How I got into tech without a plan

READ TIME: 5 minutes

Most people tell their career story like it all went according to plan.

This isn’t one of those stories.

I didn’t have a 10-year vision. No step-by-step playbook. Just a series of decisions, some mistakes, and a lot of trying to find what fit.

If you’ve ever felt late, lost, or unsure where you’re headed, this might help.

At 18, studying computer science felt logical. I liked tech. I liked solving problems. It added up.

But once I was in it, everything felt off. I didn’t care about the assignments. The theory bored me. I remember sitting in class thinking, “This is it?”

So I left. Quietly. No dramatic exit. Just a quiet decision that this wasn’t it.

And then I jumped into something that made zero career sense: ballroom dancing.

I’d been doing it since I was seven. This wasn’t a new hobby. I competed, coached, even opened a studio. For a while, I thought maybe this was it.

But passion doesn’t always pay the bills. Eventually, I had to shut it down.

When the studio closed, I didn’t have a backup plan. Just a degree in organizational psych and job boards that looked like a foreign language.

That’s when the depression settled in. It wasn’t loud. Just a steady heaviness.

It felt like I’d failed twice. First at tech. Then at dance. And now I had no clue what to do next.

One day, my brother made a joke:

It wasn’t a serious suggestion. But something in it stuck.

A few months later, I had a job offer in South Korea. I packed my bag and left.

Not because I was chasing a dream. I just needed to move.

When I came home, I started from scratch again. But this time, I felt different. I made a quiet decision: say yes to anything, stay positive, and see where it leads.

My first job? Ronald McDonald’s assistant.

Yes, really.

It was a three-month contract, filling in for someone on sick leave. I helped with charity events, hospital visits, fundraising.

People laughed when they heard the title. My dad even joked, “Top of your class and now you’re carrying a clown’s suitcase?”

But I didn’t care. The work felt real. I felt useful again.

That job eventually led me to recruitment. I started at an agency. It was cold calls, KPIs, and high pressure. It felt impersonal at times, but I learned fast.

One of the startups I hired for offered me a job in-house. I said yes.

That changed everything.

I built their recruiting function from scratch. Worked directly with the founders. Shaped hiring plans that actually made sense.

But the best part was watching people I’d hired grow inside the company. I really loved my job at this point. 

Then I got promoted. More strategy. More planning. Less of what lit me up.

By then, I was working in tech, watching other people grow their careers. I started to feel like I was climbing the wrong ladder. I wanted that same sense of growth. That’s when I noticed the Product Managers.

They weren’t writing code. They weren’t buried in spreadsheets. They were guiding decisions. Leading the room. Asking the right questions.

It felt familiar.

As a recruiter, I had already been doing similar things. Validating needs. Managing stakeholders. Prioritising. Interviewing.

Different language. Same patterns.

So I leaned in. I started talking with the product team, asked questions, and paid attention. I probably became a bit of a nuisance, but they were generous with their time and let me check in regularly while I learned what their role was really about, beyond the job spec. 

I knew that this is what I was waiting for. This is what I wanted to do next!

When a product role opened up, I wasn’t a stranger asking for a shot. I already knew the tools. I already knew the team. I understood the problems.

I still had to earn the role. But I wasn’t coming in cold.

It took about six months and I landed that Product Manager role, not because I had a tech background but, because I could translate my messy background into something they saw as valuable.

I didn’t “break into tech.” I walked in through a side door I built myself.

Not with a plan. Not with a roadmap. Just with a messy background, curiosity, and a habit of showing up.

If your story feels chaotic or late or too far off track, it’s probably more useful than you think. You might not need a new story. You might just need a new room.

And that’s all for today.

See you next Tuesday.

P.S. If you’re figuring out your next career move and want practical ideas from someone who's been in the mess, stick around. There’s more to come.