Redefining Success: What If Life Has Other Plans?
I feel great—both my body and mind are energized. There’s no fatigue, no aches, no numbness, just a sense of vitality. And yet, despite this, I find myself unmotivated to work. By “work,” I mean opening the PhD folder on my desktop or immersing myself in research and readings related to the topic I’m considering—if I even choose to pursue it at all.
Perhaps my pull toward academia stems from a void—a void shaped by the absence of purpose and structure since relocating to the UK and not securing a long-term, traditionally paid research position in my field. At the very least, academia would give me something meaningful to do.
There are socio-economic issues I deeply care about—issues I want to bring to light, contribute to discussions on, and, hopefully, help find solutions for. But do I truly have the motivation to devote myself to three or four years of intense research? I am a curious and intellectual being, yet I sometimes doubt whether I have the perseverance for such long-term dedication. Yes, I read about socio-legal issues; I analyze, I am aware of things, and I have many thoughts to share and recommendations to make. But is a PhD truly the right path for me? Do I genuinely want this, or is it just an attempt to prove—to myself and the world—that I am intelligent? That I am making the world a better place through my intellect and noble cause? What a hilariously self-righteous thought.
Aside from this, I also find myself wondering: Do I really want to do this? Will my thesis have any meaningful impact? Will it challenge or change the status quo? And, most importantly, what if every university I apply to rejects me? What a tragically self-doubting thought.
What a classic push-and-pull of introspection—fluctuating between confidence and self-doubt.
When I reflect deeply, I realize that what I truly seek is liberation—freedom from the constant fluctuation between confidence and self-doubt—along with financial security. However, I must acknowledge that my life has been comfortable. I have always been provided for. I have never paid a household bill—not out of avoidance or refusal, but simply because others took care of it, and they continued to do so. I never asked for this arrangement, nor was I ever asked to contribute.
Do not judge me, but when people talk about the struggles of buying a house, my inner voice responds with quiet certainty: Doesn’t everyone have a house? Isn’t it inevitable? This is not arrogance or ignorance—it is simply a reflection of the world I have known. I have never feared not having a home because, in my reality, it has always been there.
And yet, do not mistake this for a lack of empathy. I feel just as much joy for the man who, after two days of hunger, finally gets a meal as I do for the wealthy person who secures an impossible reservation at a Michelin-starred restaurant. Their circumstances may be vastly different, but the happiness that lights up their brains—the rush of dopamine, the moment of fulfillment—is the same.
To me, wealth or poverty does not determine whose joy is more valid or deserving. Happiness is universal. Whether it comes from survival or luxury, whether it stems from necessity or indulgence, I do not judge its worth—I simply recognize it.
Returning to my despair:
Over the past year, repeated rejections have left me disappointed. At this point, it feels like no matter what I do or try, rejection is inevitable. I know it’s a depressing thought, but the cycle has worn me down, leaving me mentally exhausted and struggling to find motivation to start anything new.
Everything feels scattered. My browser is perpetually filled with dozens of open tabs—research papers, articles, job listings—hoping to find inspiration or build upon existing knowledge. My desktop is cluttered with unfinished documents: PhD statements of purpose labeled V1, V2, cover letters for jobs I haven’t applied to, literature reviews, downloaded research articles, and pages of my own unfinished writing. Some are journals, others are mere fragments of thoughts scribbled in fleeting moments. The chaos overwhelms me. I don’t know where to start, what to prioritize—or even which tab to close and which one to keep open.
I hope to gain courage, clarity, and confidence to build a life with purpose and engagement. But where do I begin? I don’t even know if I’ve leveled up or leveled down—only time will tell.
Redefining Success:
Two years ago, success had a different meaning. My purpose was clearly defined—though I still wonder whether I shaped it myself or if it was shaped by others. My goal was to become a Senior Researcher, eventually a manager. I aspired to see my name published in impactful reports, to conduct policy research, and to work for an international charity like the United Nations. In those ambitions, I found purpose, engagement, recognition—and perhaps even happiness.
But today, holding onto that vision would be self-inflicted pain. Why? Because things have changed—and thank goodness they have. This shift has freed me from the suffocation of a predetermined life, one that may have appeared glamorous from the outside but could have felt stifling from within. After all, can anyone truly understand what it means to live a life until they are fully immersed in it?
And yet, sometimes, I wish I were simpler. I wish life were full yet mindless—so predictable and straightforward that there would be no room for introspection and self-awareness.
I suppose it will take more time to accept that my six years of education and five years of professional experience define my skills, potential, and identity. That’s what I was trained for, and logically, that’s how I should earn a living. Isn’t that how the world works? That’s what I was taught from day one.
But life seems to have a different plan for me. As long as it remains exciting—unpredictable, ever-changing, filled with growth and thrill—I am okay with that. After all, how else am I supposed to truly experience life and discover the full extent of my capabilities?
