If a child grows up to be kind, healthy, responsible, self-sufficient, and decent—but not wealthy—has the sacrifice failed? Most people would instinctively say no. Yet many families behave as though the answer is yes. Not openly, of course. No parent sits their child down and says, "I didn't raise you to be happy. I raised you to be rich." But expectations have a way of revealing themselves. In comparisons with more successful relatives. In questions about promotions, land, and home ownership. In the disappointment that hangs in the air when a child is doing well enough to survive but not well enough to transform the family's fortunes. And perhaps nowhere is this tension more visible than in Kenya, where sacrifice is often treated as the highest form of love. Parents sacrifice for their children. Older siblings sacrifice for younger siblings. Entire generations sacrifice in the hope that the next one will live better. But what happens when sacrifice quietly becomes an...
When a child says they want to be a teacher, a mother, a secretary, and then a singer — all in one lifetime — we smile. We find it adorable. Imaginative. But somewhere along the way, we stop smiling. We start demanding clarity, cohesion, a single label. We forget how expansive it is to be alive.
In a world obsessed with consistency, we have made change look like betrayal. We question those who shift — in career, in belief, in appearance, in voice. Influencers are called sellouts. Politicians are labelled flip-floppers. Everyday people feel ashamed for outgrowing dreams that no longer fit.
But what if we honored change as a natural part of being human?
Why We Struggle With Change
From a young age, we are taught to specialize, to narrow down, to “figure it out.” The Kenyan education system reinforces this with its early sorting into career tracks. Society praises clarity — the student who knew they wanted to be a doctor since they were six, the entrepreneur who never wavered.
And yet, very few people live that way. Most of us zigzag through jobs, identities, friendships, even faith. But we are made to feel guilty for changing course. Like we’ve let someone down — especially if we had an audience.
For creators and public figures, this guilt is amplified. They fear disappointing those who loved their original work. Pivoting feels risky, even selfish. But staying stuck can be even more dangerous — it breeds burnout, resentment, and inauthenticity.
The Myth of the “One True Self”
Part of the problem is how we talk about identity — as something to “find” and stick to. But identity is not a fixed destination. It is a living, breathing process. We are meant to evolve. We are meant to try things, quit things, return to them, or abandon them entirely.
That small girl who wants to be many things is wiser than most of us. She knows that life doesn’t have to be a single lane. That you can be a teacher and a singer. That motherhood can exist alongside ambition. That curiosity doesn’t have to be tamed.
We don’t need to perform consistency. We need to live expansively.
The Courage to Pivot
Changing direction often requires courage — especially in a culture where survival depends on predictability. In Kenya, where many grow up with limited resources and high societal expectations, experimenting with identity can feel like a luxury. But change doesn’t have to be dramatic. It can begin gently:
Taking up a new hobby without monetizing it.
Allowing yourself to dislike a career path you once loved.
Shifting your beliefs without shame.
Trying a new voice, a new look, a new rhythm to your life.
We evolve because we’re alive — not because we are fickle. The person you are now is just one version. There are others inside you waiting to be lived.
Letting Others Change Too
The grace we give ourselves must extend to others. We are often quick to dismiss people who change, especially if their change confronts something we’ve grown attached to.
When a writer stops writing about trauma and starts writing about joy — we owe them the freedom to grow. When a friend leaves religion, or redefines their gender, or steps into stillness after years of hustle — we must meet them with curiosity, not correction.
Change is not always a rejection. Sometimes, it’s a return. Sometimes, it’s a leap forward. Always, it’s human.
Conclusion: Becoming, Again and Again
Maybe the goal is not to be one thing forever. Maybe it’s to be true, moment by moment. Maybe we’re not supposed to arrive. We’re supposed to become.
And maybe we should ask children what they want to be — not to corner them into a life plan, but to remind them that the world is wide and so are they.
Becoming many things is not a lack of commitment. It is a full embrace of the human experience.
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