• I spent most of my life measuring success in grades.
• After graduating from college, it was hard to adjust to a more arbitrary scale of achievement.
• Now, I know that regularly redefining success is a necessary part of a fulfilling life.

When I was 7, I was identified as a "gifted kid." That label of promised potential followed me from elementary school enrichment programs to high school AP classes, eventually earning me a degree from a top university.

It's no surprise that I measured my worth in numbers and letters as (mostly) objective indicators of success. Everyone knows what a 4.0 GPA or an A+ means. From an early age, I knew that I wanted those high marks more than anything.

My constant focus on getting the grade, earning the leadership title, and landing the job didn't come without sacrifice. I said no to social engagements. I treated sleep like it was optional. The gym? Forget it. I figured that when I landed my dream job postgrad, it would all feel worth it. Finally, I would have achieved the ultimate goal.

But when I started my first "real" job, I found myself wondering, "Now what?" For the first time in my life, the next step wasn't obvious— talk about a quarter-life crisis. I knew I had to learn how to measure success in this new environment.

I let go of the metrics of the past

Starting my postgrad job meant accepting feedback on an arbitrary scale—one that I quickly learned is often affected by relationships, tenures, and titles.

My GPA didn't matter anymore, and neither did my obnoxious, eight-line-long college email signature. All of those club memberships and academic affiliations disappeared from relevance. I felt bitter at first. After all, I had worked so hard, and none of it seemed to matter.

But then I reframed my stance: None of it mattered — none of the little things, at least. My not-so-stellar neuroscience grade? Sleeping through three of my 8 a.m. poetry classes in a semester? Submitting a late Spanish essay? None of it prevented me from pursuing my goals.

This realization was incredibly freeing. Now, I know that small mistakes don't outweigh consistency. I don't have to measure my self-worth in the number of corrections on a paper or how many extracurriculars I participate in. I get to decide what success means to me. I can choose what to pursue and when to switch paths. Letting go of the numbers that once defined me meant that I was no longer held to someone else's idea of "good enough."

I learned to part ways with my ego

My first professional projects came with a harsh learning curve. What would have earned me an "A" in my college classes was met with a flurry of edits and comments.

At first, I was upset with my performance. I felt like I had failed. I mentioned my frustrations in passing to a much more experienced colleague, and he gave me some wonderful advice: "Separate your ego from your work," he said, "and you will be amazed at how quickly you improve."

As a creative working in tech, I had to get used to receiving feedback from all kinds of stakeholders. I don't just write essays for a professor anymore. I write blogs and social media posts that are read by customers, partners, and employees. Sometimes, this means my work is reviewed by 20 people or more before it's approved. That doesn't leave a lot of room for an unearned ego.

My current definition of success won't stay the same — and that's a good thing

Success might mean getting promoted — or it might not. Maybe it means discovering a new passion outside work. It might look like a commitment to health, exploring new places, or visiting friends and family. Achieving these goals might not make me better at my job, but I know they will make me a better person, friend, and partner.

My new goals might look hazy compared to old ones, and they will most likely shift as I progress in my career. I wish I had known that life is less structured after school and less linear, too.

Still, in the modern world of social media highlight reels, it can be difficult not to compare myself to my peers. Some days, I feel left out for not pursuing graduate school, and sometimes, I wonder if I picked the right college or even the right city.

Despite all this uncertainty, I'm grateful for one thing I do know: Leading a satisfying life requires redefining success at different stages. Shifting my goals doesn't make me a failure; it makes me human.

• I left a stable job to pursue freelance tech work because I wanted more flexibility and freedom.
• My family, especially my mother, was concerned about my choice and didn't understand.
• After some trial and error, I finally found a stable career in the freelance tech world.

I was lucky to land a job immediately after college as an IT support intern, which later transitioned into full-time employment. For three years, I followed the path most expected of me. Eventually, I felt trapped and chose to resign.

That one decision set many things in motion, including a complete shift in how I viewed work.

My mother was the first to voice her concern. She had always pictured a traditional life for me: a stable job, a marriage, and a family. But I wanted something different.

"Samedi, where are you going?" she asked when she heard the news. I shared an outline of my plans but kept the finer details to myself.

In Africa, where I live, stable employment is seen as the cornerstone of success. My decision to freelance was culturally dissonant.

The pressure mounted as relatives mobilized to "help." A cousin offered a position at a leading telco. Family members called with job suggestions, each well-meaning but missing the point; I wasn't looking for another traditional role.

I sought something they couldn't understand: the freedom to build a borderless career.

It wasn't easy to jump into freelance work

No one in my family had taken this path before, so I had no role model. I had to do this mostly on my own.

Freelancing wasn't easy. When I left my job, I had no savings and struggled for months. It was a humbling experience.

A year later, I decided to move countries and needed a soft landing to acclimate to a new culture. That's when I decided to go back to a full-time job. I landed a junior web developer position at a media company. It felt like a fresh start, but the role wasn't what I thought it would be. The demands were relentless — late nights, weekend shifts, and tight deadlines. The long hours drained me, and I became burned out and increasingly frustrated.

Eventually, the job that once seemed like an opportunity had become a burden, and it was time to move on.

When I tendered my resignation, my managing director asked me, "Where are you going?"

It's a simple question in traditional work culture, where careers follow linear paths. But in the gig economy, the answer isn't always neat. I gave a vague response about joining another company, though truthfully, I was stepping back into the unknown to take another shot at freelancing. I'd tasted the freedom of freelancing and wanted to do it again. Thankfully, this time, I had more clients to work with.

I eventually found stability in flexibility

My second shot at freelancing has been much more successful. I've worn many hats: web designer, content marketer, copyeditor, and technical writer. Currently, I work as a content marketer and digital career coach.

This variety is simply the nature of modern tech work. Each role has added to my skill set, allowing me to serve clients across time zones.

While it hasn't been easy, the career I built outside a traditional role has been rewarding and freeing. All the opportunities have helped me grow my skill sets. I've built a stable career in my own way.

Bridging the generational divide will take time

Still, my mom's skepticism comes from a place of care and experience. Her preference for traditional employment is understandable in Africa, where economic stability is precarious. Even though I have made a successful career out of freelance, she and my family are still confused about what I do for a living.

But the nature of work is evolving. When companies downsize or restructure, freelancers with diverse clients can adjust more quickly than those tied to one employer. I feel more stable in my career now more than ever, and I hope my family realizes that one day.

I've now realized that the future is borderless. Younger generations like me are becoming global citizens, working across time zones and cultures in ways our parents never imagined.

The question is no longer, "Where are you going?" but "How far can you reach?"

• I left the workforce years ago because I struggled to connect with baby boomers in the workplace.
• As a Gen Xer, I now work with millennials and love it.
• Millennial bosses understand that personal issues come up and work can't always come first.

In my early 40s, I did something revolutionary: I got a full-time job.

I'd been self-employed for over a decade, but the siren song of paid benefits was too strong to ignore. Within hours of starting in my new position, it became clear that I was an anomaly. I was one of only two members of my team over the age of 30, and there was an age gap of 10 to 18 years between me and my other seven coworkers.

Much to my relief, every member of that team was happy to teach me the ins and outs of the new job — including the loads of technology I needed to know. They didn't roll their eyes or make under-their-breath comments about old people and computers. They happily showed me the way.

As a Gen Xer, I have worked closely with millennials for over 15 years and with younger bosses for at least half that time. While they have been burdened with a lot of slander, I love working with millennials. They're collaborative and recognize that in helping their coworkers, they're helping achieve communal goals.

I struggled to work with older generations

I realize that no generation is a monolith, and it can be irresponsible to group people together. But we are all shaped by the events that transpire over our lifetimes, particularly those in the forefront during our formative years. So yeah, we have a lot in common with other people born around the same time.

I felt the rift between generations early on in my career. Honestly, it was the success-at-any-cost attitude of the baby boomers that pushed me out of the traditional workforce.

For example, I had one manager who couldn't understand why I didn't want to apply for a promotion. When I told him I needed all my bandwidth to be present for my children, he openly judged me, which affected my career trajectory.

I learned millennials are different

When they were young, millennials were often described as entitled. They were seen as doted on by hyper-involved parents.

But after working closely with them for years, I know that isn't the case. To me, it seems many millennials believe they can create lives they love.

Every younger boss I've had has encouraged me to stay home when I'm not feeling well, to prioritize my family, and to have fun at work. They recognize that my job is not my life but that while I'm in the building, I should be encouraged to do my best and enjoy myself as much as possible.

I once asked one of my favorite millennial bosses about filling out my timesheet. I'd had to miss work because my dog needed emergency vet care. I asked if I should call it a personal day or use vacation time.

"That was a sick day!" she said. "Anything that impacts your health or wellness counts as sick time."

She was the one who told me that volunteering at my children's school would benefit our team; we were working on creating volunteer opportunities for kids, after all. As far as she was concerned, whatever was going on in my life was relevant to work, and anything that interfered with work was a reason to take time off.

The workplace is about to shift again

It's about time we realize, as a culture, that young people are smart and savvy and have a lot to teach the rest of us.

It's funny to watch the rivalry between millennials and Gen Z play out via social media memes; each generation revels in being the young, cool disruptor and eventually has to reckon with being the old, staid boss who's responsible for keeping the machinery running.

This can lead to bitterness and resignation, or it can result in leaders who remember that life is supposed to be enjoyable and work is just work. I think the millennials are in the latter camp, and I'm happy to keep working for them until Gen Z becomes the boss of everything.

• I've always been a perfectionist, pushing myself to the extremes for success.
• I felt like a failure when I became a mother, so I had to shift my perspective.
• I now want my daughter to embrace failure and be resilient.

I am a trifecta of eldest daughter stereotypes: overachiever, people-pleaser, and perfectionist. I have always been a rule follower, and as a teenager, I rarely challenged my Indian immigrant parents' strict rules.

By some combination of nature and nurture, I channeled these traits into academics in high school, spending inordinate amounts of time obsessing over my grades (especially that one B+ that ruined my high school valedictorian dreams).

Academic success became the cornerstone of my self-esteem as I entered college, and my priorities reflected this. I turned down invitations to socialize, travel, and explore in order to study, study, and then study some more. I lost more sleep worrying about a possible B or C grade than over developmentally appropriate partying.

Even though my perfectionism helped me get into graduate school and pursue my career of choice as a psychologist, by my 20s, I knew intellectually that putting all my self-worth eggs in the external achievements basket was a recipe for disappointment and anxiety.

However, without a constructive perspective on failure, I was unmotivated to take risks. What I didn't realize until later was that my fear of failure would also affect my parenting.

Achieving my highest professional goal left me unfulfilled

After earning tenure at my university, I was euphoric but soon felt restless. I didn't understand why the achievement was so anticlimactic, but with the help of my therapist, I discovered that I wanted something more, something more meaningful. It turned out that after having spent my entire adult life firmly in the child-free zone, I wanted to have a baby.

A few years later, at age 38, I got pregnant. At the time, I was working six days a week, so I couldn't do my usual overpreparation by reading dozens of books about pregnancy and parenting. I told myself that this was actually a blessing in disguise because it forced me to curb my overachiever tendencies.

Well, even if I had read a library of books on parenting, I would not have avoided the inevitable uncertainty of being a parent. I struggled with breastfeeding, as many mothers do, and in my postpartum period, I filtered this experience through my default lens of success vs. failure. I carried guilt about my breastfeeding challenges for many months, counting them as failures.

A lactation consultant transformed my perspective on parenting

Thankfully, the next day, my daughter's pediatrician referred me to a lactation consultant to whom I will forever be indebted.

She met with me via Zoom, and her long white hair and confident smile instilled hope. She normalized my feelings of failure, imparted an attitude of experimentation and grace, and helped me refocus on the task at hand. She helped me see that what really matters is learning how to be the parent that my daughter needs, not the parent that I or others think I should be.

Of course, this is no easy task. The lexicon of modern parenting styles continues to grow. At the same time, both parents and youth are struggling with mental health, and social media glorifies success. Our educational system further reinforces the connection between self-worth and achievement through grades.

I hope to set a good example for my daughter

While we work on changing our systems and culture to be more compassionate, there are many immediate ways to foster resilience in ourselves and our children.

Some of the strategies I've been implementing include trying things that I'm not good at. I recently took a satire writing class and won't be pitching The Onion anytime soon. I'm also allowing myself to meet an 80% standard on any task that is not related to a current priority and practicing grace toward myself, my husband, and my daughter.

My hope for my daughter has always been that she sees her innate worth reflected in the love of her family and support system and that she is equipped with the tools to face challenges with confidence and courage. Now I know that this starts with me.

• After years of being a lawyer, I suddenly became burned out and lonely.
• I decided to quit my job, leave London, and move to a small town in the UK.
• At first, the change was difficult, but now I know I'm in the right place.

I never understood the concept of burnout at work. For me, the key to success in the rat race was simple: If you're hungry enough, you will endure; you can't possibly get tired of doing your job if you are tough enough.

Well, that was the case until I burned out.

Twelve years of studying law and working as an attorney in Mexico, the US, and the UK had taken their toll. After years of working in London in a fast-paced environment at a law firm, I reached my limit and broke down.

When I reached rock bottom, I decided to make a drastic change and move out of London.

I quit to prioritize mental health over money and glory

One day, I woke up feeling lonely, exhausted, anxious, and lost — with my life solely defined by my career.

I knew it was time to do something about it, so I left my high-power law firm. The hardest part of quitting wasn't the uncertainty of what the future held but saying goodbye to a high-paying job — especially in a city like London, where the cost of living is high. But at a certain point, money wasn't enough to keep me there.

I started therapy and a rigorous exercise regimen. I needed to make myself stronger and healthier. It wasn't easy, but in the end, those things empowered me and gave me the clarity I needed to end the toxic relationship I had with my job and finally have a fresh start somewhere else.

I had to leave the big city

Staying in London was never an option; it was too expensive to sustain myself financially and too chaotic to clear my head and find peace. I needed nature to reconnect with myself.

After some research, I discovered the perfect place: Eastbourne. It's a small seaside town connected to London by direct train, next to a couple of hiking trails, with more sun than the rest of the UK, and with enough coffee shops to keep me caffeinated.

I moved as soon as I could. The first weeks were rough as I learned the main difference between a big city and a small town: Life is slow— in every possible way. At first, I was desperate and annoyed, but after a couple of days, I understood there was no need to do things quickly. Things are better enjoyed when you take the time to acknowledge them.

One of the best things about small-town life is the sense of community. Everyone in Eastbourne knows each other and welcomes you as if you were family. Inspired by this sense of community, I decided to immerse myself fully. I joined the local rowing club and a volunteer group.

On the professional side of things, I struck a balance between my work and personal life. I took the necessary number of deals and clients to earn a living and also have a moment for myself every day. The balance is what keeps me happy and healthy.

I'm happy for the time being

I know that nothing is permanent, so I'm not sure how long I'll last in this small resort town.

I just know that I have never felt better physically, mentally, and spiritually. I found peace and also some time to embrace my artistic side. I don't miss the old days at all.

But this tranquil existence in Eastbourne may not endure indefinitely. I reckon that at some point, I will need to take more action in my daily life, but for the time being, it has been the best decision I've ever made.

• People are changing jobs quicker these days, so I lost a new hire during the onboarding process.
• It made me rethink my management style, specifically with new hires.
• I now ensure all new employees have personalized onboarding plans and have one clear goal.

For hiring managers, this is a story as old as time: You find a candidate you like, hire them, and build out their onboarding plan. They're prepared to start attending client meetings and managing their workload. And then boom — they find a better offer and leave within a few weeks or months.

Accelerated job changes aren't new. Gallup reports that millennials are the most likely generation to seek a career change and that six out of 10 millennials are open to new jobs.

The reality is that, as managers, we're competing with a complicated, changing, and competitive job market.

I learned this firsthand as a manager in the public relations and communications industry. This year, I onboarded a new hire and then tried to manage their abrupt departure. It challenged a few assumptions I made about a new employee and what success looks like.

Here's how it made me rethink my management style.

Manage the person, not just the process

For many of us working in more structured industries, there's typically an onboarding plan for new hires. They're typically given training and a checklist to complete in a certain amount of time. Those in more corporate and bureaucratic companies know this well.

Things like 30-60-90 plans or SMART goals can feel almost endless to a new hire.

A process and plan are important, but managing the person is crucial to a new hire's early success.

Like a sports coach or trainer would develop a plan based on their individual players, I think our jobs as managers and employers would be made easier by treating new hires in the same manner. Every new employee will bring different attributes, attitudes, and personalities. Onboarding plans should be better shaped for each employee — not the other way around.

Set an achievable goal early on

The ambiguity of onboarding can feel overwhelming at times. Most companies agree that getting a new employee "up to speed" is the first and most important goal.

But that process is different in every organization. Do you allow shadowing? Do you conduct training? Are there guidelines for working with clients?

Instead of just focusing on training, I now plan to get laser-focused on my new hire's first work opportunity or goal. For example, should they be preparing to run a client call? Will they be presenting research? Are they expected to contribute to strategic planning internally?

Identifying a "big win" for your new hire builds their skills, helps identify regular work products they are expected to contribute to, and shows progress in their role.

If I could do things over, I'd be very specific about the first milestone for a new employee and the steps necessary to meet it. That way, they can get an early win.

Be a historian of your company

One of the biggest issues I felt managing a new hire was explaining our organization and culture. New employees should know about their department and their company: who the leaders are, how the business works, and what our work looks like across different clients and accounts.

Many managers can play an important role as "historians" of their company. They should know how their department runs inside and out. You should be able to give any new employee the lay of the land.

If hiring a new employee is about finding the best person and the right fit for your organization, then managing a new employee should focus on educating them about where they work. This simple task can help the new employee feel more at home in this new environment.

Take on a leadership role in the process

The famous business and management consultant Peter Drucker once said, "Management is doing things right; leadership is doing the right things."

Drucker hits on the challenge between good management and great leadership. This issue is crucial for managing new employees. It's important to follow the processes in place. But where do you see them excelling? Are they stronger in one area or weaker in another?

Managing a new employee is more about doing the right things for them to succeed compared to just doing right and following a process. If I could go back, I'd remember that managing a new employee may not be as straight of a line as the onboarding process tells us.

• Katrin Kaurov started modeling at 14 and began making money at a very young age.
• She then founded a fintech company, Frich, to help younger generations better handle their money.
• Now that she's a CEO, she relies on her experience as a model when building a brand and pitching.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with former model Katrin Kaurov. At 28, she is now CEO and cofounder of the social finance app Frich. It has been edited for length and clarity.

My cofounder and I received a lot of pushback when we started Frich. She was 22, and I was 24. Everyone thought we couldn't create it because neither of us had a background in finance or had worked in a bank for 20 years. I was a former model.

But we built Frich because most people in their 20s have no clue what to do with their money, and there is such a big lack of transparency. Everything you see on Instagram — like lavish trips and dinners with friends — seems like everyone else has their lives together financially, and you're the only one whose card is getting declined.

We realized that Gen Z craves truth and wants to know what other people around them are doing with their money. That's why I built Frich, a community of 400,000 Gen Zers. Users can anonymously see what people like them are doing with money. Once they see how they compare to others, we give users access to see what tools they are using to get ahead.

It helps that I really understand our audience because I lived this: I was anxious about money as a teen model. Sometimes, coming from a non-traditional background really plays in your favor.

I made a lot of money at a young age as a model

When I was 14, I started working mostly full-time as a model. I was being constantly shipped around and having to be financially independent at 14.

Modeling is a lot like being an athlete. You make your best money when you're really young, and no one teaches you what to do with that money at that age. You get paid in different currencies, and usually, in cash. You never know what to expect next.

I remember one of my first really big paychecks when I was 15, and I had no clue what to do with that money. I got it in cash after a two-month contract. I kept it in my drawer until I realized I could invest it and do better things with it. Learning things like that took a while, and I wish there was someone guiding me along the way.

That eventually led me to start Frich because I realized it's not just models who go through the same process. Students and recent grads go through the same experience — probably 10 years later than models.

I learned how to build a brand while modeling

As a model, there's so much pressure, and you have to know how to sell. Every day when you go to a casting, you've got to look your best, and you've got to find a way to stand out from the other 150 models who are there. Everyone's trying really hard, but only one person gets the job.

Sometimes, an agency will ask you to change your personality, depending on the client — whether you've got to be the "cool girl" or the "fun girl." You're almost acting a role, which is very similar to what I do now with certain investors. When I'm talking to a very serious banking investor, I'm different than when I'm talking to someone who was the founder of Bumble. So, learning how to sell myself as a model was huge for me.

Also, in the later years of my career, social media became really popular. Clients would book models if they saw you're working a lot on Instagram. So you have to keep up the image, and it's very similar to being a founder now; if I don't post about it, then people start to wonder what's going on.

When you brand yourself, it's all about making yourself look exciting. When we first started Frich, we realized that money needs to be exciting and cool.

Ignorance makes you jump all in without fear

When I moved to New York, I already knew I wanted to do something else. One day, I pulled up a Forbes article about the most successful entrepreneurs in New York, and I DMed all of them on Instagram, asking if they wanted to meet me for a coffee. One of them said yes. I built close relationships with other female founders, who then became my mentors, and they introduced me to investors down the line.

We then watched every Y Combinator video on YouTube and learned everything there is to learn about building a startup.

Thinking back, I think ignorance was bliss. We didn't realize how hard it was going to be. We had no money. I quit my job, and my cofounder had just graduated.

We went all in, which, looking back, was objectively insane. But it all worked out.