Most people change their mind about their career ten times before they turn 20. I never did.
From the moment I started delivering newspapers at 13, I said to myself:
“One day, I’ll be writing in these.”
And that’s the journey I’ve been on ever since.
At school, I was a bit of a goody two-shoes, except when it came to chatting. I loved a good natter.
I was always naturally curious, loved getting up in people’s business, finding out the goss, and passing it on.
Then came my love for writing. Storytelling.
Put a pen in my hand, or a keyboard under my fingers, and the words would just flow.
The years went by: from primary to middle school, middle to upper, upper to sixth form, and finally, university.
Sometimes I feel lucky to have always known what I want to do with my life. Other times, the doubt creeps in.
Will I get bored of this? What if it’s not really what I want after all?
But then I remember how much I love giving a voice to people who don’t always have one.
Raising awareness for causes that matter. Bringing people together with nothing but words on a screen.
And I realise, I’m not just lucky. I’m driven.
Driven to achieve what 13-year-old me dreamed of.
Don’t get me wrong — it’s not all hopes and headlines.
I’ve been out in the field unpaid in money but rich in experience. I’ve had a taster of the highs and lows of journalism: stories that fizzled out, interviews that fell through, articles I poured myself into that barely got any views.
I’ve even scrolled through the comments on one of my proudest piece only to find:
“What a pointless article.“
But even that won’t take away the happiness I get from writing.
It’s pretty cool, when I think about it, that 13-year-old me already knew.
And seven years later, I’m still chasing that dream, harder than ever.
Who knows?
Maybe 13-year-old you was onto something too.
Have you tried listening to them?
