I quit my day job this week. The one I’ve had for fourteen years. The job with stability and benefits and generous vacation time. The job that helped me to become the independent woman that I am. I gave a month’s notice. I’m going to cash out my retirement fund and I am going to focus on growing my creative projects. I have a lot of them. Something is bound to pan out!
That cubicle feels like the very last part of the cocoon that I have been crawling out of. It represents the last piece of the old me. The new me was suffocating inside of those fabric walls. The new me is going to do whatever the fuck I want to do, from now on. I have no one around me to tell me, “No!” Finally…. For the very first time in my life, I am free. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier or more confident in myself.
I’m amazed at how people have reacted to this news. I announced it on Facebook without telling my parents. I’m thirty-seven damn years old. I have learned not to seek counsel from my parents. They will lecture me quite loudly, for hours on end. And if I refuse their unsolicited advice, as I usually do, they will resort to punishing me or threatening every bad scenario that they can think of in an attempt to scare me into their expectations. I have spent years in therapy, trying to get their voices out of my head. I don’t have the desire to witness their bullying in person anymore. I could feel their raging disappointment when I shared my news. And I don’t care. Their opinions have no power over me, now.
Friends and colleagues have told me that they are proud of me. My unempathetic boss even cried a little and hugged me, when I told her the news. She offered to do whatever she could to help me stay. I was a little surprised. I didn’t think she liked me. But I declined her offers and explained that I needed to take this leap of faith. It was the most vulnerability either one of us had ever shown in the office.
Others have seemed worried about me, and asked what I plan to do when I retire. I have $9,000.00 in my retirement account right now. Even if I multiplied that by 10 over the next thirty years, I would still be too broke to retire. I’m not going to work in a job that I hate for thirty more years, only to retire and still have to eat ramen noodles!
My self love game has ascended to a whole new level, so I could never bare to let my precious life be wasted away in a cubicle, dealing with insurance companies who spend millions of dollars to come up with clever new ways not to pay for claims.. And then have to deal with the repercussions from my boss when I have claims that won’t get paid. Medical billing is hell on earth, and if you all would have voted for Bernie Sanders, the whole shit storm of insurance companies would have come to an abrupt end. I’m still feeling the Bern. I was not feeling that job.
So, I jumped. I’m taking all the money I had in the 401k that I could never afford to adequately contribute to, and I am going to be gambling it on myself. I’m not stupid. I have options.
This town that I live in is about to become the stoner capital of Michigan. A new dispensary opened up down town. We have large scale grow factories popping up everywhere, and I have been blessed with the opportunity to work at one. Spending my days with natural light and beautiful green plants sounds like an amazing opportunity! And it’s right around the corner from my house. Beyond that opportunity, I also just formed an LLC with some friends and we’re organizing a Music Festival. We’ve also discussed doing women’s retreats. I have a massage table in my living room. And I have spent the past year learning to add tarot card readings to my list of fortune telling specialties. All of these things bring in money and I enjoy them. I also have Jupiter transiting my second house. Money is coming in.
If someone would have told me five years ago, that I was going to end up quitting my job to be a weed farmer/festival organizer/astrologer/and massage therapist… I never would have believed them. Oddly enough, if someone would have told me that twenty years ago, I would absolutely have believed them. Funny how we always come back around, full circle.
And that is precisely why I have decided to retire at thirty-seven years old. Who knows where I will be in thirty years? It seems silly to suffer for so long. I’m going to focus on the moment right now. But I can promise one thing… In thirty years, I will not be sitting in a life-sucking cubicle, wishing that I would have lived a braver life. In thirty years, I will look back and remember the time when my cocoon fell away and my wings spread out and I flew away into a future with endlessness.
And just like that, I have emerged from my ashes. I am a little disoriented, but free at last.