day 14—choosing yourself

“Do you ever feel guilty?”

I was on the phone with my former colleague-turned-friend.

“About what? Leaving?”

“Yeah, I mean, kinda,” she hesitated, “I guess I’m asking if you ever feel guilty when people ask what you’re doing now, but you’re… doing nothing?”

She quickly backtracked, “Well, not nothing—you’re traveling. But me, I’m still figuring things out.”

She had just left her job at another big tech company after we spent months venting over shared frustrations. We met in the trenches at Meta and here we were, digging our way out.

“I think I get what you’re asking. Do I feel guilty because I was lucky enough to leave a job draining me and take time to figure out what’s next? Yeah, a little,” I reflected, leaning back against the cupboard of the van, as I sat cross-legged on the floor. The irony wasn’t lost on me—sitting in an RV park, my life packed into this tiny, imperfect space while discussing potential and possibility. It felt so far removed from any reality I’d ever imagined for myself.

“But not for a second do I regret choosing myself.”

“You could run a company, you know,” she said, her voice steady but filled with conviction on the other end of the line. “You have the drive, the vision, the ability to lead people. You’ve just never given yourself the credit for it.”

I glanced out the window at the dusty lot, a mix of mismatched RVs and campers scattered around. There were more long-termers than short-timers like us. We just wanted the hot shower and the proximity to the ski resorts.

“Maybe. But running a company doesn’t feel like freedom to me right now. It feels like another cage, just a shinier one.”

She paused, and I could hear her take a breath. “Fair point. But maybe it’s not about running a company. Maybe it’s about creating something—something that feels true to you and doesn’t drain you but feeds you instead.”

I let her words sink in, staring at the ceiling, its surface covered in shiplap and already dotted with worn edges. “You mean, something that makes me feel alive instead of just useful?”

“Exactly,” she said, her voice warm and certain. “The world doesn’t need more people doing what they’re ‘supposed’ to do. It needs more people doing what they’re meant to do.”

I exhaled while her words mixed with the faint hum of generators. “Maybe I’ll start with figuring out what that even is.”

Her laughter came through the line, soft but encouraging. “That’s the best place to start. It sounds like the last few weeks on the road have sent you in a good direction.” I could sense her smirk.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my phone pressed to my ear. For the first time in a long while, the unknown didn’t feel so terrifying. It felt like possibility, even here, in this strange and unexpected chapter of my life.

I’ve been an over-thinker for as long as, well, forever. In some capacity, it’s been a means of survival, and in others, a crippling defeat of creativity and basic instincts.

But today, I find myself oddly grateful for the constant clutter in my mind. After all, if it weren’t for my anxiety and those relentless intrusive thoughts, I might never have found the courage to walk away from a job that no longer served me. It was the exact opposite of feeling alive—it became soul-sucking. Heart-palpitations inducing.

I lost count of how many days I didn’t shower or skipped meals. Some days, I was lucky if I managed 2,000 steps, spending most of my time hunched over my desk, paralyzed by the endless pressure of figuring out what I was supposed to say in my next meeting. And those meetings… Oh god, the meetings.

Do you know I had meetings to discuss decreasing the number of meetings? How very meta.

A “good” week meant only 25 blue blocks on my calendar. The “free” time I had? Hardly productive. Thirty minutes here, fifteen there. How could I tap into any creative flow when the tap barely even turned on? How could I put on my parachute if I couldn’t find the straps?

Change often feels sudden, but it’s rarely just one event. It’s a series of small things building up to a breaking point. The signs are all there, but we ignore them—good or bad.

I’d hope the panic attack in May was the catalyst—that would make the timeline easier to explain. But the truth is, my burnout was years in the making.

When I was finally pulled out of the oven, you couldn’t tell what had been cooking.

It wasn’t just one giant scorch. It was a cycle—each time, turning the dial just a little higher, beyond its limits.

Rebuild your team two weeks into being a new manager amidst a global pandemic? No problem.

Endure the company’s first-ever layoffs six months later? Piece of cake.

Oh, you thought the heat was done? Psyche. Layoffs again, just for good measure.

Actually, no—the third time’s the charm. You won’t even notice a few more people—scratch that, thousands—gone, right?

No, of course not. Because you’re supposed to be impenetrable—you work amongst the brightest of the brightest, and this is Big Tech, we’re big boys and girls and can do anything.

In the aftermath, you find yourself overseeing two completely different organizations, expected to know how to staff projects across thirteen different roadmaps, with no one around who has the same scope as you. No big deal, right?

No, because your manager and her manager have faith in you, and you don’t want to disappoint them.

Show you’re human? Yuck.

Reveal that despite all your best instincts to flight, you still fight? Never.

Even though you bring it up in almost every one-on-one, you know your efforts will bear little fruit, because if not you, then who?

You know what they say, it’s lonely at the top. Only I was in the middle of a ladder with no rungs, hovering over a crowd cheering, “You’re almost there. Can’t you see the next step? It’s right in front of you!”

No one was coming to save me. I needed to save myself.

That comment about feeling guilty stuck with me long after we hung up. I didn’t share her sentiment that I could run a company, but maybe I could do something that brought me to life.

Lately, that's been photography, writing, and wandering.