Why Am I Taking a Gap Year when slaying my career path?
Because I didn’t take one after high school. That’s the short, fun answer.
Ready for the long one? Let’s dive in.
When I was 16, I had to decide on a career path. Unlike most of my family, I dreamed of going to art school to become a fashion designer. But my family reminded me it wouldn’t be easy—no one in our family was in that field, we weren’t wealthy, and the path wasn’t exactly “practical.”
In the end, I chose to focus on STEM and business.
High school was tough as I struggled with my STEM major. Later, I worked hard to earn my business degree, studying in Finland and Germany. That chapter of my life was wonderful (but we’ll save those stories for another blog!).
Then came the next 17 years—all about business. I worked in Sales, Marketing, and Operations, and even as Managing Director for various international companies. Eventually, I launched my own startup, barePack, which expanded to Vietnam, Singapore, and France. I was thriving, living my “boss girl” era!
barePack was acquired by a Swedish company just before the Ukrainian war.
Afterward, I took a short break to travel the world. But let’s be real—I’m not wealthy enough to retire just yet! So, I joined a startup with a friend.
On paper, everything looked perfect: a well-paid job, startup culture, an inspiring CEO, a cozy apartment, amazing friends, and the bustling energy of Saigon. But deep down, something wasn’t right. I wasn’t happy.
So, I decided to take a serious break—a gap year (or maybe two) to reorient myself and rediscover what truly makes me happy.
If you’ve made it this far, you’re amazing—and I really appreciate you taking the time to read my story.
If my life were a book, Hội An would undoubtedly be one of my favorite chapters.
Hội An has always held a special place in my heart. With its amazing food, serene rice fields, oceans, and majestic mountains, relocating here after quitting my job felt like an easy decision.
But right away, my “survival mode” kicked in. I couldn’t shake the urge to sell something. So, I started baking healthy cookies, planning to market them to gym-goers. Turns out, Hội An—a town of 800,000 where the food is already incredibly wholesome—wasn’t the ideal place for this idea. Demand was slow, and I realized I’d need to rethink.
One part of my brain reassured me, “You have enough savings for two years!” But almost immediately, another part shouted back, “We need income. We need a job!”
It felt like a constant tug-of-war: the urge to embrace my break versus the pressure to “do something productive.”
Then, painting entered my thoughts. The idea thrilled me—visions of holding a paintbrush and creating beautiful skies danced in my head. But so did the fears. The voices of my family members echoed:
“It’s not an easy path.”
“Will you end up as a struggling artist?”
“No one in our family works in this field.”
These doubts grew louder, paralyzing me. The excitement of painting would spark, only to be smothered by fear. I found myself lying in bed, daydreaming about painting, then snapping back to reality, too scared to begin.
For two months, I didn’t touch a single brush. Internally, I was consumed with confusion. Externally, though, I seemed fine—hitting the gym, enjoying the beach, savoring amazing food, and making new friends.
Thankfully, I had a good friend who gave me a much-needed push. One day, it hit me: I’ve already lost two months debating whether I want to paint. Am I really going to lose another two months sitting here, paralyzed by fear?
That was my turning point.
I bought a sketchbook, some pencils, and colors. I signed up for a fundamental art course on Udemy and started to draw.
My first sketches? So simple, so imperfect—and so cute. I felt like a kid again, discovering something entirely new. It was exhilarating.
Here are some of my early sketches. 😊
In May, I attended a 10-day silent meditation course. It was my second time joining, but this time, I took on a new role—as a server.
My intention for the course was simple but profound: to learn how to serve others selflessly.
It turned out to be a deeply transformative experience, filled with unexpected lessons.
On Day 1, I was mistakenly assigned to clean the toilets. Eight toilets and five bathrooms, to be exact. And wow, did my ego put up a fight:
“Do you even know who I am? I had my own company, I was a CEO, a big shot! And now I’m scrubbing toilets?”
“Maybe I should just pay someone to do this for me. Why am I doing this?”
“Why me, of all the female servers? Is it because I’m Vietnamese? The youngest here? This feels so unfair—maybe even racist!”
Oh, the drama my mind created. I felt indignant, bitter, and entirely self-righteous. Cleaning toilets? This couldn’t be part of my “selfless service” journey—surely not.
By the end of Day 1, the course assistant admitted there had been a mistake in the assignments. The relief I felt was almost comical. My ego breathed a sigh of relief: “See? You weren’t supposed to be doing this!”
But then came Day 3.
Once again, I was asked to help clean the toilets. This time, there was no mistake. Initially, my frustration bubbled up again: “Why is she asking me to do this? Is she picking on me?” But I decided to do it anyway.
And something shifted.
Scrubbing toilets wasn’t glamorous or fun. But I realized it was an act of service—providing a clean, comfortable environment for the meditators. It wasn’t about me or my ego. It was simply a task that needed to be done, and by doing it, I was contributing to the harmony of the space.
That moment felt like the universe’s way of answering my wish. I wanted to learn selflessness, and what better way than through humble, unglamorous work? By the time I finished, I felt lighter—less burdened by my ego and the narratives it had created.
This Vipassana experience, especially as a server, was full of life lessons. My ego softened, my perspective broadened, and I walked away deeply grateful for the opportunity to grow.
There’s so much more I could share about what I’ve learned from both my Vipassana courses. But let’s save those stories for another blog (or two!).
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