Step(h) One: Quitting

On Friday, May 13th, 2022, I left my job of about five and a half years to travel for an indeterminate amount of time, which at this point, I’m guessing will be roughly one summer. When I was thinking about leaving and saw that there was a Friday the 13th in the vicinity of when I wanted my end date to be, I was tickled and knew what I needed to do. See, I was born on a Friday the 13th, and my mom has always said it’s my lucky day. 

And what a day it was… I was taught to see things through and have ALWAYS had an incredible sense of responsibility. That time I was cast in 6th grade show choir as a T-Bird in Grease with the line during Summer Nights: “Could she get me a friend?!” Yeah… that ranks highly among my most embarrassing moments. Did I want to quit? Of course! Did my mom tell me I committed to it and needed to see it through no matter how many other girl T-Birds were dropping? Yep. All that is to say, I rarely quit anything, and as my first job out of graduate school, this was a tough decision.

However, I felt like I had been too much of a team player in a high-stress/long-hours environment that had given me so little in return, and as of late, was holding me back from my true potential. It was time for a change. Although the firm was encouraging people to return to the office on a more regular basis after COVID, leaving on a Friday meant not a single person from my team showed up to wish me well. There was no office happy hour as was typical when teammates left, even during the pandemic. The only person I was able to say goodbye to in person was one of our office administrative assistants. While I choose to believe this was due to office/departmental overwhelm because of several recent resignations, and I wish I could say it didn’t hurt, once I found a bar at PHL airport to get back to my new home in Boston, I broke down in very public tears. I was disappointed, angry, exhausted, maybe relieved (?), maybe sad that this put some finality to my chapter in Philly, but just ultimately didn’t know how I was feeling.

In six short days, I would leave on an organized trip with Kyle* to Morocco and Portugal. In 26 days, four even shorter days after returning from Portugal, I would fly solo, halfway across the world — literally — (11 hours difference from the US east coast; 12 hours difference from my parents in Chicago) during a (waning? hopefully) pandemic to Hanoi, Vietnam to start what I hoped would (and still hope will) be a meaningful and transformative ~3 (+?) month experience.

Do I sometimes wonder if I’ve made a mistake? Yes, absolutely. Seven years of a PhD that I completed in 2016 represents a huge loss in earning potential, and to quit a good paying job at 35 with no definite plans for a new one is no easy decision, but one thing I’ve been telling myself to help get me through moments of homesickness is that we only live once, and life is short. I am extremely fortunate and privileged to be able to do this. It’s my hope that my travels will enrich my life and that I’ll find meaning and understanding to help guide me throughout my days. For now, I’m taking things one step(h) at a time. Happy you’re here to join me, friend! Feel free to follow along to hear about my adventures by subscribing here.

How about you? Any good quitting stories?
Step(h)

*Not his real name.