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Into the unknown

Twelve months ago I stepped into the unknown, leaving a company I’d loved, an executive role and the only life I’d known for nearly fifteen years. It was rather sudden - although in hindsight building for a while - and I did none of the things recommended for a move into freelancing, such as developing a side hustle, building cash reserves or priming my network.

Nevertheless, I decided to leave the security and camaraderie of an industry into which I’d become deeply and happily embedded to strike out for … I didn’t know what.

Brave, gutsy, ballsy … or something else?

The reaction to my departure was varied, but with a common theme. I even stopped people before they said it, feeling the judgement in euphemism and remembering the words Sir Humphrey Appleby used so effectively to strike fear into the heart of Jim Hacker. (“Very brave, Minister.”)

Without any idea what I might do next, I flippantly made my immediate priorities to walk my dogs and play golf. I did both and a lot more: caught up with friends, took a holiday and wrote a business plan while sitting in my garden in the winter sunshine. Before long, my reverie was broken when a contact engaged me for a project. Another soon followed. I expanded my mentoring work, attended interesting events and explored different opportunities.

It wasn’t long before I realised that:

1. there’s lots of stuff I know and that I can do;
2. people want to be able to do or know the stuff I know and do;
3. and (this was truly a revelation)
4. they genuinely appreciate my input.

Imagine! I found that I could make a meaningful contribution to people’s work and lives, just by doing the things that I really loved. And along the way, I’ve met many kind, funny and helpful people who have been generous with their guidance, advice and support.

No choice, really

While my decision to leave was sudden, it came about after two years of intense pressure when a punishing workload intersected with occasions of profound grief and trauma, driving my cortisol through the roof for such a sustained period that I plunged into burnout and clinical depression.

I was unprepared for the emptiness, lethargy and isolation this induced. I would drive to work each day in tears, brace to muster enthusiasm for activities which had previously energised me, and fight my way through dense mental fog to concentrate.

My closest confidantes were my lifeline. Anti-depressant medication and cognitive behavioural therapy helped, but it was only when I removed myself from the primary stressors that I began to properly heal. Not everything came back. I am now on lifelong medication which would have been avoided if I’d acted sooner to stop the pain. Alarmingly, I’ve since found a lot of people who have had a similar experience. Way too many people.

A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for. John A Shedd

I had said that what I needed was to be scared again, and to leave my comfort zone. Well, nothing in this context defines scared like being over 50 with no job and a Sydney mortgage. Curiously though, I have never been more relaxed, even with only a partially-defined work pipeline and bucketloads of uncertainty.

I am meeting new people around the country and the world.

I have the stimulation and variety of project, coaching and board roles, volunteer work and mentoring.

I get to spend most days with my dogs and ABC Radio Sydney for company.

I now have my rider L-plates and a motorcycle.

I do more baking and other things that I love.

I can choose who I work with - lovely people only! - and exactly how I structure my week.

I still miss my colleagues and team. I have lost only nine of the twelve kilograms I gained when my thyroid went AWOL (my own fault: see baking, above).

I am unsure what the future holds but OK to go with it, and to have my destiny in my own hands.


It’s been a good year.