As I sat down to pen this piece, I decided to take a little trip down memory lane, crunching some numbers along the way. Lo and behold, I realized something that knocked me sideways: turns out, I’ve been in the advertising game for a solid 18 years. Yep, that’s right. If my career were a person, it’d be legally allowed to do all sorts of adult stuff by now – like order a stiff drink, puff on a cigar, hit the blackjack table, and pretty much do whatever the heck it wanted.
Now, my seasoned professional self, officially of age, is itching for a change. It’s like it suddenly wants to embark on a journey of self-discovery, you know, like those folks who jet off after graduation for a gap year. Me? While others were off finding themselves, I was busy chasing my advertising dreams. Picture this: a young Shelley in the early 2000s, fresh-faced and full of ambition, strolling into her first ad agency, thinking she’s all set for a lifetime of creative coolness in t-shirts and sneakers.
(Excuse me while I bid farewell to those Dockers I bought for my PR internship – they’re headed straight to the back of the closet, never to be seen again.)
I threw myself into the industry headfirst and never looked back. My compass was set on work, leading me to bounce around vibrant cities like New York, Shanghai, Madrid, Hamburg, and Berlin. Home was wherever the next exciting opportunity lay, and I traveled light – just two suitcases and a hunger for the next advertising adventure.
I had my fair share of wins – rubbing shoulders with the best in the business, cooking up dream campaigns for dream clients, working with top-notch agencies, snagging trophies at those fancy advertising award shows – all those things that screamed “success” in the advertising industry. But eventually, I hit a wall. Climbing the ladder to Creative Director felt like reaching the summit only to find the view obscured by thick fog.
Because let’s be real, I never really stopped to take stock of where I was going beyond the next big campaign.
As I stood atop my metaphorical mountain, I couldn’t help but wonder, “What now?” It was like I’d sailed into uncharted waters, the guiding star that fueled my hustle seemed to dim, leaving me adrift at a loss for what’s next.
So here I am, at a crossroads, pondering my next move. It’s time for a little introspection, a chance to peel back the layers and rediscover what makes me tick beyond the world of ads. Enter Sabbatical Shelley – my alter ego, a wide-eyed wanderer eager for new experiences and some serious self-reflection.
Funny coincidence, huh? It just so happens to be the name of this little blog of mine.
The birth of an
alter ego.
And so, on December 22nd, 2023, Sabbatical Shelley officially ventured into the great unknown.
On my final day at the agency where I’d held court as Creative Director for a solid two and a half years, I bid adieu to my trusty tech gear – the work laptop, the work phone, my WACOM tablet, even that little green square office chip that felt like an extension of my being (parting with that one stung the most, I won’t lie). Surrendering these tools of the trade to IT, it hit me like a ton of bricks: I was really doing this.
“This is what I wanted,” I reassured myself, though my inner panic was having none of it. “But is it really though?!?!?!” it screamed, fear of the unknown gnawing at its heels.
“YES!” declared Sabbatical Shelley, the voice of reason. “You’ve made the call, you’ve prepped for this moment!”
As the IT guy escorted me back to my floor for the final pack-up, it struck me: without that key chip, the office that had once felt like a second home now felt foreign, a place I was merely visiting.
Bumping into my boss on the floor, we exchanged a hug and a polite “see you soon,” though I couldn’t help but wonder if those words held any weight.
Returning to my desk, nestled in a prime corner of our open-plan office, I paused to soak it all in for the last time. Behind me, those cozy armchairs, reminiscent of Joey and Chandler’s hangout, stood silent witnesses to our impromptu meetings and brainstorming sessions. Sitting there, I took a moment to take in the familiar view I had grown accustomed to – the lively Hackescher Markt crossroad unfolding outside the window. It was a spot I’d grown fond of, where each day, I would peer out, watching as life bustled by on the streets below, a welcome respite from the glow of computer screens.
As I packed away the trinkets and memories from my desk into a bag I’d prepared for the occasion, nostalgia washed over me like a wave. The post-it notes bearing random scribbles and inside jokes, the quirky gifts from colleagues, the mammoth farewell card overflowing with heartfelt messages – I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. These were more than just desk decorations; they were mementos of a chapter closing, memories I’d carry with me into the great unknown.
Change was upon me. How many of these faces would remain in my life? How many would evolve from work acquaintances to genuine friends? Would I be a mere footnote in their memories? And would any of it even matter in the grand scheme of things?
Stepping out of the elevator, a whirlwind of emotions swept over me – liberation, sadness, nostalgia, nerves – all intertwined with an undeniable sense of readiness. “Ready,” Sabbatical Shelley declared, her voice ringing clear amidst the chaos. And with that, I ventured forth into the next chapter of my story.
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