The other day, I came across an online discussion that really struck a chord with me. A young professional, fresh out of university, was grappling with feelings of frustration about their savings despite living with parents. Their situation painted a vivid picture of the challenges facing young Australians today.

Looking at their numbers - saving $27,000 annually on a $67,000 salary while living at home - my first reaction was actually quite positive. That’s an impressive savings rate that many would envy. But their frustration is completely understandable when you consider the current state of the housing market, especially here in Melbourne where median house prices continue to hover around the million-dollar mark.

My recent coffee catch-up with an old mate from the tech industry sparked some interesting thoughts about corporate culture. He’d just made the leap from a small dev shop to a big corporate gig, and his observations hit surprisingly close to home.

The corporate world often feels like watching a carefully choreographed performance where the actual work sometimes takes a backseat to the art of being seen doing work. Picture those endless meetings in the glass-walled rooms at Collins Street, where people seem more focused on crafting the perfect email response than solving actual problems.

Reading through online discussions about corporate life lately has triggered some deep reflection about my own twenty-plus years in the tech industry. The recurring theme? We might all be faking it to some degree.

The tech world is particularly prone to this phenomenon. Job descriptions read like someone threw a technical dictionary at a wall and listed whatever stuck. Must have expertise in seventeen programming languages, four cloud platforms, quantum computing, and the ability to time travel? Sure, why not. These wishlists have become so detached from reality that they’re almost comical.

Recently stumbled upon a job listing that perfectly encapsulates everything wrong with the current tech hiring landscape. Picture this: an “entry-level” developer position requiring 3+ years of team management experience, preferably a master’s degree, and - here’s the kicker - offering a salary that’s actually below minimum wage for full-time work in Australia.

The mental gymnastics required to label a position requiring three years of experience and a master’s degree as “entry-level” is truly Olympic-worthy. We’re talking about someone who’s invested potentially seven years between education and work experience, yet they’re supposed to accept a salary that would’ve been questionable even back in the early 2000s.

Looking out my home office window towards the Melbourne CBD skyline, I’ve been pondering the peculiar way we define ourselves through our work. Just yesterday, during a coffee catch-up at Hardware Lane, a friend introduced me to someone new with the classic opener: “This is Dave, he’s a…” and there it was - my profession front and center, as if it were the most important thing about me.

The subject of professional identity has been weighing heavily on my mind lately, particularly after watching a thought-provoking discussion about career-based identity and its pitfalls. It’s fascinating how deeply we’ve woven our professional achievements into the fabric of our self-worth, especially here in our achievement-oriented culture.

Reading through discussions about career pathways lately has been both enlightening and frustrating. The traditional narrative of “get a degree or stay stuck” is finally starting to crack, and it’s about time.

Sitting here in my home office, sipping my Market Lane coffee, I’ve been reflecting on the fascinating stories of career transitions I’ve been reading. What’s particularly striking is how many successful professionals started their journeys in hospitality. These stories hit close to home - my local café’s manager recently made a similar leap into corporate procurement, doubling her salary in the process.