Turns Out, I Don’t Want to Be a Girlboss

I traded billionaire dreams for pirouettes and The Real Housewives of Potomac.

There’s something freeing in embracing how truly ordinary I am. Average mousy brown hair, average salary, average IQ. For years, I rebelled against my ordinariness – dyed my hair pink, devoured self-help books, and forced myself to watch documentaries on topics I didn’t understand. All in the name of status-seeking and approval. It took me way too long to embrace my love for the Housewives franchise and accept that it’s okay not to chase wealth, power, or fame.

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The 16-Year-Old Dreamer

I recently found a list of career goals I wrote at 16, and wow – was it insightful! Written in obligatory 2008 Comic Sans, the list included gems like “have my own talk show,” “become a motivational speaker,” and most ambitiously, “become a property developer.” Yikes. I was setting myself up for a lifetime of disappointment. At 16, I didn’t know the first thing about property development – or life, for that matter.

Every item on that list centred on extrinsic goals – wealth, power, external praise. These pursuits can, of course, be valid – I’d quit my entire existence if I won the Powerball tomorrow. But, there’s something soul-crushing realising how early I was conditioned to equate success with being impressive.

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Why I’ll Never Be a Billionaire (Or a Jockey)

Jump to dot point nineteen on my list, and it’s just four bold, menacing words: “Prosperous business mogul – Billionaire.” With hindsight on my side and only 0.0001% of that goal achieved, I wholeheartedly believe that the rhetoric of “you can be anything” is damaging and dangerous.

Take, for example, the idea of becoming a professional jockey. No amount of time sweating in a sauna or learning to ride a horse can change the fact that I’m 35cm taller than the average horseman. Add in my full-time job, Pilates on Monday and Thursday nights, and the occasional night out dancing until sunrise, and the idea becomes absurd.

Yet, despite all logic, there’s a voice in my head screaming, “SHUT UP! I can do anything I set my mind to!” This inner cheerleader isn’t motivating – she’s just left me pissed off, convinced I haven’t met my “potential.”

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The Lie of ‘You Can Do Anything’

This culture of exceptionalism is exhausting – and delusional. Dreaming big might not just be a waste of time – it could leave a dent in your self-belief. When I was 16, I didn’t factor in the big ol’ secret to success that most billionaires are hiding … being born into wealth. I wasn’t born an aristocrat, and I wasn’t born slight and slender like an equestrian. I can’t fight these simple truths, and for me, finding solutions to these wicked problems is simply not worth the time and effort.

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Finding Joy in the Unremarkable

This isn’t to say we should throw in the towel and never work toward meaningful goals. Right now, I’m prioritising my interest in music and expanding my knowledge of different genres. I’m also diving deep into ballet culture on YouTube, learning to do a pirouette in my bedroom. These things are fun for me! I’m plugged into SoundCloud all day because deeply listening to music is what gets me jazzed – not because I hope my taste in tunes will score me a better job title or pay grade.

My current goals are totally unexceptional and perhaps a little boring. I’m okay with that. There will never be a day I look back and think I set myself up for failure by aspiring to do a full middle split. It’s open-ended, fluid, and changeable. It’s infinite. It’s deeply unremarkable and yet so much more meaningful to me than making more money than I can spend.

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The Pleasure of Being a Nobody

I’m so damn happy being a tiny, anonymous entity on this huge planet – someone who does good work but isn’t defined by it. I’m wholly chuffed by the idea that my success is measured by how I treat people and how I give back, not just the job title on my LinkedIn profile. I’m nothing special – just a girl with a Spotify account, taking it moment by moment and saving some pennies for a rainy day.

I wonder what 16-year-old me would think about this revised outlook. She was so afraid of failure, so hellbent on impressing others. If I could go back, I’d tell her that success isn’t about money, power, or glory. It’s about finding joy in the unremarkable – like discovering a new song or nailing a pirouette on the slippery kitchen floor.

I’d also slip her a copy of 070 Shake’s You Can’t Kill Me. At least she’d have a great soundtrack to her mundane life.

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