On Quitting a First Job
Despite what many of my friends may tell you, I did not get fired. After spending the past eighteen months in a cubicle, I finally decided to quit my job and, as it turns out, to roam the streets of New York humming the theme to “The Greatest American Hero.” Not a bad way to spend a day.
I’ve quickly learned that unemployment—it’s my eighth day—is a true delight. In fact, I imagine this is what it must feel like to roll around in a field of fruit salad—an experience I hope to have someday soon.
Clearly, I’m not talking about the chronic unemployment that cripples economies and leaves people poverty-stricken. I’m talking about the (hopefully) temporary kind… the kind that says: “You’re 24. It’s ok to feel a little lost. Let’s go get a milkshake! What… why not? It’s not like you have anything better to do.”
To back up a bit, the recently abandoned job was my first out of college. I fell into it completely randomly and stayed for a year and a half. It was a great job and it was a terrible job, and the decision to quit was not easy. A semi-wise person once told me, “It’s better to leave too early than to stay too late.” In trying to decipher whether I was premature in leaving or already well past my prime, I weighed a number of pros and cons.
Things I liked about my job:
Things I didn’t like about my job:
Well, the job was replaceable as well. So I’ve embarked on a new phase: temporary unemployment, followed by temporary homelessness, culminating in an eventual move to Paris within the next two months.
Some think quitting one job without having another is a huge mistake that only generates angst and a patch of irremediably scorched terrain through the otherwise chronological resume.
Well, worse mistakes have been made. Serena van der Woodsen killed someone, for crying out loud. Speaking of which, I need to plan the menu for my Gossip Girl-themed dinner party next week. See, unemployment does not come without responsibilities.