So We’re Really Doing This
8 Weeks Ago
I woke up before Jack. That’s typical for a workday.
Well before the pandemic we have both worked from home. My office has been in our basement. His office SHOULD be our living room.
Jack has been in sales for the last 20+ years for gourmet food distributors. His chef-clients are all still sleeping at 7 AM. So, why shouldn’t he sleep too? It’s the only time of day when his phone isn’t pinging with texted orders, confirmation of truck routes, and even a few folks bitching about being short some branzino, king crab, or naked cowboys.
I showered. Fed our yellow lab, Finnegan (a.k.a. Naughty-Non-Finnegan, Finny, and Hey-Dumbass). I made my coffee. I played Connections. I was tired. Depleted.
I had been in New Jersey for a few days. I took a road trip with my sister and her husband to visit my mom and her partner. While New Jersey hasn’t been “home” since I was 20, I do wave my Jersey Girl flag high (and have the salty vocabulary to prove it). When Bruce has written a song for you how can you not have a sense of pride?
I puttered around the kitchen, avoiding my computer. Jack came downstairs. He hugged me. I sobbed.
9 Weeks Ago
We were driving to lunch in Portland. How will I broach the subject of quitting my job with my “steady” [change averse] husband?
I’m what’s called a Learning Experience Designer (LXD). Ask 100 LXDs to describe what it means to be an LXD, and you’re not going to get the same answer twice. Cutting to the chase, I’m an educator who works with people who have something to teach. I create what I hope to be the most effective and engaging ways for people to learn whatever it is they are supposed to learn. I researched the audience of learners and their needs. I conceive, develop, blah-blah-blah, write, blah-blah, online, blah-blah… I’ve worked in higher education, at non-profits, at for-profits, and was an elementary school teacher in my formative years.
My current clients are all very nice. Collectively, their earnest mission is to educate people on important topics ranging from using a medical device and making sales to music production and brand building. Despite the project variety as well as the new technologies at my fingertips, I woke up each day not wanting to open my computer at all.
Feelings were creeping up: uninspired, disappointed, dissatisfied, stagnant…
I adore my small and mighty team of coworkers. We work our asses off. We don’t ask our clients how high we should jump. We just jump as high as we can. Anything short of that is personally unacceptable to me. I have too much pride in something that will have my name on it (not that anyone would know who the hell I am). I’m very proud of the work I’ve accomplished at every point in my career.
Yet…
I carefully worded my introduction to the conversation.
“So, let’s say I quit my job and start something new…”
His monologue was 6 minutes. I watched the time pass on the dashboard clock. Six minutes saying…
“I love you but it’s not practical. It’s not ok with me. You can’t.”
“Can’t” is a harsh word. “Can’t” is a triggering word. As a former boss once noted, “If you say, ‘can’t’ to Susan then she will take it as a personal challenge to prove you wrong.”
In this instance, I shut down. Marriage is a partnership. I shared my disappointment. I shut up about it.
8 Weeks Ago, continued…
Let’s both quit. We deserve it. We can do it. Let’s run the numbers. Let’s figure out the how and just do it.
What the… ?
My husband is a man who has taken great pride in fostering his career and professional relationships over decades. He is a walking “who’s who” in his industry. I’ll go so far as to say that his customers love him.
He has never ever left a job without knowing what the next role would be or where the next paycheck would come from. That said, his light was fading. He (and I) were tiring of our evenings being interrupted at 8:57 PM by a customer placing an order before the 9PM cutoff. We’d have to curtail plans on Sundays with friends and family so he could be at his computer early enough to ensure customers were ready for their week. This was even true on holidays.
I still don’t know exactly what happened while I was away in New Jersey. How did Jack get from “can’t” to “can” in 3 days?
I asked if he was serious.
Yes. He was serious.
If not now, when? If we are super careful with spending, we can do this. The kids are grown. Our parents are healthy. We are healthy. If in a month or two or six or more, we need to work. We will work. In the meantime, let’s figure out what that work is. What that work will be that makes us happy. Let’s fucking do it.
7 Weeks Ago
We started announcing our plan. Our parents were [surprisingly] supportive. Our siblings and their partners, totally in our corner. Our 22-year-old said it was “Dope.” Our 20-year-old said we were “lying” and that it was a funny joke.
We began to tell our friends.
Hey, so you know how we keep talking about how we’d love to take some time off or do something different with our work? Well, we’re gonna quit our jobs and take a year off. We’re not retiring. We’re, uh, PRE-tiring.
The endorsements were and continue to be, overwhelmingly positive.
Jack and I discussed how and when to tell our employers. We work in very different industries. Both, however, rely heavily on relationships. We each have solid reputations and no desire to burn bridges. Notifying our employers sooner than later could mean they would let us go immediately.
I took the leap of faith first. I took a chance that telling my company’s leadership (“The Guys”) sooner than later would be to our mutual benefit. I was beginning to feel guilty about the possibility of not seeing projects to fruition. I didn’t want to let my clients down. I didn’t want my colleagues to be overworked or stressed out on my account.
I don’t think The Guys expected my announcement. If they did, they are fine actors. Their response was what anyone could have hoped for.
Oh wow. Just wow. Very cool.
I’m so jealous and very excited for you. How awesome that you and your husband are doing this together.
I gave my notice and offered to stick around for 6 weeks. We met up the following Monday and came up with a plan for my departure.
Jack had planned to give his company the traditional 2-week notice. I can’t say that I was surprised that he couldn’t wait. Family and friends know that Jack has a hard time, uh, with… I’ll say, “patience.”
He ultimately gave 5-weeks notice. And, like me, he used the time to tie up loose ends. It has taken him all those days to personally call every single client of his to thank them for their loyalty and even friendship.
Today
It's April 26th, a Friday morning, and our last day at work. I slept like absolute shit last night. Jack slept like a baby. He uncharacteristically bounded out of bed well before 7AM. I struggled to drag my ass into the shower at 8AM.
When asked if I'm excited about our sabbatical, I hesitate. Excitement isn't quite the right word; I feel free, unburdened, and eager to start a new chapter with my best friend and partner by my side.
More to come …