In case you ever find yourself unable to sleep at night, tossing and turning in your bed, wholly consumed by what the University of Toronto Rotman School of Management’s admissions board could possibly be looking for in an MBA candidate, just remember I.C.E.S. It stands for: Intellectual horsepower, Communication/presence, Experience/impact, and Spike factor (This last one is your personal Krabby Patty secret formula. Or what makes you the human equivalent of Dr. Pepper).
After having coffee with an admissions director who was in Manila, I plastered I.C.E.S on a virtual sticky note on my laptop—and proceeded to strategize. I was in my early 20s then; I had time to turn myself into the spitting image of the perfect Rotman student.
Or, you know, at least make it seem like it on paper.
It has been so refreshing to be able to sit with my own gaps and uncertainties. It’s also liberating to stop pretending I can see into the future, and to rein in the unnecessary guilt from not doing or planning constantly.
“So if I want to graduate by the time I’m 30,” I calculated, “then I should get in when I’m 28 years old.” Intellectual horsepower? Check.
Another dewy-eyed-but-practical thought in my early 20s: “I should be married when I’m 28 years old.” I haggled. “Or, fine, 29 at the latest.”
Today, I am 28 years old. I have no plans of getting an MBA. No boyfriend. And, as I recently found myself admitting to my manager, I also have no specific career objectives.
We were talking about my personal development plan, so, naturally, she asked, “Are you aiming to be in a certain role or capacity by a certain age?” I paused, searching hard for a clear answer. Fortunately, we had a level of rapport where I could be as candid as I wanted to be because the most I could get out was this: “No, not really.”
I laughed. Then a slight shock registered when I realized I’d said it so nonchalantly. I thought, if this were a job interview, it would definitely have been a red flag. The recruiter would probably wonder, “Does this girl have no plans for herself? No ambition in life?” And off to the reject pile, my resume would go.
I can assure you: I have not given up on life. Yet. (Just kidding.) On the contrary, my “no, not really” felt like its own watershed moment. Because, normally, as a type A-type 3 hybrid who loves organizing her life around objectives or milestones or anything that resembles a plan, I’m more inclined to make something up—and unwittingly buy into that story.
I graduated with a bachelor’s degree in business, but I keep forgetting that that’s not what I originally signed up for. I was actually a broadcast media student. Freshmen-year classes are mostly general electives, so that meant I was barely exposed to my degree—to the real discipline of media and communications. And yet, I was somehow able to convince myself that that path wasn’t for me, and I shifted to business the following year.
After college, I was convinced I wanted to be a brand marketer. So I took the traditional route, working in big-name companies in the consumer goods industry where I’d been for five years.
Then, the Covid lockdowns. There was massive life contemplation; it dawned on me that my interests and inclinations aligned elsewhere, and I decided I wanted to change careers. And herein comes the irony of it all.
Here I am now trying to make it… in the media & entertainment industry.
Before I got here, I remember being so anxious because I had no idea what the world of media looked like, much less how to break through it. I also knew that the bulk of my resume was virtually irrelevant to where I wanted to go. In short, this was square one. “You know,” I’d think to myself, “you wouldn't be having this problem if you had just stuck to your first degree.” Facepalm.
But of all my big-ticket life decisions, I hold this career shift in high regard—because it actually felt grounded. Decisive. A choice informed by something I’d come to clearly know about myself.
When I shifted to business, the truth is I didn’t really know what I wanted or what I was good at, so I took what seemed like the safest, most flexible option. When I told myself I wanted to be a marketer, it was because I saw brand marketing in multinational companies as the glorified choice. Surely, my friends were eyeing a master’s in some prestigious school abroad; so why shouldn’t I pursue the same?
I don’t regret any of my major life decisions. Nor am I saying that they’ve been completely ill-considered. But I can see now that I’d planned to get an MBA the same way I’d been approaching my earlier life choices: with very limited self-insight.
Today, as difficult as it is to be in foreign territory, at least I know I’m here out of a better understanding of myself. But still, there’s so much more I’m trying to crack. When I had that conversation with my manager, I’d only been in my new role, in this new industry, for about six months. So, yeah, sure, I’d love to be in a certain role or capacity by a certain age—but how could have I given a truthful, specific answer?
Besides, so many things I’d been aiming for in the past have proven to neither be what I sincerely nor deliberately wanted. So maybe there’s really not much to lose if I just admitted that I really don’t know.
It has been so refreshing to be able to sit with my own gaps and uncertainties. It’s also liberating to stop pretending I can see into the future, and to rein in the unnecessary guilt of not doing or planning constantly. I’ve come to realize that self-honesty will get me farther along than plotting the course of my life based on superficial triggers and half-informed desires. Because now, I can finally channel my energy toward the real task at hand: understanding myself.
These days, that’s basically the plan: To keep familiarizing myself with myself. What am I good at? What captures me? What makes me tick? I try something, and then I gauge how I feel about it. Sometimes, I simply consider, then let time reveal how compelling and true it is. (“What if I become a digital nomad? Try the freelance life?”, I once thought. It was a short-lived sentiment.) Then I simply adjust my next steps based on my findings. It’s a lot like that famous writing advice from E.L. Doctorow where he likens writing a novel to driving a car at night. “You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”
Truly, even slivers of self-insight have provided much illumination. And with new information coming in daily, I somehow feel life figuring itself out, carrying me towards where I’m meant to be.