I am in a transition.

My first biopharmaceutical industry job at Novartis ended this past February. The in vivo gene therapy program for sickle cell disease that I was part of got terminated, and just like that, the work I had built my days around was gone. I am seeking new opportunities now—particularly in gene therapy across broad therapeutic areas, platform development, and pharmacology.

The daily reminder of not having an institutional belonging is nerve-wracking. But somewhere in the middle of it, I came to accept my identity as a person rather than a job title. A generous and personable man. A student of stoicism. A husband. A father. The title was never the thing that made me who I am.

This could have been a turbulent time, given the catastrophic job market and the ambiguous global economy. Fortunately, Novartis provided a generous grace period—fully paid, before and after the official end of the job. That time gave me room to breathe. Room to reflect, to mentally prepare for uncertainty, and to explore what I want from the next chapter. I realized I enjoy connecting with new people and trading ideas with those who share my values and background. I became more proactive—improving my communication, learning about finance, building something I can own, like this blog and a handful of business ideas I hope to make real one day.

But the most important turning point came from somewhere else entirely.

My wife became pregnant, and we were going to have our first child. As the sole breadwinner, the timing was impeccable—and I have to admit, my first reaction to the news was mixed. Excitement and enormous pressure, all at once.

As new parents, we knew we would prepare as much as we could and learn the rest as time went on. The pregnancy was mostly enjoyable and beautiful. We embraced the ups and the downs. I tried to be a supportive spouse within my capacity, all while worrying constantly about our future. As the birth approached, the pressure became more real. Often it was overwhelming just to think about supporting a family.

When it was finally time for delivery, we were both physically exhausted. There was no room left to be stressed or moody. I had imagined that once the baby arrived, our lives would turn chaotic—that I would feel lost, that the cortisol in my body would only climb higher. But my brain did something I had never felt before.

When I took off my v-neck in the delivery room and held my daughter for the first time, I felt comfort. She was so tiny and fragile. I was nervous—but the warmth of her body calmed my nervous system in a way nothing else ever has.

In retrospect, every time I stare at her, make eye contact with her, hold her even when it leaves me sweaty, kiss her forehead, feel her tiny hand grab my finger, or watch her fall asleep—it makes the sleep deprivation and the worry worth it. I thought becoming a parent would complicate my life and harden me. It did the opposite. It gave me a reason to live, and a reason to be happy.

A title can be terminated. A purpose cannot.