While I admit my algorithm might be a bit biased, the numbers suggest this trend is real. Full-time self-employment in the US hit a record high in 2025, and a Gallup poll found that over 60 percent of adults in the US would prefer to be their own boss.1

But do this many people actually want to be entrepreneurs, or are economic conditions so bad that what was once considered the risky option now feels the most safe?

New mass layoff announcements every week mean that the “stable” career path isn’t so stable anymore, and people are turning to alternative methods of supporting themselves. Those who have managed to hold onto their jobs are building something on the side to account for the rising cost of living or the still-looming threat of sudden job loss. Those feeling stuck in a job they hate are exploring self-employment instead of applying elsewhere because there simply isn’t anything worth applying to.

Now to be clear, I am not hating on entrepreneurship. In fact it’s something I continue to be deeply interested in for myself. The ability to own your career and work on your own terms is incredibly empowering, not to mention that more entrepreneurs and small businesses means less power held by the corporate powers that be (and the less power they have the better, in my humble opinion).

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Even still, I can’t help but wonder if the swathes of people moving this direction, myself included, really want to be entrepreneurs deep down, or if we are just convincing ourselves that we do because it feels like the only option left. And either way, is the tradeoff worth it?

At the extremes, I see this trend going one of two ways.

My optimistic side sees the increase in entrepreneurship as an opportunity to transform the way we think about work. People providing their skills, expertise, or products in return for a reasonable rate, and more and more people with the freedom and flexibility to lead the lives they choose. If enough people went this direction, maybe we’d even see a move toward legislation that provides more affordable health insurance options for self-employed folks in the US (just let me dream here, okay). And because businesses have to compete with the freedom and flexibility available to the growing self-employed workforce, work culture might even improve for those that stay on the traditional route, too.

On the other hand, I can see a scenario where businesses realize that they can actually save money by hiring freelancers for everything they haven’t already figured out how to do using AI. In this case, nearly everyone is forced to be an “entrepreneur,” which would actually mean that most people are doing the same work they would have been doing for a single company in the past, but with more volatility and no benefits. Having to take on more and more gigs at lower and lower rates to make ends meet, while the remaining traditional companies use the constant threat of replacement to chip away at benefits and flexibility.

In reality I doubt we will fully end up in either of these extremes, but I still think we should consider them. Rising rates of self-employment don’t seem to be slowing down anytime soon, and this pattern will certainly affect the economy and the way we work in one way or another.

I think we should go into the future of work with eyes wide open about what it can become, the good and the bad. And that begins with questioning what we’re already seeing happen in the present. Is the idea of a “portfolio career” just a way to make being overworked and overextended sound more palatable? Are we trading the corporate hustle culture for an equally unhealthy version we’ve created ourselves?

Maybe, maybe not. But it’s something to pay attention to and push back on where we can, because I believe the trend toward self-employment could be the beginning of a work culture that prioritizes people over profit, but only if we consciously choose it.

If I start a new hobby I immediately need to know everything about it. If I discover a destination I want to visit I will spend hours planning a trip I’ll probably never take. If I find a new creative outlet I inevitably start daydreaming about turning it into a business.

Even as a kid I would spend hours scanning every article, uncovering every related Reddit thread, and watching every YouTube video to fully immerse myself in whatever happened to be capturing my attention at the time. I’ve never been content with simply wanting something, I need to know everything there is to know about it.

On the surface this doesn’t necessarily sound like a problem. Nothing wrong with being passionate, right?

The problem, though, is that I can’t seem to balance a new interest with other (usually more important) aspects of my life. The interest becomes all-consuming. My health, relationships, and hobbies fall by the wayside. And this means that I burn out nearly as quickly as I threw myself in.

The pure time and energy (and often, monetary) cost of this pattern isn’t the only problem, though. It also leads me to discouraging myself before I even have a chance to try. Gathering information and inspiration from those who have more experience is certainly a good thing, but my brain always manages to turn it into a comparison game right away.

My goals become so far beyond my skill level that every attempt feels like failure.

My recent foray into ceramics provides the perfect, annoyingly timely example. I initially enrolled in a 6-week class to try a new creative hobby, something that would force me off my phone and into the present moment.

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I knew I would be bad at it, but I was okay with that because it was just for fun, an experiment. In my first class I couldn’t get a single thing off the wheel without ruining it, but I loved it. I loved the meditative aspect, that it forced my brain to connect with my body and just be. And over the course of the class I improved enough that I started to see it as something I could actually be good at.

Unfortunately, this is where the problem usually starts.

As it always does, this newfound interest soon became an obsession. My TikTok feed became all pottery, all the time. I impulsively bought far more supplies than I really needed. Pottery studio vlogs played in the background of my work day while I secretly began to wonder if I could turn this hobby into a business myself one day.

To be clear, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having big dreams for the things you enjoy. But this type of grandiose thinking so early on leads me to feeling discouraged with my progress before I can actually make any.

The beautiful ceramics on my feed that initially inspired me to work toward creating something similar one day now felt like a constant reminder of my inexperience. Another opportunity for my insecurity to creep in and convince me I’m so far behind it’s not worth trying. The obsession that briefly fueled my excitement began to suck all the joy out of it instead.

As I reflect on this, I feel embarrassed. I have seen this pattern unfold again and again, but still haven’t figured out how to stop it. To be fair, it might be that some of the many interests I’ve cycled through just weren’t meant to be. Not every hobby needs to turn into a lifelong passion. Even still, when I let something go I want it to be a conscious decision, not a cowardly retreat.

So, I’m moving beyond awareness and into action. First by setting limits on the amount of time I spend consuming information about a new interest. Learning from others is great, but the second inspiration turns to comparison it’s time to unplug. I’m also (loosely) setting a time frame that I need to stick with it, after which I can reevaluate if it’s something I really want in my life.

Most importantly, I’m digging deeper with my awareness. Going past acknowledging what I’m doing and asking why. It’s uncomfortable to stand face to face with the insecurity behind this pattern, but being a beginner part of being human. I need to uncover why I interpret the perfectly average experience of being bad at something new as meaning something deeper about my worth. And for now, that means continuing to show up at the pottery studio, failing at it, and doing it again anyway.

If I’m being completely honest, my 20s kind of sucked. Like most around my age, I can blame the pandemic for a good chunk of that, but I certainly didn’t do myself any favors in the aftermath. However, I think I am finally starting to come out on the other side, and upon reflection, the suckiness did reveal some important lessons. I’m sharing them here in the hopes that a young twenty-something stumbles upon my ramblings and it helps them make their 20s suck a little less. For the sake of keeping this semi-coherent, I’ve limited this advice to the 3 categories that I think most heavily marked this time in my life (for better or worse): career, dating, and friendship.

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Career

If you’ve read any of my other posts you’re probably wondering where the hell I’m finding the audacity to give any advice in this area (valid!). However, I think my current career confusion offers a valuable lesson to those closer to the start of this journey, which is this: keep an open mind. I was so sure I knew what I wanted at 22. Now at 30 I’m not sure what I was thinking.

Picking a path is certainly important for getting off the ground—you can’t go anywhere if you don’t choose a direction. But it’s worth keeping the path as wide as you can when you’re starting out. Take that first job, but explore other things on the side. Go to those horrible networking events and schedule the coffee chat with the person you find intimidating, but whose job you’re fascinated by. Apply to that job that sounds interesting but isn’t totally related to what you’re doing now. Start that YouTube channel about the hobby you’re obsessed with. Anything to keep yourself from narrowing your path before you’ve really even starting walking.

My other advice would be to really explore your strengths. Not your skills, like powerpoint or writing or data analysis, but the broader pieces that make you who you are, that drive you and energize you. Are you good at bringing people together toward a common goal? Breaking down a big project into manageable pieces? Do you find that you naturally end up mentoring those around you? Are you always wanting to take on and learn new things, or do you prefer becoming an expert at a narrow set of skills?

I’m realizing that questions like these are what should have been guiding my early-career exploration. Instead, I chose a career based on the skills I already had that fit neatly onto a resume. Now I have spent years in a career that I have grown to be technically good at, but doesn’t utilize the parts of myself that are most me.

Dating

My advice in this area requires a bit of context. In high school I was the weird girl who was not interested in dating. Like, at all. I didn’t have my first kiss until age 17, and it was basically a dare, in front of probably 15 of my “friends” who all knew I had never been kissed (in case you’re wondering, yes, this was humiliating).

I finally pushed past my extreme social anxiety and started exploring the dating world in college, and of course was immediately sucked into a situationship with a man-child who confused the ever-loving shit out of me and strung me along for an embarrassing amount of time.

After that experience, I vowed to never, ever let someone make me feel like that ever again. I was perfectly happy when I was single, and totally fine with staying that way if it meant never again experiencing emotional dependence on a text back from a man who very obviously didn’t care about me.

Next came the post-college dating app bonanza. A rite of passage for the small town kids who move to a big(ger) city after college without knowing a soul. Who needs friends when you could spend your Thursday evening having the most awkward conversation of your life with someone you’re already certain you’ll never be seeing again. This phase mostly consisted of a bunch of bad first, and on rare occasion, second, dates, until my last first date where I met my husband (yes, I met my husband on a dating app—there is hope friends!).

When I think back to how I knew that my husband was different as early as the first date, it came down to two things. First, as an introvert and Certified Awkward Girl, the conversation felt easy from the start. In fact, it felt like we somehow already knew each other. We skipped right past the surface-level stuff, and two hours went by in what felt like ten minutes. This sense of ease has remained until now, more than 7 years later, both in conversation and more generally. Even in hard times between us, which are inevitable, things have always still felt relatively uncomplicated.

The second stand out was that he never, ever made me question how he felt about me. All of my previous dating experiences had been filled with lots of weird mind games. You know the ones, like a guy who keeps saying he’s interested but takes days to reply to a simple text. By contrast, my now-husband texted me 15 minutes after our first date asking when he could see me again. No playing hard to get or worrying he would come off as desperate, just telling me exactly how he felt, when he felt it.

All of this points to a broader theme: a sense of security, which I first had to develop within myself. Growing to like my own company enough to prefer it over that of anyone who left me confused about their feelings or hesitant to be my full self, and then looking for that same feeling of security from my partner. You deserve to be with someone who doesn’t make you constantly question where you stand, with them or with yourself.

Friendship

I still find this embarrassing to admit, but my 20s were marked by significant loneliness.

Making friends as an adult is incredibly hard, especially if you move somewhere without some kind of existing circle or network. (It’s extra, extra hard if the world shuts down a year after you move there, but for humanity’s sake I’m hoping that will remain a unique experience). In many ways, making friends from “scratch” feels a lot like dating, but somehow worse. Everyone acknowledges that first dates are awkward, but the beginning of friendships often are too, which for whatever reason feels more uncomfortable to admit.

It also requires a substantial amount of effort up front, particularly for an introvert like myself. Saying yes to things when you’d rather stay in. Being the one to put yourself out there first. It’s really, really hard, and quite frankly I did not do a good job at it.

What I do know is that it’s easier if you put yourself in situations where you will run into the same people on a regular basis. There’s a lot of talk about keeping your personal life separate from your professional one, but making friends with your fellow entry-level colleagues tends to be the most obvious place to start. However, if your coworkers suck, or if you work in a toxic environment where you aren’t comfortable getting close with colleagues, try something else that gets you in the same place with the same people repeatedly: workout or art classes, a book club, volunteering, an adult sports league. If you are blessed with the gift of extroversion, even becoming a regular at a local coffee shop could offer some opportunities for connection.

Similar to my realization about romantic relationships, though, remember that the friendships that are supposed to last should come with a sense of ease. Of course there will be challenges or periods of strain, any long term relationship has them, but if the bad outweighs the good then it might be time to reevaluate. I have come to accept that not all friends are meant to be in your life forever. There were many friendships that were wonderful for the season of life I was in, but they were too surface level to survive the substantial growth and change that happens during your 20s. Not all your friends are meant to be your lifelong ride or die besties, and that is 100% okay.

I want to wrap this up with the reminder that it’s okay if your 20s don’t feel like the magical decade you were expecting. My guess is that it doesn’t for most people, and putting so much pressure on it only makes it feel worse. Use this time to explore and mess up and learn about yourself, and let that be enough.

“The one mindset shift that changed everything for me.”

“How I replaced my 6-figure income in 6 months.”

Social media is full of people sharing how they transformed their lives.

I find this kind of content simultaneously inspiring and discouraging. Inspiring because these are real-life examples of people who have gotten themselves unstuck, and if it’s possible for them, shouldn’t it be possible for me? At the same time, though, I find it discouraging, because in a world that prioritizes attention-grabbing hooks, 7 second videos, and getting straight to the point, it feels like the most successful people are the ones having tangible, often exponential success right away. This kind of content often portrays some kind of “turning point” that marked the change. Like from one moment to the next, because of a single decision or even just a mindset shift, they knew exactly which direction they wanted to go and were ready to go all in.

Even though I know that these stories are simplified for the sake of the algorithm, and these things actually take much longer in reality, I’ve realized that I have been subconsciously waiting for my own “moment.” The moment when the stars align and my next steps become crystal clear. The moment when I finally feel ready.

In waiting for this so-called moment, though, I have been unintentionally digging myself deeper into a career that doesn’t fit. The longer I stay, the more stuck I feel. Every year I stay on the same path I become better at something I’m not sure I want to be doing anymore.

I have been telling myself this was because I needed more clarity. That before making any meaningful changes I needed to know exactly what I wanted instead. But I’m realizing that what I’m actually looking for deep down is certainty. I want to know that if I put in the time and effort to make a change it will eventually work out. What I’m doing now isn’t quite right, but it is familiar and stable, and I want to be sure that I’m moving toward something better. Of course I can’t actually know any of this for sure, but I’ve spent years acting like it might become knowable if I just think about it hard enough.

Logically, I understand that moving into a life that fits actually requires a series of small changes and decisions that compound over time. It requires experimentation and trying and failing over and over again. And to be fair, this is exactly what I’ve been trying to do. I’ve taken up writing and pottery, explored what it might look like to freelance using the skills I already have, and applied to jobs that don’t perfectly fit with what my career trajectory was “supposed” to look like.

Still though, most of the time it doesn’t really feel like progress. It feels like putting a lot of effort into things that may never turn into anything at all.

I wish I could share something about how all of this experimentation has provided me at least a bit more clarity, but to be honest, so far it hasn’t. If anything, I feel less clear than I ever have. The more time I spend trying to figure out what I’m meant to be doing the fuzzier it gets. And I still catch myself waiting for some future version of myself to feel more confident, more decisive, or more ready than I do today.

Still, I am choosing to believe that eventually, after putting in the time wading through this murky water, I will end up somewhere clearer. I am trusting that this discomfort means something, and that any movement at all is better than staying stagnant. I’m not sure I’ll ever have that dramatic “ah-ha” moment about all of this, but I’m choosing to believe that I am moving in the right direction, even if I can only see a step or two ahead.

1. Identifying what I still like (and dislike) about my current job

   It’s been easy to tell myself I don’t like anything about my current job as a dissociation tactic, but when I really pay attention it’s just not true. There is a reason my 20-year-old self put me down this path. I think naming, and leaning into, the things I still like about my current job is important for two reasons. First, considering I’m not planning on leaving this job any time soon, it will make the time I spend in this role a lot more enjoyable. Second, it will help me narrow down what I should be looking for long-term. Similarly, getting specific about what I don’t like about the job will tell me what to avoid in the future, and flag tasks or circumstances that I can minimize where possible for now. Beyond just tasks, I’m also paying attention to how I feel about broader aspects of work like the type of organization, the work’s impact, flexibility, and work environment and culture to get a better sense of what situation will be the best fit for me.

2. Exploring new interests

   For years I was stuck in a rut of doing the narrow set of tasks required by my job and not much else, even in my free time. So now I’m putting in the time and effort to try new things, both personally and professionally. I’m making an effort to lean into some new skills and topic areas that I can apply to my current job, as well as some that are outside of its scope entirely. Some of these things are purely for enjoyment’s sake, too. That said, I’m also keeping an open mind toward monetizing one day if it makes sense. For example, I’ve been taking pottery classes for a few weeks now, and absolutely loving it. However, I am also terrible at it. Certainly not considering selling anything any time soon, but I am still open to the idea one day if I get good enough (in part because there is only so much room in my cupboards, and I imagine my friends and family will eventually grow tired of receiving mugs).

3. Financial planning

   I feel like the financial aspect of things is often glossed over when discussing a career pivot. I get it, finances are very personal and a bit of a drag compared to the excitement of thinking about building your dream life, but it’s a big piece of what is keeping me feeling stuck. I’m very blessed to have a relatively well-paying job at the moment, and quite frankly I’m not willing to make big lifestyle cutbacks for the sake of maybe being happier in my job, at least not without a relatively clear picture of what I want instead. For me, part of thinking about a potential future career pivot involves identifying exactly what I would need to be making to feel comfortable making the leap into something different, and doing research on what earning potential looks like on different paths.

4. Identifying my skill gaps

   As I’ve been thinking about all of this, I’ve come to the realization that the set of skills I have honed in my current career trajectory are actually quite narrow and specific to my own industry. This severely limits the options I have in the event that I want to pivot, so I’ve begun taking inventory of the roles that interest me and where I fall short. I have to say, though, I’m still figuring out exactly how to optimize this, particularly in the age of AI. I’m finding myself a bit afraid to dedicate any significant time to learning any one thing, because who knows if that skill will still be relevant even 6 months from now.

5. Reading

   Part of taking action to improve my career outlook involves seeking out information and experiences from others. I’m finding that this reading falls (roughly) into three categories, the first being career guidance and advice. I’m trying to balance reading advice that encourages making your current job work with information about how to pivot into something new. Second, I’m keeping up-to-date with what’s going on in the labor market now, and what predictions are for the future. I don’t want to be too much of an AI doomer, but I also want to be aware of where demand is headed as I consider my options. Lastly, it’s been really encouraging to read the thoughts and experiences of those who are going through something similar, or have in the past. (I know a lot of us are on this journey together so I’ve linked some of what I’ve been reading so far below!)

I am still in the very early stages of this journey, but I’ve already noticed that taking some sort of action has helped. I hope these tips help anyone who needs a push after feeling stuck for too long. (P.S. I’d love to hear how others are navigating their career uncertainty, sound off in the comments!)

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What I’m Reading:

• Career guidance/advice

  • The Squiggly Career

  • How to Discover What You’re Actually Good At

  • a guide to unconventional careers

  • a mini-guide to self employment

• What’s happening in the labor market

  • AI, Humanities, and the Future of Work

  • Optimist Economy

  • Where Have All the Recent Grads Gone?

• People going through something similar

  • How I Changed Careers Without Burning It All Down

  • trusting your gut when you don’t know what you want

  • The Anatomy of a Career Transition

The position I am in now is exactly where my 22 year old self hoped I would be. And now I’m left wondering, did I make the wrong choice?

At first it was just an itch. If you’ve read any of my previous posts, you know that years of working from home (and not doing much else) took its toll on all areas of my life. I convinced myself the career questioning was just a phase. Maybe I was simply bored, or missing the workplace camaraderie I had with my fellow recent grads at the start of my career (both true, to be fair). Maybe I was mistaking my declining mental health for career dissatisfaction. I tried to ignore it, keep pushing, keep achieving.

Eventually the denial turned to dissociation. I didn’t stop trying altogether, but the spark was gone. I wasn’t really sure what I was working towards. All of the dreams I once had about doing important, policy-influencing research seemed to fall flat. Nothing felt interesting. Keeping up with what was going on in my field felt like a chore. I tried to ignore it, using social media to numb myself further.

I then rationalized to myself that it wasn’t the job that was the problem, it was that I had nothing else going on. Social media was rotting my brain. I thought that decentering my work’s role in my life, and adding in other things that filled my cup, would cure my burnout. This led to reigniting my love for drawing, taking a pottery class, and finding a new love in writing (hi!). While this has certainly helped my mental health, it hasn’t quite resolved the uncertainty surrounding my career, at least not yet.

I wish I could say that I’m writing this to share how I finally figured it out, how I reignited my passion for my current job, or left to pursue something that felt more aligned. The truth is, I didn’t do either. I am still in the space in between. My current work still interests me, at least at a conceptual level. The issues I research are deeply important to me. At the same time, my creative energy has been stifled for years, and I want it back. I’m a firm believer that a job isn’t meant to make you feel fulfilled in every facet of your life, but shouldn’t it at least feel broadly aligned? For something that takes up nearly a third of our waking hours, shouldn’t it light up at least a few of the major parts of who we are?

So I’m not sure what to call the phase I’m in now. Maybe exploration? I have no plans to leave my job any time soon. In fact, I’m making a concerted effort to dive in more deeply, to identify the parts of it that still stir the 20-year-old version of myself who put me down this path in the first place. I love data, asking hard questions, and interrogating the systems that keep so many people stuck. Even still, I have lots of questions that don’t fall neatly into the policy areas covered by my work. I also love writing and art, and have dreams of sharing things I create with the world. I get excited by the idea of helping people and businesses solve their problems, not in a big-picture policy way, but more practically, in the day to day. And my secret, most far-fetched dream is owning a cafe that offers a space for coffee and co-working by day and drinks and live music by night.

All of this is to say that I have a lot of interests, and a lot of things that I think I could be happy doing, but I’m not sure how to make them fit together (or if I even should). My practical side tells me to be happy I even still have a job, find a way to love it as much as I used to, and explore my other interests on the side. And that’s what I’m doing for now. But I’m also staying open to the possibility that maybe there is something else out there for me.

1. Regular exercise (I know, I know, but hear me out)

   Unfortunately, what the people say about exercise is true. Nothing is more annoying than the people barking at you to exercise being right, but in my experience at least, they really were. My mental health has been a mess for as long as I can remember, and while therapy and medication have been helpful, no intervention has been as transformative as regular exercise. At first, getting in a 20-30 minute walk was all I could manage, but right away I noticed it was making me feel better mentally and physically. Over time these walks became longer, and I started added in some very light strength training at home. Eventually the walking turned into running (have actually done three half marathons now!), and at-home strength workouts turned into lifting heavy in the gym. I have a tendency toward all-or-nothing thinking, and in the past I would have told myself that a short walk “didn’t count,” which would have left me doing nothing at all. I have found that movement of any kind, for any length of time, provides me with the mental clarity and a sense of accomplishment that have been essential to picking myself up again.

2. Get the hell out of the house!

   At my worst, there were periods where I didn’t step foot outside my 400 square foot apartment for days, even full weeks, at time. Every hour I stayed inside made it feel harder to leave, but forcing myself to do it anyway was the first step to getting my life back. This is a good one to combine with exercise (the walks are how I started), but again, start as small as you need to. I especially like trying to get out of the house during the workday whenever I can. Some days all I have time for is answering emails sitting on my front steps, others a lunchtime walk. For jobs that allow it, working from a coffee shop or other communal space can be a great option (somehow, despite my usually distractible nature, I am at my most productive in coffee shops).

   

3. Have goals that have nothing to do with work

   I think this really applies to everyone with a job, not just remote workers. That said, you would think that working from home would make it easier to have goals outside of work, and logistically it absolutely does. At the same time, though, at least for me, it made it easier to let work invade most of my time and mental energy. It’s easy to trick yourself into believing that the best way to spend your free time is resting, which in my case consisted of rotting on the couch and switching my attention between my phone and whatever episode of New Girl I happened to be rewatching for the thousandth time. However, this makes your world very small very quickly, and also gives all of your best hours to your job instead of to you. Having goals for myself that have nothing to do with work has been essential to rebuilding my identity and confidence.

4. Adopt a pet (or more broadly, find something/someone to think about besides yourself)

   One thing that I’ve come to realize about my anxiety is that it is incredibly selfish in many ways. It requires a lot of thinking about me (don’t get me wrong, I have plenty of anxiety about things happening to others, but perhaps that’s another post). Adopting my cat, Ruby, a year into one of the most isolated periods of my life honestly saved me. Having something to care about, and think about, besides myself every day brought me back to reality and out of the chaos that was my head more times than I can count. Adopting a pet comes with the advantage that they are in your face, reminding you that they need attention and care. However, if pets aren’t your thing, anything that takes the focus off of yourself and onto something else can help. Volunteering is a great way to achieve this. Making more of an effort to see or check in with friends and family works too. And as an introvert and certified small-talk-hater, I have to admit that something as simple as making more of an effort to chat with the people I interact with as I go about my day is extremely grounding.

   

5. Lean into the advantages of working from home

   A lot of people give the advice that you should try to “recreate” some aspects of the office environment when working from home to help to give structure and some semblance of work-life balance. For example, suggestions like doing all your work from a home office, getting dressed and ready for the workday, and continuing to work from 9am to 5pm. To the people who this works well for: I am jealous of your brain. While working from home has had its downfalls, these “structural” elements are what really caused me to struggle back when I was in the office environment. I find that moving to different locations and types of seating throughout the day really helps my focus, wearing “real” clothing while working is usually physically uncomfortable to the point that I am distracted by it, and I am most productive super early in the morning and in the evening. To the extent that your job allows, take advantage of the flexibility working from home offers to make work work for you.

I’m not saying adopting these 5 habits will change everything. I will probably be recovering from the damage I did to my psyche during my peak isolation period for years to come. But they have helped, and I hope they help you, too.

P.S. I want to hear from you! Any strategies I’ve missed?

Aside from the terrifying nature of the reason behind this transition, I was eager to work from home. My head was full of ideas about how I could use the extra 2+ hours of my day that would no longer be spent getting ready and commuting. Working in my pajamas, and from the couch in my sun-filled living room instead of a stuffy shared cubicle under fluorescent lights, seemed like a dream. And it was at first.

But what initially felt like a semi-vacation soon turned me into a shell of who I once was. Of course the reason we were home was a huge part of this. Not only was I isolated in my work day, I was alone nearly 100% of the time. As a deeply introverted person I didn’t think it phased me at first, but between the complete isolation and the constant influx of terrifying headlines, my already-fragile mental health was taking a nose-dive. I became afraid to leave my apartment or talk to anyone besides my boyfriend and immediate family. The thought of going to the grocery store or even just a short walk outside felt exhausting. Still though, I figured that this was just a phase, and once the state of the world improved and things started opening back up I would return to my old self, working from home or not.

By late 2021 there were talks of returning to the office, and I panicked. I told myself I was searching for another fully remote job because I wanted to keep the freedom I had gained while working from home, but the truth is I had never felt less free. I was trapped by the comfort I found in avoiding the things that scared me. I could no longer blame my isolation on the state of the world.

To be clear, I also can’t blame all of this on remote work, either. Working from home full time is an immense privilege, one that allows many people to expand their lives to be more than work, or at least give more attention to what’s outside of it. For me, though, it gave me an excuse to lean into my worst impulses. I underestimated the extent to which being forced to leave my house and have uncomfortable social interactions on a daily basis was keeping my already severe introversion from spiraling into full blown social anxiety. Instead of using the extra time to pick up an exercise routine or develop a hobby, I spent it doomscrolling. The quiet hum of the anxiety that I had always carried on my shoulders became deafening, and I let it control my every move.

Over four years later, I am still working from home, and still climbing out of the hole I dug for myself all those years ago. Day-to-day social interactions don’t feel as scary, and leaving the house doesn’t feel agonizing (most of the time). I finally managed to grasp some of that freedom I kept telling myself I had. Most notably, for the first time in my life I have managed to stick to a regular workout schedule. Even still, my world feels far smaller than it once was. I still waste a lot of time glued to my phone, and days, even weeks go by where I realize I don’t really have anything to do that isn’t work. The timing of the pandemic, recently post-grad in a city where I was only just starting to find my footing, stunted my social life in a way that I have yet to recover from.

I’m nearing 30 now, and something about that fact has motivated me to expand my world again. To take advantage of the freedom I have instead of letting it keep me small. I’ve started making art again, my childhood love, and even signed up for a pottery class. I’m trying out writing for fun for the first time (hello! thanks for being here!). I’m finally taking concrete steps to address my mental health, including getting professional help. Most of all, slowly but surely, I’m looking for opportunities to do things that scare me. Because while remote work was the catalyst, leaning into the false sense of comfort that comes from avoiding fear was ultimately what transformed something that could have been an opportunity into a nightmare.

As a kid, I was always the one in the art supplies, taking every art class and summer camp, doodling in my notes, and even rearranging the furniture in my room pretending I was an interior designer. Everyone thought I would grow up to become an artist or creative of some sort, and so did I. As a very risk averse person, though, somewhere along the way I decided to do what I thought I was supposed to do, which was get a degree in a “more employable” major (economics, of all things) and then jump into the 9-5 grind.

Luckily the economics degree led me to work in policy research, which is something I was, and continue to be, extremely passionate about. But instead of continuing to nurture my creativity on the side, I abandoned it completely. For more than a decade, actually, and now I’m starting to feel it. It’s not that I’m unhappy with my life, it’s just that it feels like something integral is missing. I’m spending most of my free time consuming the result of someone else’s creativity instead of cultivating my own.

With 30 rapidly approaching I have decided to make a concerted effort to build a creative practice, because I will not spend another decade ignoring what was once at the core of who I believed myself to be. Years of trying and failing to stick to a 3 day per week workout routine have taught me that building a habit requires daily repetition, at least at first. So, in honor of this existential crisis brought on by the reality of exiting my 20s, I am publicly committing to spending time creating every single day until my birthday, which is in 75 days. Like a 75 hard challenge, but for a creative practice instead (and with a much gentler energy).

Unlike 75 hard, I have very few rules. Just two in fact. The first is that I have to spend a minimum of 10 minutes on this creative pursuit each day. I realize this seems like a very low bar, but this is another lesson I learned from finally figuring out how to get myself to exercise regularly. When you’re starting from zero, momentum is your very best friend. Doing even the bare minimum reminds your brain “this is who we are now,” and eventually the thing stops being a mental battle and turns into something you just do, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The second rule is that creating content doesn’t count. I’ve dipped my toe into sharing more on Instagram and TikTok over the last few months, and while it definitely forces me to flex my creative muscles, it’s not quite scratching that creative itch (and to be honest, I kind of hate it most of the time—video is just not my thing). Originally I was planning to focus most of this creative time on art making, since this is where I found so much joy as a child. After joining Substack, though, I have found that writing (for fun, a previously foreign concept) has given me a jolt of creative energy that I haven’t felt in years, so writing for this account will be my one exception.

My goal is to share a note on this practice every day for the sake of accountability, and also for something to look back on. An archive of evidence that I did what I said I would do. I have a nasty habit of getting very excited about a new idea, going all in for a couple of weeks (usually less, if I’m being honest), and then never thinking about it again. What I’m trying to say is, if you have stumbled upon this post weeks from now and haven’t seen a recent update, I grant you full permission to call me out. Thanks for being here, and I can’t wait to share this journey with you lovely people!

[p.s. The only thing better than creating is creating in community—if anyone wants to join me in this challenge I would be honored!!]