I Quit My Job

I wish I could say I quit my job and is moving to the South Pacific to be a bikini designer.

But no…I quit my exciting technical writing job to write creatively on a part-time basis for a year.

This year-long sabbatical frees me from the obvious skill-career-passion mismatch and gives me the time to figure out what I want to do next.

Before you ask me “Are you being realistic?”, let me assure you that I've considered every possible option with my husband before deciding that this is the right time to send my boss a Dear John.

Assuming I’ll die when I hit sixty four, this mid-life crisis made me want to live humbly (did I just give my age away?). I had this perpetual thought of spending time on more rewarding life experiences, the kind of stuffs that do not come with the I’ve-Made-It Dior handbag and I’m-More-Accomplished-Than-You Mercedes.

I just want to write and to create and to contribute.

Of course having the freedom to freelance comes the other not-so-fun stuffs. I have to downgrade and cut back on a lot of things.

Like my premium Spotify account.

Of course I realize I will get bored sitting on my butt all day. That's why I am planning to go for an hour jog, eat breakfast and go on my first assignment for a local magazine tomorrow.

(I’ll be interviewing this bat shit crazy hot handsome British artist.)

(Yeah.)