I did think I had it figured out at one point: criminal defence barrister.

There was something genuinely appealing about it: the advocacy, the courtroom pressure and the idea of standing up in high-stakes situations and arguing a case that actually matters. It felt like one of the few careers where skill, judgement and persuasion are tested in real time, in a very visible and unforgiving way.

Then I started looking more closely at the financial reality, and it becomes a far more complicated equation.

At the junior end, especially in criminal defence, the earnings are often surprisingly low relative to the training, responsibility and hours involved. Many newly qualified barristers face long periods of unstable income, delayed payments and case loads that do not always reflect the level of expertise required. When you factor in the cost of training, the expense of living in London and the sheer time investment, the return on effort can look disproportionately small.

That is where the tension sits for a lot of people. Intellectually, it can feel like one of the most meaningful areas of law; practically, it can feel financially unsustainable unless you reach the very top or specialise strategically.

So in a way, I did not stop wanting to be a barrister because the interest disappeared, I just became more aware of the trade-offs. Once you see the economics of it clearly (especially with an economics background), it is hard not to start questioning what “success” in a career actually means. I have ended up channelling some of that same analytical rigour into my current corporate role instead, even if it is a very different environment.

Maybe the real question is not “what do you want to be when you grow up?” but “what balance of meaning, stability and freedom are you actually willing to accept?”