Time Off

I quit my job little over 30 days ago, my last day was this week. It was the act of courage that inspired my thirty day twittering exercise, though I didn’t write about it at the time because I wasn’t sure how things would shake out. The news has since worked its way through everyone’s system, most importantly, mine.

For the past two years I’ve worked full time while going to grad school; slowing cutting back on things I loved doing in my free time, and spending more time away from my family and new marriage.

I’m proud of all I’ve accomplished, and yet, I’m worn thin by a hectic lifestyle and have a lot of regrets. I quit, not because I dislike my job, or the opportunities it affords; I quit because it was the most responsible decision. No matter how great a job you have, it’s never worth your well-being or relationships. It's so easy to say now that I'm on the other side of the gut-wrenching decision I took too long to make.

I suppose I clung to a promise that going at this pace would lead to financial success. I have equated self-worth with my earning potential since I could first work. Always proud of my 2 to 4 job-at-a-time status, work has been the safety basket that I had been putting all my golden eggs in, believing that I would eventually keep my family from financial ruin. This cheap myth composed by a young, frightened girl was shattered when my father died just over six months ago.

Any fool can become a millionaire if they sacrifice enough. Sure I’d excel, but to what end? To a fault. I devote myself so completely to my commitments that I have trouble choosing what is best for me. And I don’t want to be that person anymore. Workaholic, obsessive, unhealthy, frazzled.

My father's death left me broken, but with a great gift: cancer has a way of breaking down belief systems. Nothing is the same now. And frankly, my job doesn’t compare. No amount of raises, promotions, or overtime would have prevented his stroke or given me more time with him.

I quit my job. The world didn’t end. Time didn’t stop. The only person crying was me. Like my family members, my boss and co-workers expressed surprise, concern, and then excitement and understanding. We all adjusted to the new input and went about business as usual.

A delicate balance lies ahead. I’m well aware that my workaholic tendencies could easily translate into my new roles. I know myself well, and I’ll be writing about the ways I trick myself out of it. I’m open to suggestions too.

Smell the roses.

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