Education

There’s something oddly comforting about a classroom—rows of desks, whiteboards covered in half-erased ideas, and the promise that if you just pay attention, you’ll get what you need. But life, as you’ve probably figured out, doesn’t exactly stick to the lesson plan.

I remember standing in the middle of my high school counselor’s office, a folded-up college brochure in my back pocket and that sinking realization setting in: I had no idea what I wanted to do. People kept throwing around questions like “What are you passionate about?” or “What’s your dream job?”—as if we were all just supposed to know.

The first time I heard someone say “study abroad,” I thought they were talking about other people—people who had travel blogs, parents with trust funds, and matching luggage sets. I was a sophomore, working two part-time jobs and still occasionally Googling how to cook rice properly. It felt like a beautiful, impractical dream. A luxury. Not something meant for someone like me.

I used to think “homework help” meant sitting at the kitchen table and knowing exactly how to solve for x—but that changed somewhere around fourth grade math. One night, my daughter looked at me with hopeful eyes, pencil poised, and I realized I had no idea what a “number bond” was. Not even a clue. I felt like I’d been handed a Rubik’s cube labeled Please Parent.

There was a phase in my life when I swore I was allergic to online courses. I'd start one with full focus—coffee brewed, fresh notebook in hand, enthusiastic playlist on in the background—and then by week three, I couldn’t recall what I’d even signed up for. At some point, I realized the issue wasn’t commitment. It was retention.

There’s a quiet shift happening in how we learn—and it’s not coming from the halls of ivy-covered universities. You’ve probably felt it, especially if you’ve ever Googled “certifications that actually pay off” at 2 a.m. or wondered why some people seem to land dream jobs with less formal education. This isn’t about ditching college. It’s about rethinking how we build knowledge, credibility, and earning power in a world that’s constantly rewriting the rules.

The thing no one really tells you about moving into a college dorm is that it feels like both freedom and friction at once. You’re out of your childhood bedroom, claiming your own space, figuring out how to microwave oatmeal without spilling it everywhere. But you’re also learning—fast—that “housing included” doesn’t mean all the costs are covered.

The other day, I was talking to a friend about choices. She told me something her grandmother used to say whenever big decisions loomed overhead: “When in doubt, invest in yourself. That’s the one thing you can’t lose.” I’ve carried that idea with me ever since, shaping how I think about growth, learning, and the doors we choose to open.

When I first started exploring new skills to pivot my career, I was convinced there had to be a “right” answer. Like a one-size-fits-all map that would tell me: this is the program, the school, the certificate that will unlock your future. What I got instead? A mess of well-intentioned advice, ads that promised instant success, and a surprising amount of internal pressure to pick the “most impressive” route.

There’s something almost glamorous about the all-nighter when you're in college — the caffeine-fueled cramming, the dramatic Snapchats from the library at 2 a.m., the group solidarity of mutual exhaustion.

There’s a quiet shift happening — not the kind you see splashed across headlines, but the kind that quietly reshapes everything. The way we work, learn, collaborate, and grow is evolving faster than ever. And if you’ve felt that underlying tug to adapt, pivot, or just prepare for what’s next, you’re not imagining things.

When I started thinking seriously about going back to school for a master’s degree, I did what most people do: I opened about seventeen browser tabs and spiraled. There were rankings, opinion pieces, salary calculators, Reddit threads (some helpful, some…less so), and more pros and cons lists than I care to admit.