After 13 Years, I QUIT!

Last week I quit my job. Well, I’m not really sure if  “quit” is the right word. I guess it was more that I walked away from a gig that I have held down successfully for 13 years. Thirteen years and five days to be exact. I know because eBay sent me a “Happy Anniversary” email on December 27th telling me that thirteen years ago that day I had signed up on their site. “Congratulations"… you have been selling useless stuff to people all over the world for nearly a decade and a half. Over and over and over again.

I worked for myself throughout that time. Yes, the self-employment deal. It always sounds enticing when you tell people that you work at home. “Oh, I want to do that. That seems like it is so easy. You can work in your pajamas and the money just rolls in.” I wish. Believe me, it’s not always smooth sailing, and you don‘t really ever work in your pajamas. Rather, you get what you give when you are self-employed. You have an idea, figure out how to put it into motion, meet distributors, get creative, work your ass off, and it starts paying off. It starts paying the bills. You see results. It is good.

Pretty soon you learn to rely on this business model that you have set into motion. It still works. It still pays the bills, but it sucks the life out of you. It takes your time, it tests your sanity, it keeps you perpetually stuck doing the same thing over and over and over again. Yeah, I know…like most jobs, right? I hate to complain because it allowed me to partake of so many perks along the way. I got to be with and see my kids every day before they left for school and every afternoon when the dismissal bell rang. I was able to collect body art and set my own dress code in the office. I was able to sneak in time here and there to work on things that I loved - art, music, reading, writing. But still, the monster was strapped to my back and I didn’t know how to shake it.

Like most families, we started living at a level of comfort that was parallel to the monetary rewards of this gig. We bought more, tried to chase the “American Dream,” thought we were keeping right in line with the way we were “supposed to” climb the ladder of success. It was a gradual metamorphosis. You don’t even realize how greedy and foolish you are becoming. You just see the rest of society chasing the dream around you and think you should be squeezing yourself into the race too. “Success” took us from our charming, vintage, modest home in an area we loved, to an oversized, cookie-cutter, tract home in the suburbs. “Success” meant we could afford it and so that is what we thought we deserved. But along with these meaningless strides and accumulations, the monster hitching the ride became more of a necessary evil to remain tied to. 

Happily, somewhere in the midst of all of this silly consumption we “saw the light of simplicity.” I suppose that it was a gradual happening though, just like the profit chase before it had been. You don’t just wake up one morning and think, “WHAT THE HELL do I have 230 pairs of knee socks for (because I seriously DID at one point) when two sets would probably serve me just fine,” but certain determinants begin leaving impressions and one thought leads to the next, and pretty soon you are pondering the big picture of life. Yes, pretty soon there is that epiphany that the path that you are on is headed in completely the opposite direction from what you intended all along. But alas, the monstrosity of materialism and all that you have amassed along the way will take some undoing.

Simplicity SOUNDS fantastic, but when you have built up this world full of belongings, bills, and responsibilities, you have to slowly tear down those walls and work your way backwards to find clarity again. And so that is what we did. Little by little, we started digging through our possessions and deciding what we could live without. Now mind you, we were never hoarders or anything like that. In fact, we were/are quite tidy and organized. But funny how great organizers can become expert concealers, with their storage containers, boxes, cabinets, and tubs. I could rearrange any space to look orderly, even if I had duplicates galore. We donated and sold; gave away, threw away, and purged some more. We finally got to the point where we could downsize the home we lived in for one half the size, and so we did. Last January, we moved.

At this point, the decluttering machine was in full motion. It seemed that with each cabinet and room I worked through, the more clarity and sanity I gained. Along with our new, more manageable living expenses, we were discovering other methods of saving money and loosening the bonds of the job monster. We cut back on inessentials and made new goals for the future, one of them being to work our way to living with only 100 personal items (Steve is already there, I am close). We were completely backtracking on the compulsion to chase that so-called “American Dream” and we were carving out our own version of what brought happiness and contentment.

Because our ideals had changed so significantly it became harder and harder to peddle the “stuff” online. The same “stuff” that had been my bread and (vegan) butter for over a decade. The crutch that always kept the bank account in check, but kept me from tackling bigger goals. Here I was trying to rid myself of things, all the while offering them up to a multitude of customers in the online universe. The hypocrisy became trickier to justify with each week that passed.

As we steadily settled into our newfound mindset, we began talking more seriously about me walking away from “the gig.” Steve’s job was thriving and if we were steadfast with our economical budget, it just might be possible to make due on his earnings for awhile, while I let go of my old job and moved forward into new untamed waters; hopefully full of editing, words, and writing.

And so the deadline date was set. Whatever was unsold after New Year’s Day would remain that way (that is, besides a handful of goodies I still offer because I created them or I really believe in them), and that chapter of life would be closed. And it happened! I closed that thirteen year-old door to prepare for opening up the next.

It’s been a strange week though. Transitioning is hard. It tests your confidence and sneakily gets you to question decisions made. That monster that sucked out sanity and whittled away my time is gone…but that creature was also comforting in a weird way. It was a crutch of comfort, this I know. But still, comfort nonetheless. I completely understand that my worth does not come from how much I sell or even from what I do for a living, but after being used to that constant reward system and unconscious reassurance, I find myself having to provide reminders of this idea. Persistent reminders.

Now I begin again. Searching for a new path of fulfillment and purpose. Learning how to direct my efforts into something meaningful for myself and for those I have the opportunity to cross paths with. It’s a business model I don’t have figured out yet. I’ve dabbled in it, but I’ve never given it all of my effort and attention. The charts, graphs and designs this model requires feel foreign to me right about now; the direction uncertain. But the biggest obstacle has now been cleared from the road and the engine is revving. Though the map provides no destination just yet, I suppose building up the momentum and itinerary is up to me.

Photo by Carl Wycoff