The Career Pivots
Jeremy Neo started with a diploma in arts and theatre management but is now an assistant facilities manager at CBRE Global Workplace Solutions. He oversees over 300,000 square meters of workspace across three buildings in JTC Defu Industrial City, leading a team of 12 technicians and property executives. Despite friends finding his job “dull,” he values the predictable hours and variety in his daily work.
Ng Teng Yang studied materials science but discovered his passion for cooking during national service. After completing his NS, he enrolled in Shatec hospitality training school and earned a diploma in culinary arts in 2017, then joined Andaz Singapore. He’s now a chef de partie at the hotel’s steakhouse 665°F, where his scientific background helps with precision in cooking techniques.
Key Insights from Career Coach Vimala Ramasamy
The article addresses why many graduates struggle despite available vacancies. Career coach Vimala Ramasamy explains that young people often assume success is defined purely by salary or status, but true satisfaction comes from work that aligns with a person’s values, interests, personality and skills.
She emphasizes that overlooked sectors like facilities management, logistics, and hospitality are evolving with technology and offer structured career pathways with opportunities for developing transferable skills.
The article encourages graduates to embrace non-linear career paths, try internships in unfamiliar fields, and use frameworks like VIPS (values, interests, personality, skills) to find meaningful work rather than chasing conventional definitions of success.Retry
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Analysis of Career Pivot Case Studies
Case Study 1: Jeremy Neo – Theatre Management to Facilities Management
Career Trajectory
- Education: Diploma in Arts and Theatre Management (Republic Polytechnic)
- Early Experience: Theatre production company intern, hospital operations team (contract)
- Current Role: Assistant Facilities Manager at CBRE Global Workplace Solutions
- Current Study: Part-time degree in Facilities Management
Key Success Factors
1. Transferable Skills Recognition Neo identified that his strength in “working with people” from events management applied directly to facilities management. He manages relationships with tenants and stakeholders daily, demonstrating that soft skills often matter more than technical knowledge.
2. Values Alignment His pivot was driven by lifestyle priorities – he values “predictable hours and uninterrupted weekends” over the irregular schedule of events work. This shows how understanding personal values leads to better career decisions.
3. Problem-Solving Mindset His response to incidents (like the lorry hitting a height limit sign) reveals adaptability and composure under pressure – skills developed through behind-the-scenes work in both theatre and healthcare settings.
4. Continuous Learning By pursuing formal education in his new field while working, Neo legitimizes his career change and deepens his expertise, creating a stronger foundation for advancement.
Career Development Insights
- Started with indirect experience (hospital operations) before fully committing
- Leveraged “behind-the-scenes” appreciation from theatre work
- Scope of responsibility is significant (300,000+ sq m, team of 12, thousands of daily users)
Case Study 2: Ng Teng Yang – Materials Science to Culinary Arts
Career Trajectory
- Education: Materials Science (Singapore Polytechnic, 2012)
- Discovery Period: National Service (developed cooking hobby)
- Retraining: Shatec diploma in Culinary Arts (graduated 2017)
- Career Progression: Commis Chef (2017) → Demi Chef (2021) → Chef de Partie (2022) → Transfer to 665°F (2024)
Key Success Factors
1. Self-Discovery Through Exploration NS provided unexpected space for exploration. His cooking hobby revealed both passion and aptitude, showing how non-work contexts can uncover career direction.
2. Cross-Disciplinary Application His materials science background proved unexpectedly valuable – the scientific method of “measure, record, test” directly applies to recipe development and cooking precision. This demonstrates how seemingly unrelated education can enhance performance in new fields.
3. Family Management Initial parental resistance was overcome by demonstrating genuine passion and commitment. He prioritized personal fulfillment over conventional career expectations (“more important to enjoy my work than to work in a normal nine-to-five job”).
4. Systematic Career Progression Unlike Neo’s lateral move, Ng entered at the bottom and climbed methodically through kitchen ranks, gaining mastery in multiple cuisines and developing management skills organically.
Career Development Insights
- Willing to completely retrain (2+ years of study after polytechnic)
- Built expertise across different restaurant concepts (all-day dining → steakhouse)
- Developed both technical and soft skills (people management, communication)
Comparative Analysis
Similarities
FactorJeremy NeoNg Teng YangPivot TimingEarly career (after internships)After graduation, during NSDiscovery MethodWork experience revealed preferencesPersonal hobby revealed passionSkill TransferPeople skills from eventsScientific method from lab workFamily SupportNot mentioned (implied acceptance)Initial resistance, later acceptance
Differences
AspectJeremy NeoNg Teng YangRetrainingPart-time degree (while working)Full-time diploma (before entering field)Entry LevelMid-level (assistant manager)Ground floor (commis chef)MotivationLifestyle (work-life balance)Passion (enjoyment of craft)Field Perception"Overlooked" but stableHands-on, creative
Critical Success Patterns
1. The Experimentation Phase
Both individuals had transitional experiences that bridged their studies and final careers:
- Neo: Hospital operations contract work
- Ng: National Service cooking hobby
Lesson: Career pivots rarely happen overnight. Exploratory phases help test interests with lower stakes.
2. Reframing “Wasted” Education
Neither viewed their original education as lost time:
- Neo: Theatre management taught people skills and behind-the-scenes appreciation
- Ng: Materials science provided precision and experimental mindset
Lesson: Education develops thinking patterns and transferable competencies beyond subject-specific knowledge.
3. Intrinsic vs. Extrinsic Motivation
- Neo: Driven by quality of life factors (schedule predictability)
- Ng: Driven by passion and craft mastery
Lesson: Both types of motivation lead to fulfillment, but individuals must understand which drives them.
4. Resistance to Social Pressure
Both faced skepticism:
- Neo: Friends think his job sounds “dull”
- Ng: Friends questioned his decision; parents initially unsupportive
Lesson: Career satisfaction requires resilience against conventional definitions of success.
Validation of VIPS Framework
The career coach’s VIPS framework (Values, Interests, Personality, Skills) is clearly demonstrated:
Jeremy Neo’s VIPS:
- Values: Work-life balance, predictability
- Interests: Behind-the-scenes operations, people interaction
- Personality: Problem-solver, calm under pressure
- Skills: Stakeholder management, team leadership
Ng Teng Yang’s VIPS:
- Values: Personal fulfillment over conventional success
- Interests: Cooking, Western cuisine, experimentation
- Personality: Creative, detail-oriented, persistent
- Skills: Precision, scientific method, people management
Implications for Career Guidance
For Job Seekers
- Lower the stakes of early career decisions – both individuals tried adjacent roles before fully committing
- Look for skill patterns, not job titles – people management applies across industries
- Consider “burnout skills” – Ng was good at lab work but didn’t enjoy it
- Use informal experiences – hobbies, NS, volunteer work can reveal aptitudes
For Employers
- Reconsider hiring criteria – both individuals lacked direct qualifications but brought valuable transferable skills
- Value diverse educational backgrounds – Neo’s theatre training and Ng’s science background enhance their current roles
- Recognize that career changers bring fresh perspectives – their cross-disciplinary insights create innovation
For Education Institutions
- Frame learning as skill development, not job preparation – helps students see education as transferable
- Encourage exploration during study – internships, part-time work, hobbies
- Teach the VIPS self-assessment framework early in curricula
Limitations of These Case Studies
Potential Survivorship Bias
These are success stories. We don’t see:
- Those who pivoted and struggled
- Financial impacts of retraining (Ng spent 2+ years studying)
- Salary comparisons between original and pivoted careers
Contextual Factors Not Addressed
- Singapore’s specific labor market dynamics
- Government support programs that may have facilitated transitions
- Economic conditions during their pivot periods
- Personal financial situations enabling risk-taking
Missing Data Points
- Specific salary figures
- Time to reach current comfort/competence levels
- Number of job applications/rejections before landing roles
- Mental health impacts during transition periods
Conclusion
Both case studies illustrate that successful career pivots require:
- Self-awareness about values and interests
- Willingness to start over (whether through retraining or entry-level positions)
- Ability to identify transferable skills from seemingly unrelated experiences
- Resilience against social pressure and conventional career expectations
- Strategic approach to building credentials in the new field
The most powerful insight is that neither individual wasted their original education – they repositioned it as foundational rather than definitional, allowing them to build unique professional identities that combine diverse competencies.
The Unfinished Symphony
The email notification chimed at 2:47 AM, but Maya Chen was already awake. She’d been staring at the ceiling of her studio apartment for the past hour, mentally rehearsing the conversation she needed to have with her parents in the morning. The email was another rejection—the fifth that month—from yet another performing arts company. We were impressed by your credentials, but we’ve decided to move forward with other candidates.
She rolled onto her side and looked at the framed diploma on her wall: Master of Arts in Music Performance, Northwestern University. Five years of conservatory training. Countless hours perfecting her technique on the cello. A student loan balance that made her stomach clench every time she checked her bank account.
And for what? To play at weddings on weekends and teach reluctant teenagers scales on Tuesday evenings?
Maya’s phone buzzed again. This time, it was her mother.
Are you sleeping? Your father and I are worried. Call us when you wake up.
She typed back: I’m fine, Mom. Just busy. Will call soon.
The lie felt thin even through text message.
The coffee shop near Maya’s apartment had become her office by default. It was cheaper than paying for a co-working space, and the barista—a guy named Joel with sleeve tattoos and a philosophy degree he never used—had stopped charging her for refills three months ago.
“Rough night?” Joel asked, sliding a cappuccino across the counter without waiting for her to order.
“Is it that obvious?”
“You’ve got that ‘I’m questioning all my life choices’ look. I know it well.” He gestured at the espresso machine behind him. “Philosophy major, remember? This is my kingdom now.”
Maya managed a weak smile. “At least you have a kingdom. I’m not even sure what I have anymore.”
She’d come to the café intending to update her résumé, but instead found herself scrolling through job listings with a growing sense of despair. Seeking cellist for regional orchestra—part-time, no benefits. Music teacher needed, must have three years classroom experience. Wedding musician wanted—must provide own equipment and transportation.
None of them were careers. They were gigs. Pieces of a life, never a whole one.
Her laptop chimed with a video call request. Her best friend from college, Priya, appeared on screen, sitting in what looked like a sleek office with glass walls and modern art on the walls behind her.
“Please tell me you’re not still in that coffee shop,” Priya said.
“Hello to you too.”
“Maya, it’s been six months since graduation. When are you going to admit that maybe the orchestra dream isn’t happening?”
The words stung because they were true. Maya closed her laptop slightly, as if that would make the conversation easier. “What am I supposed to do? This is all I’ve ever trained for. Music is all I know.”
“That’s not true though, is it?” Priya leaned closer to her camera. “Remember junior year when you basically saved the entire spring concert series because the event coordinator had a nervous breakdown? You stepped in and managed everything—the scheduling, the vendor contracts, the marketing, even the budget reconciliation. The department chair said she’d never seen someone organize that smoothly under pressure.”
Maya did remember. She’d spent three weeks barely sleeping, coordinating between stubborn musicians, territorial venue managers, and a printer who kept getting the programs wrong. It had been exhausting and exhilarating in equal measure. When the final concert ended without a single disaster, she’d felt a rush of accomplishment that rivaled any performance she’d ever given.
“That was just helping out,” Maya said. “It wasn’t… real.”
“It was more real than you think.” Priya pulled up something on her screen. “Look, my company is looking for a project coordinator. It’s a tech firm, but they need someone who can manage complex schedules, work with difficult personalities, and keep a hundred details straight at once. Sound familiar?”
“Priya, I don’t know anything about tech.”
“You don’t need to. You need to know how to coordinate people and projects. Which you’re actually brilliant at—you just never thought it counted because it wasn’t music.”
After Priya hung up, Maya sat in the coffee shop for another two hours, staring at the job description her friend had sent. Project Coordinator—Events & Operations. The salary was more than double what she’d make cobbling together music gigs. The benefits included health insurance and a 401k, concepts that had felt purely theoretical since graduation.
But applying felt like giving up. Like admitting that all those years of practice, all those sacrifices, had been for nothing.
Maya’s mother picked up on the first ring.
“Finally! Your father has been pacing around the kitchen like a caged tiger. What’s going on, Maya? And don’t say ‘nothing.’ I know my daughter.”
Maya took a breath. “I’m thinking about taking a job. Not in music.”
The silence on the other end lasted three heartbeats too long.
“What kind of job?” her mother finally asked, her voice carefully neutral.
“Project coordination. For a tech company. It’s good money, Mom. Better than I’d make in music for years, maybe ever.”
“But you’re a musician. You’ve been playing cello since you were seven years old. Remember? You cried for three days until we agreed to rent you an instrument because the school only had one and Jenny Morrison got to it first.”
The memory made Maya’s chest tight. She’d been so certain then. So sure that music was her destiny, her purpose, her entire identity.
“I know,” she whispered. “But maybe I was wrong. Or maybe things changed. I don’t know anymore.”
Her mother sighed. “Let me tell you something. When your father and I came to this country, he had a degree in electrical engineering. Top of his class in Taipei. But his credentials didn’t transfer, and the jobs he could get didn’t need engineers—they needed hands. So he worked in a factory. Then in a restaurant kitchen. Then he drove a taxi for three years while taking night classes to get his U.S. certifications.”
Maya knew this story. She’d heard it a dozen times, usually when her parents wanted to remind her how much they’d sacrificed.
But her mother wasn’t finished. “What I never told you was that during those taxi years, your father was happier than I’d ever seen him. He loved talking to people, learning their stories, helping them navigate the city. When he finally got his engineering job back, he was good at it—very good—but something was missing. He’d discovered he liked working with people more than working with circuits.”
“Wait. Dad wanted to quit engineering?”
“He thought about it. But we had you to think about, and bills to pay, and everyone kept saying how lucky we should feel that he’d ‘made it back’ to his real career.” Her mother paused. “I think sometimes he still wonders what would have happened if he’d followed that other path. Don’t let that be you, Maya. Don’t spend your life wondering.”
The interview was in a building with a lobby that looked like a spaceship and a receptionist who seemed genuinely happy to be there. Maya’s hands were sweating as she waited, clutching a portfolio she’d hastily assembled the night before, full of programs from concerts she’d organized, spreadsheets from budgets she’d managed, and testimonials from grateful music directors.
The hiring manager, a woman named Veronica with cropped silver hair and bright red glasses, greeted her with a firm handshake.
“So,” Veronica said, settling behind her desk. “A musician. That’s different. Tell me why you’re interested in project coordination.”
Maya had rehearsed an answer. Something polished about transferable skills and seeking new challenges. But what came out was the truth.
“I’ve spent my entire life being told that being a musician was my purpose. And I love music—I do. But somewhere along the way, I realized that what I actually love is the feeling of making things run smoothly. Of taking chaos and turning it into something organized and beautiful. When I was organizing concerts, I wasn’t thinking about my cello. I was thinking about how to make sure every single person—the performers, the audience, the vendors—had exactly what they needed at exactly the right time. And when it worked, when everything clicked into place…” She paused, surprised by the emotion in her voice. “That felt like performing too. Just a different kind.”
Veronica was quiet for a moment, studying her. “Can I tell you something? I have a degree in classical piano performance from Juilliard. Haven’t performed in twelve years.”
Maya’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really. I thought I was giving up when I took my first corporate job. Thought I was betraying everything I’d worked for.” She gestured around her office. “But I wasn’t giving up music. I was discovering that what I loved about music—the precision, the collaboration, the way individual parts create something greater—exists in lots of places. I didn’t abandon my training. I translated it.”
Three weeks later, Maya received the job offer. The salary was even better than the posting had indicated. Start date: four weeks.
She called her parents from the coffee shop, where Joel had made her a celebratory cappuccino with a little foam music note on top.
“A job!” her father exclaimed. “In computers!”
“Not exactly in computers, Dad. I’m coordinating—”
“She’s organizing things,” her mother cut in, and Maya could hear the smile in her voice. “Like she’s always done.”
That evening, Maya pulled her cello out of its case for the first time in weeks. She didn’t play anything specific—just ran her bow across the strings, feeling the vibration travel through the wood and into her body. The sound filled her small apartment, rich and warm.
She’d been so afraid that taking this job meant she’d never be a musician again. But sitting there, cello between her knees, she realized that wasn’t true. She’d still play. She’d still attend concerts. She’d still hear the world through a musician’s ears.
She just wouldn’t be defined by it anymore. And maybe that wasn’t giving up. Maybe it was growing up.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Priya: Congrats! Told you. When do you start?
Maya smiled and typed back: One month. And Priya? Thank you. For seeing what I couldn’t see in myself.
That’s what friends are for. Now go celebrate. You’ve earned it.
Maya set down her phone and started playing—not a classical piece from her repertoire, but something improvised and joyful. The notes spilled out unselfconsciously, filling her apartment with sound that was just for her, not for judges or audiences or anyone else’s expectations.
Outside her window, the city lights were beginning to glow against the deepening dusk. In four weeks, she’d walk into that gleaming office building and start a new chapter. But tonight, she was exactly where she needed to be: between one life and the next, playing music that no one would hear but her.
And it was enough.
Six months into her new job, Maya found herself in a conference room with twelve agitated executives trying to plan the company’s annual tech summit. Schedules conflicted. Vendors were double-booked. The keynote speaker had dietary restrictions no one had asked about. Half the team wanted a formal evening event; the other half wanted something casual.
It was chaos. Beautiful, familiar chaos.
Maya opened her laptop, pulled up her project management software, and smiled.
“Alright,” she said, and everyone turned to look at her. “Let’s start from the top. What’s our non-negotiable deadline, and what’s our realistic budget?”
As the meeting progressed, Maya felt that same sensation she’d felt conducting rehearsals, organizing concerts, even performing in a well-synchronized orchestra. Everything in its place. Every person playing their part. The satisfaction of taking disorder and crafting it into harmony.
Later, when Veronica pulled her aside to say the meeting had been “masterfully handled,” Maya realized something: she hadn’t thought about her cello once all day. And that was okay.
She still played on weekends. She’d even joined a community orchestra that rehearsed Thursday evenings. But music was no longer her entire world—it was a room in the house she was building, not the foundation it rested on.
That night, Maya drafted an email to her old conservatory advisor, the one who’d written her countless recommendation letters for orchestra positions that never panned out.
Professor Chen, she wrote. I wanted to let you know I’ve accepted a position in project management. I know this isn’t what either of us envisioned when I was your student, but I wanted to thank you. Everything you taught me about discipline, collaboration, and precision—it turns out those skills matter everywhere, not just on stage. I’m not giving up music. I’m just making room for everything else I can be.
Thank you for believing in me, even when the path changed.
With gratitude,
Maya
She hit send before she could second-guess herself.
The reply came three hours later, at nearly midnight—professors kept strange hours, she remembered.
Maya, Professor Chen had written. I have watched so many talented musicians struggle to fit themselves into boxes that were never quite the right shape. The students who thrive aren’t always the most technically perfect ones. They’re the ones brave enough to listen to themselves instead of the world’s expectations. I’m proud of you. And I hope you’ll come play for us sometime—not as an audition, but as someone who loves music freely. Those are always the best performances.
Maya read the email three times, tears blurring the words.
Then she closed her laptop, pulled out her cello, and played until her fingers ached—not because she had to, but because she wanted to.
And that, she thought, made all the difference.