On Leaving My Job…

(…and choosing my religion.)

I left my job of six years on June 3rd.  I’m turning 30 next month.  It’s hard to explain why I did this, mostly because the real explanation takes time.

At the beginning of May, I was meeting with my boss about a case, when she motioned for me to close the door and asked me if I was planning on leaving soon.  (I’d already taken 5-month leaves of absence in 2013 and 2015 to work on farms, and the executive director had told me that no more leaves of absence would be granted.)  I had intended to leave in the spring, in April or May, but I hadn’t decided what I wanted to do yet (farming? natural building workshops? random travel?), and as each month’s schedule was put together at work, I just found myself staying from lack of having given notice.  So I replied that yes, I would like to leave soon.  I thought it over for a few more days and chose a last day of work for myself, and then I was done.  It was as simple as that.  (Well, I suppose I had to apply for Medicaid.)

I found myself telling my other coworkers that I was leaving to go work on a farm again, even though I didn’t technically have a farm lined up to work on.  I told my parents I was leaving largely due to conditions in the office (they were remodeling the building around us, including remediating asbestos; my office had no windows and the building had no AC or air circulation of any kind; several coworkers were developing daily headaches and rashes…).  The explanation I gave to my friends was that I had worked there for quite a while even though it was never what I really wanted to do—I always intended it to be an interim job for myself—and I had paid off my student loans and saved up some money, so why not do something else?  That’s getting closer to the heart of it.

So why did I leave?  Here’s the long version:

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