One Year Later: What Happens When You Say Yes to the Life You Actually Want
From finance formulas to finish lines - what I learned in 12 months of radical change
Exactly one year ago this week, I was sitting in a fluorescent-lit office wearing tailored trousers, pretending I understood what was happening in a meeting about derivative hedging. My body was exhausted. My inbox had 317 unread emails. And my soul? On annual leave, possibly forever.
And yet, I told myself I was “living the dream”. I had a Rolex on my wrist. A five-year plan involving New York, career domination, and… I don’t know, a penthouse with a wine fridge?
I was working at Goldman Sachs in Sydney. I had a “dream job.” Or at least, that’s what I told myself while eating sad desk salads and googling “how to move to the Alps without ruining your LinkedIn.”
Spoiler: I moved to the Alps. Exactly 1 year ago today! (LinkedIn survived. Barely).
May 2024
I had never reached the finish line of a trail race in Europe.
I lived with spreadsheets, stress, and salary goals.
I felt powerful on paper, but weak in my body.
I thought trail runners were a niche cult with too many hydration vests.
Still, something in me whispered; Just give it one year. Go all in. See what happens.
May 2025
I now live in Annecy, in the French Alps - a place I couldn’t have pointed on a map last year!
I wake up to a mountain outside my bedroom window.
I go for trail runs and rides as my “work.”
My colleagues include marmots, very fit French men, and one extremely judgmental boulanger.
I own more trail shoes than heels. My five-year plan is now: “don’t faceplant before aid station 2”.
In the last 12 months, I’ve:
Stood on start lines and podiums I used to scroll past with envy.
Run through alpine storms, across volcanic terrain, and over finish lines in countries I never thought I’d visit.
Made friends who care less about my CV and more about whether I brought snacks.
Most importantly, I’m building a life that feels like it fits.
Like actually fits. Not “squeeze-into-these-dress-pants” fits. You know what I mean.
Then vs. Now: A Very Scientific Comparison
Let’s Talk About the (Not-So-Glamorous) Bit
This all sounds romantic, right?
Running in the Alps. Living the dream. But dreams, it turns out, don’t come with roadmaps.
Lately, I’ve been getting this question a lot: “So… are you working again?”
And the truth is: I thought I would be by now.
Before I left Goldman, I imagined I’d eventually find a job in Annecy - not another high-pressure role, but something grounded in finance and my love of sport. A numbers-based position at one of the many outdoor brands headquartered here: Salomon, HOKA, The North Face…
I liked the idea of building a life with both structure and freedom - mornings on the trail, afternoons at a desk with purpose, surrounded by people who speak the language of sport.
But… it hasn’t happened.
I didn’t expect finding a job in France to be so hard. The visa red tape. The language barrier. The limited roles that fit. The fact that I still want to be a runner first and that’s hard to explain in a cover letter.
So now, I’m floating somewhere between dream life and “what even is my job title?” And lately, this question has been playing on my mind more than I’d like to admit:
Is it enough just to run?
When you leave the traditional path - the ladder, the salary, the safety net - you also leave the clear answers behind. And for all the beauty in that, there’s also tension.
Running gives me so much. But I didn’t realise how much I’d miss the structure, stimulation, and that feeling of contributing to something beyond myself.
I don’t have a tidy answer yet. Some days, I’m content. Other days, I feel lost. I know I don’t want to go back to the life I had, but I also don’t want to feel like I’m floating.
Leaving the corporate ladder means leaving behind clear answers.
And while that’s liberating… it’s also terrifying.
What’s Changed Most
The biggest shift this year wasn’t external. It wasn’t the move, the training, or the finish lines.
It was internal.
I stopped measuring success in titles and timelines. I stopped outsourcing permission to live a life that felt like me. I stopped chasing things that looked impressive but felt hollow.
And I started trusting something wilder and wiser: my gut, my joy, and my own definition of enough.
Of course, it hasn’t all been mountain views and medal ceremonies.
There were days I cried. Days I doubted everything. Days I thought about going back - because going back was easier than moving forward without a plan.
But then there were mornings that took my breath away - not because of altitude, but because I couldn’t believe this life was mine.
An Invitation for You
Pause for a second. Think back to where you were this time last year.
What were you afraid of?
What were you craving?
What has quietly changed, almost without you even noticing?
Growth rarely feels like growth when you’re in it.
Sometimes it looks like doubt.
Sometimes it looks like courage in disguise.
Sometimes it looks like quitting your job and moving to a country where you don’t understand your electricity bill.
One year can change everything.
If you let it.
What’s Next
If this made you laugh, cry, or consider buying trail shoes - I share weekly reflections every Sunday just like this. From the trails, from the gut, and sometimes from a mildly injured athlete.
Coming soon for paid subscribers:
🗺️ My full trail training schedule (and how I actually recover)
🍞 What I eat in a week as a pro runner with a history of underfueling
🎒 The gear I swear by and unbiased shoe reviews coming from an unsponsored athlete
🏃♀️ Stories from the European race circuit: altitude, goats, and type-2 fun
If you're craving more honesty, adventure, and a bit of trail dirt in your inbox - I’d love for you to stick around.
Thanks for being here. This community means more than you know.
This sounds amazing!
A lot can happen in a year — so true! Congratulations and keep going! 🙌