What it feels like to rewrite your life in real time

Written by Ege

Have you ever been in a spot where you feel stuck, but you can’t really explain why? On paper, everything is fine, but staying still somehow feels like a bigger risk. 

That’s exactly how I felt before I left my job, my friends, my family, and my country, and decided to become a student again in a completely different place. 

Back home, I was working, learning constantly, was a part of a large cloud transformation project, and I was good at my job. I had close friends, lived near my family and cats, had my apartment, my comfort. From the outside, everything looked stable and logical, it felt like things were moving in the “right” direction. 

But something about it all felt off. I still can’t fully explain what my issue with comfort is, or what exactly pushes me to change environments. I’ve changed three jobs and three cities in four years. It’s almost as if I’m allergic to comfort. I couldn’t just ignore the feeling that if I stayed, I’d slowly become a smaller version of myself. 

My head had been loud for a long time. 
Am I falling behind? 
Is it stupid to leave a stable path? 
What if I regret not trying? 
What if I regret trying? 

The idea of undertaking a Master’s Degree wasn’t new. Back at university, I used to say I would never do one. I thought once I started working, that chapter would close.

But after graduating and spending a few years in the professional world, the idea kept returning. It started to feel less like “going backwards” and more like expanding my direction. It wasn’t about escaping my job. It was about not wanting my path to narrow down too early. 

At some point, I stopped just thinking about it and started acting. I looked at programs. I checked various requirements. I calculated costs. I talked to people who had studied abroad… a lot of them. What had been a vague idea slowly turned into a list of tasks. 

Then came the acceptance email, right in the middle of a project meeting. That was the momentit became real. It wasn’t just a thought or a possibility anymore. It was an actual option sitting in my inbox, waiting for a decision. 

Once the decision was made, it stopped being theoretical. I wasn’t just changing plans, I was changing my daily life. Resigning from my job, packing up my things, saying goodbye to routines I had built for years. It’s strange howa decision can feel abstract for so long, and then suddenly show up in very physical ways. There was a strange in-between phase where nothing felt fully settled yet.  I was physically in a new place, but mentally still half-attached to my old routines, my old role, and my old version myself.  Being a student again felt different than I expected. After getting used to a working life, project deadlines, and responsibilities, I was suddenly back in classrooms, learning and asking questions again. Now, studying Information Systems Management at VŠE Prague, I often catch myself thinking, “I’ve seen this play out in real life.” 

Studying after working feels very different from studying before. I’m not approaching courses as abstract topics. I’m constantly comparing lectures to real projects I’ve been a part of, decisions I’ve seen in practice, and systems I’ve actually used. It made learning more critical and more practical at the same time. It also changed how I think about my career. Earlier, I focused on my role and kept progressing step by step. Now I think more about direction, systems, and long-term positioning. Working first gave me context. Studying now gives me structure to understand that context even better. 

Despite that, that shift in perspective didn’t mean everything suddenly felt certain. There are still moments where I question my timing, especially when job applications and rejection emails pile up. Sometimes I still wonder if I’m falling behind. Changing direction doesn’t remove uncertainty, it just changes the kind of uncertainty you’re dealing with. 

Looking back, I realized I used to treat my victories as small milestones, almost like they didn’t deserve much attention. I kept brushing past my own progress. Moving to a new country, going back to student life, and rebuilding my comfort, routines and friendships from scratch taught me more in a few months than I expected. 

Through this process, I gradually learned to recognize my own progress. I learned to give myself credit. I learned to let go a little more and trust the process. A lot of that learning showed up in small, ordinary ways, like figuring out the surprisingly complex world of laundry detergents and additives. Starting from scratch in so many ways forced me to notice how much adaptation happens quietly. 

I think that’s the beauty of it. It’s uncomfortable, it’s uncertain, but it shows you what you’re capable of. And for me, that made the risk worth taking.