Today marks one year of no nylons, no commute, no boring meetings, no creative briefs, no makeup, and no fixed schedule. No more trying to channel the latest CEO’s not-very-well-articulated thoughts. A year where my life has been my life. A year of trying to make a living as a writer
Sure on the flip side, it also marks a year with no company-provided benefits, no company adding to a pension, and watching our retirement and Teen’s college savings lose about 40 percent of their value.
But I’ve also signed contracts for five books, written three or four (if you add all the pieces up), started running four days a week (in the winter, when I was working, I could only run one or two), and discovered that I’m not lonely (which was one of my big fears).
Would I do it again, knowing the economy was going to tank?
Yes. Shaking and trembling, but yes. Because it was getting to the point that work was soul-crushing.
This pretty much describes my old job.
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