It was 3:00 am when I sat down on the floor to craft the following text message to my partners:
A text is not the way to deliver this news but I want to give you both some time to process before we’re together.
I’m tendering my resignation with my last day of employment set at January 31, 2025. You’ll have my resignation letter by Monday at the latest.
It took me two, agonizing hours to write those three sentences. My stomach was tied in terrible knots by the time I hit send.
You see, I was leaving the company I helped found, and had worked night, day, and in the bitterest of weather conditions for seven years to build. I’d been partners with one of “you both” for almost 15 years the morning I pressed the send button to begin the dialog of my departure.
That was definitely a text about quitting. But this really isn’t a story about quitting. It’s about what happens after the text, email, Teams message, or conversation.
And it’s also for anyone who can’t send that kind of text at 3:00am, 5:00am, or any other time of the day — because of the mortgage, the bills, the spouse (or lack thereof), the kids, the fear, or just not knowing what comes next.
I sent the text, then for about three minutes I felt absolute calm; a confirmation, of sorts, that I’d “done the right thing.” Then, without warning, the anxiety crashed over me like so many waves in a raging typhoon.
I started pre-rumination (one of my superpowers) about the conversation I would have, knowing that one of those partners didn’t typically come in early which meant agonizing some more while pretending to work.
I prepared myself for the day and went to my office. Both partners were already there but neither one of them had time to talk right then. So, I worked — acting like nothing had changed — for seven very long hours.
Then, we talked. Both my partners, while saddened, understood my reasons and were supportive of my decision.
But maybe you’ve had to make the decision to stay for all the reasons I outlined above. So many people will spend their lives in jobs that are, at best, not fulfilling, and, at worst, soul-sucking, but they do it because they don’t believe they have another choice. Maybe you live in a place where there really is no choice because that freedom has been taken away.
Here’s the part nobody tells you: quitting doesn’t always bring clarity. It doesn’t come with a flashing neon sign that points to your calling¹. There’s no heroic montage of reinvention that plays or choir of angels that sings after you resign.
Instead, just space — empty, quiet, and maybe a bit weird — where your old identity once lived, or at least part of it.
The truth is, whether you quit or stay, most of us end up walking a similar road: trying to remember who we are without the job title, the paycheck, the prestige, or the grind. And sometimes we still have all those things — and feel just as lost.
Either way, we still have to face the mirror. We still have to listen in the silence. We still have to figure out what matters most to us now.
The guru-led myth is that quitting equals freedom, and that staying equals failure. Neither one is inherently true. What’s hard — but true to self — is doing the internal work, whether you walk away or stay put.
Six months have passed since I started that text at 3:00am, and I wish I could say that I’ve had some kind of revelation. I’ve been working on a lot of things. I’ve spent tons of time still working at the company I quit, but there’s been no “calling,” or really even figuring out who I am without the title.
But I haven’t. Not yet.
What I have found is this weird kind of stillness. Some days, it feels like peace. Other days, it feels like fog. Sometimes, it feels more like I made a horrible decision and I should just go crawling back.
I’ve had flashes of inspiration — those moments when everything felt so clear, even hopeful. I’ve done a bit of journaling. I’ve written a lot of code. I’ve gone on a couple of walks, but mostly just eaten donuts and overindulged in Dr. Pepper Zero Sugar.
I’ve had long stretches of sometimes uncomfortable silence. I’ve had to work with clients that I didn’t want to work with because there was no money in it — money that I need to provide for my family. I’ve also said no to things that might have been “safe” but were too uncertain for me to know for sure. I’ve built new things, hired people, then had to back away immediately because I realized I wasn’t ready and couldn’t stand the thought of having to worry about someone else’s family before I could provide for my own.
I’ve also over-exerted my scrolling muscles on days when I’m just numbed out, or stared at a blank page wondering if I did the right thing.
The in-between space is so much more than being between jobs or between who you were and who you’re becoming. It’s a proving ground; a place where false identities can be stripped away (gently or violently) to discover what’s left. Hopefully, whatever it is, it’s not a new layer of self-deception, but something that is truer to who you are.
If you’re in that place — whether you stayed or left — and you don’t have the next chapter all figured out, I want to tell you: that’s okay. You’re not behind, flawed, broken, or messed up.
You’re becoming.
I haven’t cracked the code on self-reflection or reinvention. Some days, I’m just content that I didn’t break down in my fifth existential moment of the week. In the fray, I have found a few things that make the fog a little thinner on some days.
Write things down
I’m not even necessarily talking about journaling. There’s nowhere near as much magic in journaling as the gurus want us to believe. But it does help take the edge off the noise — to get some of the chaos out of my head.
Some days, it’s pages of James Joyce-style stream-of-consciousness. Other days, it’s just a single sentence or a few random words scribbled on a sticky note. But it brings a little order to the chaos. And right now, that’s enough.
Saying no (and not apologizing for it)
I personally give myself an D-minus at saying no and an F at not apologizing for it. But, I’m learning that even when money is tight and I feel like I’m not in a position to be picking, saying yes to the wrong things (or the right things at the wrong time) is protecting me from building another future I’ll want to escape from later on.
Letting some days be “nothing days”
I’m reluctant to even call them that, because “nothing days” often end up being some of the best days. They don’t look like bleary eyes and burnout from working too late. They look like the opposite.
They’re the days when you give yourself permission to enjoy things you used to feel guilty about — a slow walk, a donut, some mindless scrolling.
They’re rest days. And the goal isn’t to actively oppose optimizing them or justify them. It’s to let go of the shame and guilt that says you haven’t earned the break.
Sometimes, a “nothing day” is a whole afternoon. Sometimes, it’s just an hour after the kids go to bed. Either way, it counts.
Talking with people who don’t expect me to have it figured out.
Don’t underestimate the power of this one. It’s been huge for me. I have a friend and mentor that I check in with casually. On days when I’m celebrating a victory, he knows that’s the right time to ask “So what’s next?” When I’ve lost a battle, he’s quick to say, “I get it,” which is true because he’s been there.
Good friends are one of the best ways to stay grounded.
Touching the work I love — even for 15 minutes.
This is another favorite. It is counterintuitive to take time from a paying project to work on something that may never be a path to revenue. Sometimes, though, it’s really just about building something to see if I can; no business plan or strategy required. These are the things that keep us connected to something true to who we are.
These practical tidbits haven’t produced a full answer yet, but they’ve helped me stay in the process. For now, that’s enough.
I don’t have a five-year plan, or even a three-month one, but I’m learning to be okay with that. Right now, I’m showing up, trying things, and paying attention.
I believe this weird in-between stuff (a technical term) is part of becoming, so maybe I don’t need to rush through it. Maybe what comes next isn’t about what I achieve next or the zen-like clarity I wake up with every morning. Maybe it’s actually about rediscovering what wholeness actually looks like.
Maybe I’ll write about that next.
For now, I’m just here.
Becoming.
¹ The gurus are flat wrong; lying; selling snake oil. Most of us won’t ever feel called to do any particular type of work because work is not that important for most of us. We might be energized by our work — enjoy it, even — but most of will never (and rightly so) sacrifice what is required for a job to be “a calling.”
No comments:
Post a Comment