The Great Escape: Do I Need One, Or Do I Need Something Else?

I can't stop thinking about this Stylist article, "The Great Escape: Why Women Like Me Are Quitting Their Jobs in Search of Sunshine and Self-Discovery."

I'll admit, the title hooked me.

Sunshine?

Self-discovery?

Sounds great. But then the paywall hit, and I was left staring at the screen. Sorry Stylist, I won't be paying £3 for content that used to be a freebie at the Tube. Judge me all you want; I ain't budging on this!

Still, it stuck with me today. The teaser talked about Meena Alexander (and women like her) booking one-way tickets, upending their lives, and leaving everything behind to "find themselves." And while I don't have a one-way ticket in my hand (or a burning desire to carry all my possessions on my back as I go travelling), the idea of stepping off the hamster wheel keeps pulling at me.

Maybe it's because I'm a Thatcher baby, born in the 1980s, when the message was clear: work hard, earn money, buy stuff, and climb the ladder. Success wasn't just an aspiration; it was a responsibility. You worked to buy your house, fill it with things, and prove that you'd "made it."

And for a long time, I bought into that. I worked hard. I bought the clothes, the things, the life I thought I was supposed to want. But now? I don't care. At least, not in the same way. I don't know if it's burnout or just realizing that none of this stuff actually matters, but I feel... itchy.

Restless.

Like I've been sold a dream that isn't mine.

But here's the thing: I'm a realist. I don't have a "choice fund" sitting in a savings account. I don't have a rich husband or a family trust fund. And while I love singing, I'm not deluded enough to think it'll pay the bills.

So what do I do?

Quit and hope for the best?

Or stay and keep playing the game, even though it's draining the life out of me?

I think part of my restlessness comes from realizing how much I've been conditioned to believe. Work isn't just work; it's identity, value, purpose. Success is measured in titles, salaries, and LinkedIn updates. And the idea of stepping away from that—of unlearning what I've spent my whole life chasing—feels terrifying.

But I'm starting to ask myself: What if I don't need all this stuff? What if the version of success I was taught isn't actually mine?

The problem is, the things I hate about this world—the endless grind, the corporate nonsense, the obsession with numbers—are tangled up in the things I love. I love marketing. When I work on marketing projects with friends, I feel alive.

I'm in flow.

But doing the same thing in the corporate world? It feels like all the joy has been sucked out of it. It's a strange contradiction: I love what I do, but I hate the system I do it in.

And that's why I don't think a one-way ticket is the solution. Sure, I'd love a bit of sunshine and self-discovery. Who wouldn't? But I don't think this is the answer. I wonder if it's about figuring out how to exist in this world without letting it destroy the parts of me I love.

I don't want to escape; I want to build something that feels real. Something that doesn't force me to choose between paying the bills and being true to myself. Something that lets me love my work without hating the system.

Maybe that means being more deliberate about how I spend my time. Maybe it means saying no to things that don't align with who I am. Maybe it means rethinking what success looks like.

But here's the truth: I don't have it figured out yet.

What's Next?

I keep coming back to this idea of unlearning. Unlearning the belief that success is about what I own. Unlearning the idea that rest is lazy. Unlearning the lie that I need to prove my worth through work.

And as I think about Richie's question—Who are you outside of work?—I realize that I don't have to have all the answers right now. It's okay to feel conflicted, to sit with the discomfort, and to figure it out slowly.

So maybe my "great escape" isn't about leaving everything behind. Maybe it's about staying, but staying differently. Creating a life where joy isn't reserved for weekends or holidays. A life where work feels meaningful again. A life where I don't have to run away to find myself.

It's not easy.

It's not glamorous.

But maybe that's the real work—the kind that doesn't come with paywalls, one-way tickets, or Instagram captions.