Sunday, March 27, 2016

The Trap


The cat's been out of the bag for almost two weeks now. I'm a quitter. And when I tell people, the first question they always come back with pertains to my plan.  Specifically, they want to know where I'll be working next.

Some ask: "Did you get something better?"  Some ask: "Are you staying in the industry?"  Some ask: "When do you start?" The underlying assumption is that I'm going to be working for a new company. New boss, new building, new salary. The idea that someone would leave one job without having another lined up simply doesn't compute with a lot of people.

I've done this before. Since my early twenties, I've been caught up in a strange habit. I would take a job, do it for a while, then quit. I always made sure I had some money saved up before quitting, but starting a new job right after ending the last one typically wasn't my way. I would quit, live off my savings for a few months, then start over at a new job.

This method has never impressed people. In fact, it's been seen as less acceptable the older I've gotten. But I can't seem to make it work any other way. When I finally quit a job, it's usually because I've hit rock bottom there. The novelty has long worn off, the work itself has drained my mental energy and killed my creative spark, and the relationships I've built aren't powerful enough to cancel out the rest of it. I need a hard reset. I need to remember who I am.

Saturday, March 19, 2016

Notice



I handed in my resignation this week.

I've had many jobs over the years and I've quit them all, sometimes in less-than-professional ways (e.g. sending a cowardly email following exactly one day of work). Even on the few occasions where I gave proper notice, I hastily dropped my "I quit!" letter on the boss's chair and then scurried home, postponing the awkwardness to the next morning.

I'm 35 now, and I've been at my current job for nearly five years. A hit-and-run letter wasn't going to cut it this time. So I marched upstairs, closed the office door behind me, and asked my boss if he had a minute.  He did.

Saturday, March 5, 2016

T-24



I have a small desk calendar at work. It's one of those triangular ones where you can see the same month on either side.  On the front, I've noted things like doctor's appointments and holidays and dates when coworkers won't be in.  But on the back, in secret, the countdown is on.

My last day of work will be April 8th. This date was chosen way back in December, when my wife Kate and I decided this would be the year to put our scary writing plan into action. On my first day back at work after the holidays, I uncapped my pen and, working backwards, I noted my "days left" on each square of the calendar. Yesterday's square told me I have 24 days left to spend at this job.