5 Years Without a Plan: What I Learned Along the Way
TDLR: The girl who moves states after every breakup didn’t have a long term vision.
If you’d told me five years ago where I’d end up today, I’d have laughed—or maybe cried, depending on the day. That’s the thing about life: it doesn’t follow a script.
For someone like me, who’s spent a lot of time trying to read the signs and make sense of the chaos, the past five years have been less of a carefully crafted narrative and more of a choose-your-own-adventure book where I never knew what the next page would bring.
And yet, here I am, five years later, looking back at a journey that defied every expectation. No five-year plan could have predicted the twists and turns of this chapter of my life, but maybe that’s the point.
2019: Goodbye, Startup Life
I can’t start this reflection without talking about the job I left in 2019. That startup was everything to me—a huge part of my identity. I loved it for its challenges, its sense of adventure, and the feeling of being on the edge of something big. But when the company moved to Portland, I realized something I couldn’t ignore: I’m a Seattle person, through and through.
It wasn’t an easy decision. I gave six months’ notice—probably overkill, but I needed to leave on good terms. Portland wasn’t working for me. My heart was in Seattle, with its people, its energy, and its quirks. So I packed up, left the job I adored, and moved back.
Seattle was the city I felt most at home in, it was the place I started to become my adult self.
I know that sounds cringe, but as someone who spent the first 22 years of her life in multiple competitive sports, and began working at 15, I didn’t understand or like freedom of choice. Maybe it’s my taurus moon, my therapist would tell me that it’s just ‘the dance that I do’ meaning, it’s part of my life, so stop fighting it, figure out how to work with it.
Looking back, going back to Seattle (and choosing a relationship that spoiler, didn’t work out) marked the beginning of a theme: listening to the signs. They’re not always obvious at first, but they have a way of leading you to the truth, sooner or later.
2020: Taking up Space with Curly Hair
Ah, 2020. What can I say that hasn’t been said already? Like everyone else, I was trying to survive the chaos. But I was lucky in so many ways. My job insulated me from the worst of the storm—I kept my salary, worked remotely, and had a safe place to land.
Still, the year took its toll. Depression and anxiety hit new lows. Desperate for relief, I went to a naturopath and my anemic self had 9 vials of blood taken for hormone testing, and like most of us, I spent a lot of time questioning everything.
I also spent a lot of time crying on the phone or on my best friend’s couch. When she moved to LA, I lost a huge support system and had to uncover the my unknown unhappiness at home.
My bright spot? Learning that I have curly hair. That might sound trivial, but that and cycling became my COVID hobbies—figuring out how to care for my wavy hair and, in a way, figuring out how to care for myself. Embracing my true nature, allowing myself to take up space. After spending all the years before trying to fit neatly into other people’s boxes.
That year taught me the importance of gratitude and adaptability. Even when the world feels like it’s falling apart, there’s value in finding the small, steady things that keep you grounded.
2021: The Friends Tour and Feral Freedom
By 2021, I was restless. Restless in my relationship, restless in my routine, restless in my own skin. It was a year of upheaval—a year when I chose to step away from what wasn’t working, even if it meant stepping into uncertainty.
I left my relationship, my therapist was thrilled. I put everything I owned into a storage unit, and hit the road. I called it my “Friends Tour,” hopping between the homes of people I loved, all of which happened to have guest rooms, dog-sitting, and carving out a version of freedom that was all my own.
That year also brought professional milestones—cool feats that made me feel capable and scrappy—but it was the personal milestones that really shaped me. I learned that I don’t need a permanent address to feel at home and that the relationships that truly matter can hold you steady through anything.
2022: Grief and Glimmers
If 2021 was about breaking free, 2022 was about reckoning with the aftermath. I moved to LA for a new job, but the transition wasn’t smooth. Grief hit hard—not just for the life I left behind, but for the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
And then the job? A disaster. Four managers in ten months, moments that made me question my sanity, and ultimately, a layoff. But that layoff was the greatest gift. It cleared the way for Ruby Works Co.™, the business I’d been dreaming of but hadn’t fully claimed.
I call 2022 a year of “glimmers in the smog.” There were moments of joy and connection—like sitting on a friend’s patio and realizing that, next to them, I felt at home. And those moments kept me going.
2023: Dating for Professional Development
2023 was a weird but pivotal year. I jokingly called it my “dating for professional development” era—not because I was literally dating all the time (trust me, if I wasn’t learning from someone’s career, I was at home in sweats)—but because I only invested time in people I truly respected and thought I could learn from. I accidentally fell in love and a bunch of other things that didn’t go as planned but it’s fine.
Some of those connections were fantastic. Others, not so much. One consultant kept pushing me to pivot into an agency model, even though it felt completely off-base. That was a lesson: just because someone is successful doesn’t mean they’re right for you, or listen to you.
In the midst of all that, I found my footing with projects like Copywriting and Artist Pages, which gave me new ways to support salons and stylists in the beauty industry. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt like a spark—a hint that I was on the right track, even if I wasn’t entirely sure where it was leading.
By the end of the year, life felt lighter. Friendships grew deeper, and I started to feel like I belonged in LA—not just as a visitor, but as someone finding her place. The world, which had been bleek for so long, started to show its colors again.
2024: Peaks, Valleys, and Owning My Story
If 2023 was about rebuilding, 2024 was about feeling everything—all of it.
There were peaks, like seeing my niece transform from a little waddler into a chatty, fiercely independent almost-three-year-old who could probably lead a board meeting if you let her.
And then there were valleys, like navigating my first big grief, and additionally, the grief of losing my last living grandparent and all the messy, unexpected family dynamics that came with it. Grief has a way of showing you where the cracks are, and it’s not always pretty.
This was also the year I started to take myself seriously as a writer. It’s funny to say that out loud, because I’ve been writing for so long, but something clicked this year. I had repeat clients coming back to me, and I found myself looking at my work and thinking, “Yeah, this is what I’m supposed to do.”
I found a business mentor who listens, and sees me. It’s one of the most transformational parts of the last 5 years, and doesn’t require relocating.
Professionally, I leaned into the relationships and projects that felt good, and personally, I let myself feel all the weight of what it means to lose and to grow. It wasn’t a clean, perfect arc—it never is—but there was something about this year that felt like the start of a new chapter.
The signs were there: in the trust I was building with my clients, in the way I started to see my skill set differently, and in the subtle but unmistakable feeling that all of this was leading somewhere good.
By the end of 2024, I started to feel lighter—not in a carefree way, but in a “I can carry this and still move forward” way. It was like stepping into the next room of my life and realizing the door had been open all along.
Moving Forward
I don’t know where I’ll be in five years—and that’s the best part. The past five have been messy, beautiful, and nothing like I expected, and I’m realizing I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’ve learned to trust the signs, even when they don’t make sense right away. I’ve learned to let go when things aren’t working and lean in when they are. Most of all, I’ve learned that my story doesn’t need a plan—it just needs me to keep showing up.
Thank you for being part of this chapter.
I can’t wait to see where we go from here.