The Leap

Sometimes, the hardest step is the one that takes you where you were always meant to be

We all have moments when we question if we're on the right path in life. In 2010, I made the leap from my job in the NHS to pursue writing full-time, and here's a little reflection on that moment. I hope it resonates with you.

Summer, 2008. It was a Sunday. The pavement shimmered in the heat, and I sat in a London restaurant, a melting sundae in front of me and my then-partner opposite. I was feeling completely miserable.

It wasn’t the usual Sunday blues—the sort of dread when the weekend feels too short and Monday morning looms. I’d had that before, but this time it was different. I wasn’t just thinking about the week ahead, but my whole future. I was sitting there, wondering, "What am I doing? Something has to change. I can’t keep going like this."

On the surface, my career in the Health Service was on track. I was deputy head of a busy hospital department, and with my manager retiring soon, a promotion to head of service was practically a given. But as the chocolate sundae melted, I realized I no longer cared about that promotion. "The thing is," I said to my partner, and to myself, "I don’t want to be head of service. I know how much energy that takes, how much time. And if I take that job, I’ll never write again. I can’t live with that. I’m going to ask to go part-time."

At the time, it felt like a big decision, but looking back, it seems so obvious. We often get stuck in a groove, thinking we’re supposed to follow a set path, one defined by our skills and other people’s expectations. I was good at my job, it paid well, and there were career prospects. It seemed foolish to consider walking away—especially for something as uncertain as writing. After all, writing novels doesn’t have a clear career structure, and it usually doesn’t pay much. Who would jump off a bullet train to ride a donkey?

Maybe someone like me, I thought. My partner had suggested I read an article by an executive coach, Jenny Rogers. In it, she discussed the Rolling Stones—specifically, why Mick and Keith keep performing, even though they’re well past retirement age. People ask why they do it, since they don’t need the money. But Jenny had seen them live and understood: they do it because they love it. It’s their life purpose. They’re at home on stage. So, why stop?

That article changed something for me. Jenny’s advice was simple: if you’re unsure whether you’re on the right track, think about what you’d do for sheer pleasure, even if there was no pay. What makes you feel alive? What puts you "in the zone"?

I thought about it, and for me, the answer was clear. Writing fiction was the thing I loved most—it was when I felt the most alive. The idea of never doing it again felt wrong.

The next day, I told my boss I wouldn’t be applying for his job and asked if I could go part-time. When he said no, I told him I’d be leaving.

And that’s what happened. A part-time role came up in a much more junior position locally, and I took it. I started writing again, for real. I felt alive, and free. People thought I was mad, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t Mick Jagger, but I was doing what I was meant to do.

What I learned is that changing course isn’t easy, especially when others see it as a step backward. But sometimes it’s the right thing to do. The bullet train may have air conditioning and comfortable seats, but it’s the donkey that takes you where you need to go.

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