34, and Not Where I Thought I'd Be

When I imagined turning 34, I thought I'd have a pretty good idea of what my life was supposed to look like by now. I pictured a house somewhere in Northern Virginia, probably in a neighborhood with tree-lined streets and enough space for a family to grow. I imagined being married with at least two children, settled into a career I had spent years building, and working my way into leadership within the international development field. I had a picture of the woman I wanted to become, and for a long time, I assumed that if I kept making the right choices, I would eventually become her.

I don't think I ever considered that I might reach this age and still have so many questions about what I want my life to be. Somewhere along the way, I realized you can build a whole life and still not know what you want from it.

Here I am, on the eve of 34, still trying to figure out the difference.

The life I thought I was supposed to want

At 24, I said I wanted a big life, but the day I pictured was the one I’d grown up around. Breakfast for my family, the school drop-off, traffic on the way to work with my mother on the phone, then meetings and program budgets until it was time to go home to a husband and kids already waiting. It never occurred to me that I was allowed to go after something else.

I grew up in a small town where you went to school, established a career, met someone, got married and had children, and there was comfort in knowing what came next. Following that path meant I would belong. I measured whether I was on track in promotions and in reaching six figures, and in finding the guy, which I did. Looking back, I can see how much of it was tied to external validation. Whenever I sat with myself and imagined having all of it, there was a craving for something different.

That craving had been there for years. I'd traveled internationally since I was a kid, and when I studied abroad in the UK I explored as much of Europe as I could and met women traveling on their own, moving through the world in a way that looked daring and liberating. I'd go home and slip back into the life I knew, but the idea that I could choose something different had already taken root.

For a long time I wanted adventure and certainty at once. I was trying to solve my life like a mathematical equation, as if making the right decisions in the right order would get me to the outcome I wanted. It took me years to accept that life doesn't work that way.

What happens when the plan changes

In 2022, I packed up my belongings, sold my car and moved abroad. There was no single moment when everything became clear. It was a gradual realization that I had crossed a threshold, and once I'd seen my life take a different shape, I couldn't convince myself the original plan was the only one available.

The following year, I moved to Nairobi. I started my career in East Africa and had wanted to live and work in the region full time for years, so when the opportunity came it felt like a full-circle moment.

The job left me burned out. I could feel it changing my personality and my values. I was becoming more callous than I had ever been, someone I didn't recognize. That is how I learned I can't chase money. I need my work to be connected to something beyond myself, and a salary was never going to stand in for that.

Leaving the familiar cost me other things too, and I didn't see all of them coming. Friendships changed when distance became part of the equation. I wasn't there in person for milestones that mattered to people I love. Even going from single to married, which I chose and am grateful for, came with its own quiet grief for the woman I'd been.

I wouldn't trade it, though. Living abroad gave me some of my closest friendships and brought my husband into my life. It also expanded my idea of stability. I used to think it meant knowing where I'd live and what I'd earn for the next few years. Now I think it has more to do with staying anchored in myself while everything around me shifts.

When I couldn’t see the next step

For much of my adult life, I have been able to find the next step. There was always another role to pursue, another skill to develop, or another goal to work toward. Even when the path was difficult, I could usually tell myself what I was working toward and why it mattered.

After taking an intentional break from my career, I returned to an international development sector undergoing significant change, in a job market that has made finding my footing more difficult than I expected. My first instinct was to find a job, secure an income, and get back onto solid ground. The practical realities matter, but I also know what it feels like to take a job primarily for the paycheck and discover that the cost of staying is much greater than I anticipated.

My husband has encouraged me to slow down and use this season to reconsider what I want from work and what I want my life to make room for. It is good advice, though harder to follow than it sounds. I have spent so much of my life measuring progress by what I can point to that stepping back can feel like falling behind. I worry that everyone else has it figured out while I'm still trying to make sense of my next move.

But perhaps this season is asking me to do something I haven't always allowed myself to do. Instead of rushing toward the next milestone because it is familiar, I can take the time to ask whether it is one I still want.

Learning to choose differently

I recently heard Steven Bartlett, who created The Diary of a CEO, on The Breakfast Club talking about the things he had quit throughout his journey. What stayed with me was the idea that we tend to celebrate beginnings and success while we treat quitting as something to be embarrassed about. We applaud people for taking a chance, but we don't always make room for the possibility that the chance might teach them something different from what they expected.

There have been things I continued doing long after they stopped serving me because I didn't want other people to think I had given up. I worried about what it would mean to change direction after telling people what I was working toward. However, there is a difference between giving up on yourself and deciding that a particular path is no longer right for you. Sometimes the most responsible thing you can do is acknowledge what isn't working and allow yourself to move on.

I am giving myself permission to explore a new passion, to consider whether going back to school might make sense, and to imagine possibilities I may not have entertained before. I still want a big life. I still want to do work that matters. I haven't lost my ambition. I am simply trying to understand what those desires look like now, rather than assuming they have to take the form I imagined years ago.

Making peace with the unfinished parts

If I could sit across from my 24-year-old self now, I think she would be surprised by the life I have lived. She might be confused by some of my decisions, particularly the choice to leave a career I had worked so hard to build and travel for eight months without knowing exactly what would come next. She might wonder why I would willingly step away from stability and security.

What she couldn't see from the outside is the part I'm proudest of. Somewhere in all those moves and redirections, I built a relationship with myself that I didn't have at 24. I trust my own inner knowing now, and I love the woman doing the living, even on the days she has no idea where she's going.

I'm not writing this as someone who has figured it out. Some days I wish I had a clearer answer to what I'm meant to do with my life. But I'm starting to think clarity may come through the living of it. I don't know what this next year will bring, or whether I'll be any closer to an answer by the time I turn 35. For now, I’m giving myself space to follow what feels meaningful and to believe there is still so much life ahead of me.

Keep planting,

Ashlee