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for serving others (it’s my love language), but not at the cost of ourselves.
For years, I believed I was being smart. Work hard now, enjoy life later. I’d pay off the mortgages, save a small fortune, and then finally… I’d have the time to do what I love: grow vegetables, bake pies, write, paint, laugh.
But as my salary grew, so did my bills. The “golden handcuffs” tightened. The more I gave to the corporation, the more I realised how replaceable I was. If I left, I’d be nothing more than a line in someone’s Monday morning handover notes.
Looking back, I can see that if I hadn’t stepped off the treadmill, I’d have kept running until retirement, only to discover I’d traded decades of living for a better car or more expensive handbags.
As a kid, I didn’t understand why adults spent so much of their lives at work. At the age of eight I swore I’d never be one of those people stuck in an office. Fast forward thirty years and there I was, twelve-hour days, high cortisol, fluorescent lighting, dreaming of farmhouse kitchens and fresh pies.
So, I changed it up.
Now, I work differently. I partner with businesses in bursts; drop in, untangle the mess, set them on the right path, and then step back. I offer retainers, but I thrive on variety. I decide what I do, when I do it, and how I do it.
For me, real work-life balance means:
Long walks on the beach (as cliché as that is) and feeling the sunshine on my face
Hiking through forests and letting my mind slow down
Lazy days
Painting, dancing, and laughing
Growing vegetables (currently on my balcony)
Meditating and working in track pants
Spending time with people who fill my cup
I’m happier than I’ve been in years. I make as much money as I did in corporate, but without the burnout, the politics, the 6am alarms, and the 7pm finishes. If I want four weeks off, or twelve, it’s my call.
I no longer wait for “one day.”
Because life is for living now, not after you’ve ticked all the boxes society handed you. And taking control of your time isn’t selfish. It’s the most valuable thing you’ll ever do for yourself.
