The Moment Before You Quit Your Job

I’ve decided to give my notice today. At 11 AM I have a call with my boss. I still haven’t worked out what I will say. “I’m quitting. It’s personal. I’m moving to Spain. I’m not flying out to that client next week, I have to pack. It’s not you, it’s me”.

I had an interesting conversation last night with someone very close to me, who thinks I’m throwing away a lot of things by doing this. I respect her opinion highly, so it was hard to hear. She said that I was so young; I have so much ahead of me, that I should take the freelance consulting job I was offered two weeks ago (I talked about it here and have since decided not to take it). She asked what could be so hard about my work, that I couldn’t bare it for even for such a large amount of money. I tried making parallels and failed. “What if I was a stockbroker making $400,000 a year working 90 hours a week? Am I obligated to keep that career forever, because I can make that much money and others can’t? Do I forgo my personal happiness, because it’s wasteful to not take a high paying job, to instead live on a fraction on my former income, while traveling the world and writing about it?”

“No, not forever”, she responded. “Just long enough to save.”

But I have saved. I have reserves. I can live quite comfortable, albeit not excessively on my income and savings. Where does it end? When will I have stockpiled enough money that I can do what I want?

Finally I told her about my HS Chemistry teacher, a brisk Norwegian woman that her students took to calling Mrs. A. I had her for both honors and AP Chemistry. I was one of two girls in her class. In my senior year, she drove me to UMASS Amherst (where I ultimately went to school, thank you financial aid) for a Women in Engineering conference. I loved hearing about all these women who had conquered this male dominated field. I was intrigued, but not entirely convinced. On the car ride home, I told her I was actually thinking about studying English. She turned and looked at me with her steely blue eyes and said in her thick accent, “With your brain? That’s a waste. At least major in something you can make a living doing.”

I ended up taking some English classes, even co-founding a poetry society while at college. But her advice hung with me, and ultimately I found myself focusing more on math and science and leaving writing behind. When I moved to Seattle to start my first real job in software, I left my years of journals behind. I wouldn’t need them.

I moved across the country, and tried my best to squeeze myself into this role. I did well. I got promoted, moved up, started managing projects and teams. At home, the writing never left me. I started a running blog. I wrote an ill-advised novel. I would find myself thumbing moleskins in the clearance rack at Barnes and Noble.

My dear friend who is afraid for me, afraid I am throwing away a perfectly good career, doesn’t understand this. At least not yet. I can be brave enough for both of us.  In 30 minutes, I will test how well I believe in this plan, in my ability, in leaping without a net.