(…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: