Quit My Job and Be My Own Boss

This is a long overdue post. On Jan 1st this year, I quit my job at the bookstore for the second time. The first time was in 2016, after which I stayed jobless for a year. Then my money ran out and coincidentally, my former manager was looking for extra help during the holiday season, so I happily went back to work.

2016- Quitting for the first time

I was thrilled to be back behind the counter, serving my regular customers. But my excitement only lasted for a week. I saw mostly the same faces toiling at work. During my one year off, I felt that I had done so much--experienced so many new things, gone to so many amazing places--and yet here they were, the same people, doing the exact same things day in and day out. Some had even held the same positions in the company for over 15 years! And they didn't seem the least bit bothered by it.

I do not mean to belittle my colleagues, as I know that everyone has different priorities and different sets of circumstances in life. But it was certainly a wake-up call for me. It made me realize one thing: I did NOT want to be like them. I did not want to grow old like that, doing the same thing over and over, letting life pass me by and not even realizing it.

I wanted to quit after the holiday season was over, because every day was killing me inside, especially when my job scope changed into something that I did not enjoy doing. My depression was starting to show signs of a relapse--I was crying most nights, dreading to go to work the next morning. But my manager expected me to stay for at least 6 months. So, taking into consideration that they had kindly offered me that job for the second time, I persevered until the end of last year.

2017- Quitting for the second time 

I am no beginner at quitting jobs. The longest time I ever stayed in one job was two years. Otherwise, I'd be working for several months till I had enough money for my next backpacking trip, and then I'd quit. This had been going on since I was 20. Spending too long in the same place made me restless and agitated, if not downright depressed.

So I did what I had to do. I practiced self-care. I did not let my life revolve around work. If a job was stopping me from doing what I wanted to do, or from spending time with the people who mattered to me, I quit. My work schedule had to fit around my personal schedule, not the other way around.

For this same reason, I quit university many years ago. I was studying engineering--a subject that I totally abhorred but took up anyway because I listened to people's advice instead of trusting my own gut. As the emotional struggle intensified day by day, I began to realize that this was not the way to live.

"What are you studying?" people would ask me.

And I would be mortified to tell them because I knew what their reaction would be like. "Engineering," I would answer finally.

Just as I expected, they'd applaud me and start to look at me with new admiration and wonder. "Wowww, engineering?!" Because not many girls did engineering then--especially not girly girls like me--and those who did were regarded as some sort of wonderwomen. The ironic thing was, people were more proud of me than I was of myself. And what good is that? I needed to do something that'd make ME proud, not other people. Call me dramatic, but I started thinking to myself: what if I die this year? What if I die as soon as I graduate? Then I would have spent the final years of my life in agony, doing something that I hated.

Now, for 11 months since quitting my job, I have been doing the things that I had always wanted to do: I ran a marathon, I climbed a mountain, I visited Santorini, I tried abseiling and white-water rafting, I skydived, I went canyoneering in the Philippines, I volunteered, I read, I wrote, I released baby turtles into the sea, I swam with whale sharks, I touched snow for the first time, I went to India, I went to Europe, I saw the Berlin Wall, I explored the Baltic states, I took the Trans-Siberian across Russia, and I dipped my hand in the deepest lake in the world.

But every time I introduce myself to someone new, the first question they ask is, "So...what do you do for a living?"

And it's a tough question to answer. I have always joked about how unfair it is. If you're married, you can respectably call yourself a housewife. And people will leave it at that. They don't ask you when you're going to find a job. If you have kids, you can say that you're a stay-at-home mom, and people will salute you for sacrificing your career to raise your kids. But if you're not married and have no kids, then you're just UNEMPLOYED. And people will either feel sorry for you, or disgusted when you tell them you have no intention of going back to work. Because apparently, if you choose to quit your job to take care of your husband, it's a noble decision. If you choose to quit your job to take care of your husband AND his offspring, that's even better. But if you choose to quit your job to take care of yourself and live YOUR life, then you're a useless, selfish bitch with no purpose in life.

It seems like you need to have a profession to qualify as a person. You're defined by your career. The moment a child is old enough to talk, adults will start asking him what he wants to be when he grows up. Then the parents will hammer into his brain that he needs to get the best grades in school, and go to university (to get not just any degree, but one that guarantees good-paying jobs). And for what? So that he can slave away for the rest of his life to buy luxuries that the society says he needs.

Not that I'm saying working and buying luxuries are bad things. This post is not intended to advocate people to quit their jobs or follow my footsteps. What works for me might not work for others, and vice versa. If you have found your true calling, and if your job is something you're truly passionate about, then good for you. Keep it up.

People measure success in different ways, and I'm not going to tell you how to measure yours. In fact, I don't even know how to define success. What I know is that if I'm rich but have to constantly worry about getting robbed and losing it all, I wouldn't call myself a successful person. If I have hundreds of friends who are only friends with me because I have money, I wouldn't call myself a successful person. If I spend my life judging people's worth based on what clothes they wear or what car they drive, I wouldn't call myself a successful person.

Ultimately, I also understand that for most people, working is a necessity, whether they like it or not. Some people stay in a job they hate because they have financial commitments that I fortunately do not have (or choose not to have). And that is how we are different. They don't have a choice. I do, and I'm not going to waste it.

Money is replaceable. Jobs are replaceable. But my time on earth is not.