Hi everyone,
How have you been? I'm writing this from a cafe at the start of the Easter weekend, sipping on a latte and chewing a chocolate and hazelnut cookie, feeling very ready for a four day weekend.
In my last letter I mentioned not really knowing what to write about, well since then I decided to flick back to my description of this Substack (“Notes on finding fulfilment and saying no to dreams that aren't right for you.”) and reminded myself that I want to use this space to write about saying no to dreams that aren’t right for you. So, I thought back to a few dreams I had in my teens and early 20s that ultimately I said no to.
I also realised there’s a piece I’ve been waiting to write about the grief that comes with saying no to a dream you don’t want sitting on the back-burner. Initially I pitched it to another Substack and while they said yes, ultimately they changed the direction of their substance and my piece no longer fitted the theme, so perhaps I’ll share that here.
For today though, here are a few dreams I’ve said goodbye to with no grief attached. I’d love to hear about any of your dreams you’ve either said goodbye to - with or without grief.
Becoming a music journalist
This dream started while I was at university studying media writing. Before moving into halls, there was a forum where those living in our particular flat could talk before meeting in person. I remember specifically mentioning that I liked rock music. I wanted to be known for that and made sure to wear ripped jeans on moving day to really hammer it home. Hi, I’m alternative, please like me.
During Fresher’s week I looked at various clubs, jostling to find my place. I joined the radio society alongside a flatmate and we hosted a morning show, picking our favourite songs to play and talking nonsense in between. Quite quickly I decided I wanted to be a music journalist.
I wrote for a website reviewing indie/folk albums, somehow got assignments from the odd magazine to photograph and interview bands. At every moment I was terrified. After one particularly nerve-wracking assignment travelling to London to interview a band, I got some feedback that felt particularly harsh and I questioned if it was what I really wanted to do.
I liked writing about music, but I felt like a fraud the entire time, writing cliches to describe the sounds I was hearing and sometimes, shamefully, Googling other reviews to get an idea of what to say. I also, honestly, felt far too introverted to be in that world.
The passion you have to have to thrive in the music industry needs to run deep and while I liked music, I realised I didn’t love it to that extent. If I did, I would never have let harsh feedback stop me from pushing forward. When it happened, it felt like confirmation; a permission slip saying - this isn’t for you. Next.
Working in fashion
The industry that poured in to fill the vacuum music left behind was fashion. After graduating I worked in retail (a shoe shop, then River Island) and for a minute, thought retail might be my dream. But the writing dream never left, and weekend working was exhausting, so I settled on fashion writing being my calling instead.
I got to work finding internships to fit around my retail work, one of which was based in Notting Hill where I wrote hundreds of celebrity outfit descriptions and blogs. It felt so incredibly cool.
Eventually I got a full-time job at a fashion retail website - the ultimate dream. I wasn’t technically writing, I was in an ‘online assistant’ which was a fancy way of saying ‘customer service’. I dealt with snobby customers, packed orders and wrote the odd product description.
There were cool moments too, I went to London Fashion Week, started doing social media for them and attended photoshoots. It all felt like a step in the right direction.
Alas, the family run business was terribly managed. The boss would rant and rampage his way through the office, shouting, swearing, completely unaware of himself. I was looked down on by colleagues and side-eyed when I left work on time instead of working overtime.
I was paid terribly and most of my pay check went to the four-hour daily commute. I met quite a few fashion industry people in that time and, while I don’t like to generalise… most of them weren’t my kind of people. My love of fashion had been diluted by working in the industry and just like music, I realised I didn’t love it enough to work in it.
I started looking for other jobs, ones that would cost less to get to and in an industry I cared about. I had a few interviews then, including an interview at Sweaty Betty which took me closer to what would become my ultimate industry ‘home’, wellness.
Unfortunately I made the mistake of bad-mouthing my then-boss in the interview and didn’t get the job (when asked how I like to be managed I sarcastically mentioned some ways I didn’t like to be managed and the interviewer quite rightly gave me feedback that this was unprofessional - cringe).
Thankfully, I then found Happiful - a job close to home that would involve writing about mental health, something I hadn’t fully considered before, but realised could be something I’d love (and it turns out I was right!).
Living in London
This dream was tied to the one above. Working in fashion and living in London felt like they went hand-in-hand. That internship writing about celebrity outfits was what did it. Strolling around Portobello market, getting coffee, visiting the CEO’s huge townhouse… I quickly fell for the idea of making London my home.
Getting the job at the fashion website in London was my next step. Being in London every day did, I admit, quell that dream a bit. I realised on the money I was earning, I would not be living anywhere glamorous. That Notting Hill townhouse dream went up in a puff of smoke. Instead it was looking at rooms to rend in less glamorous areas.
On top of this, I got into a relationship with someone living near me and moving away from him lost its appeal. So when I found Happiful, a writing job in an industry I was excited about 10-minutes away from where I was living - it was a no brainer.
Since then, London has never come back into the picture as a possible place to live. I’ve changed and, let’s be honest, London has changed. Even die-hard London fans are being priced out.
Now my hopes when it comes to places to live are much quieter - to be somewhere we can comfortably stroll into a town, with cafes, restaurants and, ideally, a train station. I still love visiting London and think it’s an incredible city, it’s just not somewhere I see myself living.
Running my own business
I won’t go into too much detail here, you can hear me talking about this journey on podcasts here and here. All I’ll say is that for a long time, running my own business as a confidence coach felt like the only path to freedom. After years or trying, pivoting, and trying again, I let myself settle in the decision that it’s not right for me. That I can find fulfilment elsewhere. That work itself isn’t the be-all and end-all. And I truly haven’t looked back.
There we go. Four dreams I said no to. The one dream I never let go of throughout all of this was writing and I’m so pleased I found my place. I’m working in an industry where words have a huge impact and where I feel proud every day of the work we do.
I was in my late 20s when I got my job at Happiful, and beforehand was panicking I’d never find my place. Now I realise just how lucky I have been. It can take a lifetime to find the right dreams for you. Trial, error, starting again.
I also know now that is is never too late to find your thing. Dreams come and go, and they all taught me a huge amount. I still have dreams too of course, but I’m not waiting for them to happen to be happy. Moments like now, finishing my coffee with an empty weekend sprawling ahead of me give me joy. And that feels like a dream in itself.
Until next time, take care.
Kat x
Really enjoyed reading this, and thank you for being so vulnerable about your dreams. I left my dream job last year after 12 years in fashion and it was the biggest heartbreak of my life, but I'd realised that I'd already lived my fashion dream, as it were. And yes, dreams do come and go!