What Your First Day of School Self Would Say About Your Current Job

Recess to Revenue

Remember your first day of school? Shoes too clean. Backpack too big. Emotions somewhere between panic and possibility. You didn’t know what you were walking into—you just knew you had to show up.

Now fast forward. You’ve got a job. A title. Maybe benefits. Maybe burnout. Imagine that tiny, nervous version of you seeing where you ended up. What would they say?

Would They Recognize You?

To your first-day self, you might look like a magician. You drive. You email. You talk in meetings. You know what acronyms mean.

But they might also be confused. Where’s the play? Where’s the glitter glue? Why are there so many spreadsheets and not one juice box in sight?

The Wonder vs. The Routine

Back then, wonder was built-in. Every hallway held mystery. Even lunch was a question mark. Somewhere along the way, the unknown became the unwanted. Now, we crave control over curiosity.

Your younger self might ask: When did learning stop being fun? When did you start grading yourself with metrics instead of stickers?

Fear, Then and Now

Fear on your first day of school wasn’t about performance reviews. It was about being picked last or forgetting your locker combo. But fear still followed you. It just changed shape.

Would your younger self think you're brave? Or would they ask why you stopped raising your hand so much?

Tiny Dreams, Grown-Up Realities

Maybe you wanted to be a vet, an astronaut, a marine biologist. And now? You write proposals. You lead calls. You troubleshoot more than you imagine.

But your younger self wouldn’t just ask about your job. They’d ask about your joy. Do you laugh at lunch? Do you get to build things? Do you make cool friends?

That Kid Still Lives In You

You might not carry crayons anymore, but that early version of you is still around. They shaped your taste in people. They remember how it felt to be included—or not. They still whisper questions when things feel boring, or scary, or too grown-up.

Maybe they wouldn’t care about your resume. But they’d care about how often you still get excited. About whether you still chase wonder. About whether you let yourself play sometimes—even in a job title.