The Path to Ambition

It’s work-experience season again… that strange in-between moment where teenagers briefly step into the adult world while parents quietly handle the logistics, the nerves, and the Wi-Fi passwords.

We’ve done this before. Twice, in fact. E went first, two years ago. C followed last year. And now it’s the twins’ turn — J1 and J2. Four sons, four personalities, four completely different definitions of “ambition.”

But let’s be honest, work experience isn’t just for them. It’s a crash course for parents too. Suddenly the house is quieter, the kitchen less chaotic, and I find myself wondering, What exactly are they doing all day? It’s like separation anxiety in reverse; you spend years longing for five minutes of peace, and when it finally arrives, you just stand there blinking at the silence. Is this a glimpse of the future? When did I stop being the centre of their tiny universes? What happened to the little digestive tube I used to carry everywhere, who fit neatly in the crook of my arm and needed me for everything?

It reminded me of something I realised the other day, while sitting on the toilet, of all places (don’t judge). It suddenly hit me that if you asked my mother what I do for a living, she wouldn’t be able to tell you much beyond, “She runs her own company.” She hasn’t a clue what that actually means. And when C did his work experience last year, I found myself in the same position. I thought I knew what he’d been doing, until I started asking questions. Real questions. “So… what exactly did you do?” “Who showed you how?” “What did you like best?”

The answers were eye-opening. Apparently, there’s a whole universe between “he’s doing a week in a garage” and what that actually looks like from his point of view.

And if I’m honest, it made me feel… old. Out of touch, even. Like I’d somehow lost track of what happens inside other people’s days, including my own children’s. Maybe that’s why I love Richard Osman’s Thursday Murder Club so much. It reminds me that getting older doesn’t erase what we’ve learned; it layers it. Every chapter, every career twist, every parenting year … they all count. They build a sort of quiet competence that doesn’t disappear, even if it occasionally needs a magnifying glass and a murder plot to remember it’s still there.
But that’s probably a story for another day.

E: The Early Explorer

E’s path was the international one. He packed his bag, his confidence, and a few questionable T-shirts, and headed off to Germany for two weeks. IT placement, grown-up apartment, independence …all arranged, of course, by me. I booked the trains, the accommodation, the whole itinerary. He just had to show up. And he did, beautifully. He thrived. He came back taller somehow; not physically, though maybe that too; but in the way he spoke about work, and people, and himself. It was a reminder that sometimes the best thing you can give your child is a soft runway to leap from.

C: The Town Crusader

C’s approach was the opposite. No German adventure, no parental project plan. He printed out his CV and his letter of motivation, put on a slightly-too-large jacket, and went knocking on doors. Every shop, café, and business within walking distance. Rejected more times than he could count, but he kept going. Eventually, a local garage said yes. He spent the week covered in oil, grinning, and learning how to solve problems with his hands. When he finished, he had blisters, black fingernails, and the unmistakable swagger of someone who’d earned his own opportunity.

J1: The Enthusiastic Strategist

This year, J1’s taken the baton. CVs printed, motivation letter ready, already doing the rounds of town. Except he can’t choose between the six places he’s most excited about, so naturally, he’s decided he’ll do all of them. A multi-placement marathon of curiosity and ambition. He’s got a list, a plan, and the energy of someone who believes a week off school is a chance to conquer the world. I can’t wait to see what he learns, beyond the skills themselves — maybe about pacing, or prioritising, or just the joy of trying.

J2: The Dreamer

Then there’s J2, whose idea of “looking for work experience” involved emailing NASA, CERN, and the UK Space Agency. He even considered the Indian Space Agency until I drew the line at the commute. His imagination has no borders and honestly, I adore that about him. To him, nothing is too far-fetched. Why shouldn’t a 14-year-old from a quiet English town apply to build rockets or discover particles? It’s the kind of fearless dreaming that adults forget how to do and I’m trying very hard not to squash that with logistics.

The Balancing Act

And here’s the part I still haven’t figured out: the balance between helping and hovering.

Every instinct in me wants to step in, to nudge things along. It comes from a good place, but lately I’ve been wondering: am I helping them, or am I just helping myself feel useful? Should I step in and suggest to J1 (my plane-obsessed teenager) that he might look at placements in aviation? Should I call in a few contacts to make something happen?

Should I tell J2 that maybe, just maybe, there’s a middle ground between becoming a corporate lawyer (for the mansion, obviously) and his latest dream of becoming Pope J2?

Why is it so hard to know when to guide and when to step back? Maybe the truth is, it doesn’t matter whether I “get it right.” Maybe they learn something (and win something) regardless of what I do. Maybe that’s the real test of growing up for both of us.

The Parent’s Work Experience

So yes, work experience is for the kids, but it’s a shock to the system for parents too. It forces you to see them not as extensions of yourself, but as small, distinct humans with their own sense of what’s possible.

Four sons, same roof, same upbringing and yet four completely different ways of stepping into the world. Maybe that’s the path to ambition: not a single straight road, but a messy, meandering network of routes that all start in the same place: at home; and end wherever courage, curiosity, and a bit of luck decide to take them.

And maybe that’s what parenting really is: a lifelong work experience in learning to let go, with a smile and a clipboard.