Ever since I heard Taylor Swift’s “Welcome to New York” for the first time, the city called my name.
Of course, I was grateful for my suburban upbringing in California, but my town was too small for my aspirations. I wanted to live the life of a fashion journalist, and to me, that required being in New York City.
Fixated on my goal, I mapped out a plan in college to secure as many internships and part-time writing gigs as possible, then fling the industry door wide open.
I went on to land a job at a Los Angeles public relations agency before breaking into editorial with a remote position at a lifestyle publication. Then, a few months later, I got a job at one of NYC’s most prominent newspapers. It wasn’t strictly focused on fashion, but it was my entry point.
Although the COVID-19 pandemic meant I had to spend the first six months working from California, I was excited to move to New York as soon as possible.
At first, living in New York felt like a dream come true
Without knowing a single soul, I set off to the concrete jungle, armed with sheer ambition, nerves, and the belief that if I worked hard enough, I’d have that movie montage moment (cue “Empire State of Mind”).
I moved into an apartment on my own, and just like that, I was enveloped by the glittering scene that came with the gig, staring at my laptop until my eyes stung with tears and rubbing elbows with Hollywood’s elite. It was a thrill, to say the least, but I still had my eyes on fashion.
One year later, I pulled it off, landing a role at the glossy I’d been collecting for nearly a decade.
Within days, my life changed: I was sitting front row at New York Fashion Week and juggling an output that seemed to multiply tenfold — making my heart race so fast my Oura ring began to flag stress spikes.
This new life shimmered from miles away, with friends and family saying, “Your life is like a movie.” By the world’s standards, I had “made it,” but underneath the dazzling designer façade was a quiet truth no one had prepared me for.
However, the reality of living my dream wasn’t as fulfilling as I thought it’d be
Attaining everything I’d dreamed of by 26 meant drowning in a sea of deadlines, navigating corporate politics, and feeling pressured to sustain my success — smack dab in the middle of a quarter-life crisis.
The increasing number of industry-wide layoffs also nixed the possibility of a promotion despite my best efforts. Still, the work accelerated and my responsibilities expanded. I was left feeling overlooked and depleted — and my mental health suffered.
I began to question who I was apart from my career, if I wasn’t climbing (and rising) to the top. What’s worse is that this feeling began to seep into other areas of my life, feeding the lie that I didn’t measure up.
That’s when I realized “making it” couldn’t be as simple as owning luxury handbags, interviewing stars, and typing up thousands of stories.
Instead of feeling fulfilled, I was left with a strange ache that the life I’d worked so hard to achieve wasn’t enough. So, I started re-evaluating how I wanted to live, my values, and where I saw myself in five years.
I decided my next move would have to allow me to do what I love and still prioritize the other elements of my life that make me me: family, friendships, hobbies, and faith.
Still, entertaining the concept of “what comes next” was unsettling, especially considering I’d up and moved my entire life just a few years prior, and I genuinely adored writing and style.
I wondered whether pursuing something new would be a failure or if people would think I was weak. This inner debate gnawed at me for months, while work opportunities that once thrilled me felt like extra weight.
But finally, it clicked. Making a career change wouldn’t be quitting or failing — I’d already clawed my way to the big leagues and thrived — and my purpose came from much more than my work.
So, nearly a year later, I left my dream job to freelance within the fashion space, deciding to stay within the industry and city I love — but on my own terms. Still, I’ll always be grateful for the early years of my career; I couldn’t have pursued my new path without them.
And I know this won’t be the final shift I make in my life, because it’s the bends in the road that make it meaningful.
As it turns out, “making it” is a milestone that can be continually redefined, and landing my “dream job” was only the beginning of the story.
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