The ‘dream job’ is dead. Is society ready to accept alternative careers?

As a child, the world feels generous. 

But as you grow up, the idea that 'the world's your oyster' is seamlessly replaced with the belief that 'the world is a fortress'. Suddenly, possibilities shrink, and that childhood dream job you once clung to quietly morphs into the good enough career the world is willing to offer.

We grew up believing that the right job would complete us, that it would neatly blend passion, purpose, and a decent pay cheque into one shiny line on a resume. 

Some picked their dream job because it sounded cool; others were subtly (or not-so-subtly) influenced by their parents' preferences. But the older we got, the clearer it became that the dream job is less of a milestone and more of a monetary conundrum.

In 2025, the traditional concept of the dream job feels outdated. Employers are now expected to account for mental health, flexibility and fair pay, while employees are quietly stepping off the treadmill, exploring freelancing, content creation, passion projects, or just taking a pause to "figure things out". 

Yet, no matter how far we move forward, professional success still carries a social price tag. In societies like ours, where career defines worth, anything that falls outside the usual script, like the corporate ladder, the government job, or the academic post, comes with a generous side of stigma. 

Some of these 'unconventional' workers spend half their lives not doing their jobs, but explaining them.

For instance, regardless of how popular freelancing has become, it is still one of the most stigmatised professions in our country. 

Jewel Rana, a freelance web designer and developer, has been working for over 15 years, mostly with foreign clients. He supports his family comfortably now, but the road was not smooth, neither for him nor for his wife Nur Nishat Tasnim.

"When someone asked me what my husband does and I said he's a freelancer, people thought he didn't have a real job," she said. "They imagined he worked in a computer shop or printing shop, earning next to nothing. People would pity us and ask how we managed to live in Dhaka with such a small income. Even I wasn't that supportive at first."

When they got married 12 years ago, Jewel was still a student and freelancing part-time. Before deciding to stick to what he loved, under family pressure, he even considered sitting for the BCS exams — the holy grail of middle-class respectability. 

"He has strong willpower, which I admire now," said Tasnim. "Back then, I didn't understand it. I used to nag him about doing something 'real'. But later, I saw how much effort and skill it takes." 

Now, their whole family is moving to the US — an opportunity that Jewel's freelancing career secured for them. 

Then comes the copywriter, the poor soul forever stuck explaining what their job is. The word itself sounds suspiciously similar to 'copyright,' and the confusion rarely ends there. 

Muttakimur Rahman Rafi, a copywriter who has been in this field for five years, said, "When I told my mother about my job, she didn't get it. Even after explaining, she thought I shot the TV ads. So I showed her a few ads and pointed out the text, 'These are the things I write.' Now she understands, at least a little. But my relatives still think I'm doing something shady." 

He laughs, adding, "Even after five years, I don't know why it's called 'copy'."

Rafi admits the job was not a dream, just a choice for survival. "I never wanted to be a copywriter," he said. "I just stumbled upon it while job-hunting. I never had a dream job, really. I'll probably look for something else later. As long as I'm paid fairly and have space to work, I'm fine."

Stories like these are everywhere. Even when you grow up knowing what you want to be, life has a way of rerouting you. Some people discover something they love by accident; others keep juggling, trying to find where they fit. 

Faria Rahman, now a research associate at the Institute of Informatics and Development (IID), once wanted to be an engineer, or rather, her father wanted her to be one. After graduating, while looking for jobs, she found her current job.

"It's not exactly what I imagined," she said, "but it gives me the flexibility and work environment I wanted." The tricky part, however, is explaining it. "Even my parents don't fully get what I do. I've explained a hundred times, but they only understand that I work in an NGO. And for them, 'NGO' means BRAC. So they tell everyone I work at BRAC. I even gave them my visiting card. It didn't help."

And then there are the ones who sail entirely against the tide. While most chase steady salaries and benefits, a few still gamble everything on passion. 

Ashraful Hoque Asif, an aspiring filmmaker now working as an assistant director, left his studies at the University of Dhaka's chemistry department to pursue his passion for cinema.

"My father wanted me in BUET or DMC," he said. "I didn't have a clear plan as a kid, but I was always curious about people, psychology, emotions, and the complexity of human life. During the pandemic, I fell in love with films. I realised cinema could be my way of exploring that," he recounted. 

He dropped out and followed that impulse. "I'm happy with what I'm doing," he stated.

Of course, the stigma never leaves. "My relatives and parents don't really know what I do," he said. "I tried to explain only to my mother, made her watch some films so that she could learn to respect what I am doing. Now she understands a bit and is convinced that it's a real job. That's enough for me."

But maybe things are not as bleak as they once were. The perception, the stigma, slowly but noticeably, is shifting. Younger generations are growing up opting for jobs that are no longer confined to a cubicle or a visiting card. 

Freelancers, creators and researchers are building communities that validate each other's work.  Parents who once pushed their children toward 'secure jobs' are learning that security can come from other avenues as well, as long as it pays the bills and keeps their kids sane. 

It is still a work in progress, but the good thing is, at least the conversation has begun.

And that is how it goes. Some of us have dream jobs we never pursued; others never had one to begin with. The rest of us are still somewhere in between, trying to make peace with the choices we made or the ones made for us. The social pressure does not go away;  it just changes shape.