The Privilege of Quitting

“Sam, where did you go?” you may be asking, after I boldly promised a blog every week in my last post…four weeks ago. And I get it, you’ve been waiting impatiently to hear my thoughts on Lil Nas X and his Montero music video (I love it), or how the Twilight movie served as the catalyst for my queer awakening (Kristen Stewart), or why I’m obsessed with running YouTube channels (turns out I love watching men run with their shirts off, who knew).

Well, I can promise that all of these topics will be tackled in due time. I plan on maintaining a consistent schedule, but sometimes life gets in the way of even the most earnest of intentions. I left off last post on a bit of a cliffhanger, teasing a leap I was about to take without actually saying anything explicit about what that leap might be, or even look like.

On March 26, I officially finished the last day of my two-week notice. I rode the bus downtown for the first time in a full year, cleared out my cubicle, and turned in my work equipment (badge and computer). Then, I left. What I’m trying to say is, I no longer work in corporate communications. I quit my job.

When I first moved to Pittsburgh in 2017, I worked a series of low-wage jobs as I furiously applied to places where I hoped someone might look at the fiction degree on my resume and say, “Yeah, let’s give this chump a salary and some health insurance!” Lo and behold, a year later, in 2018, someone did give this chump a salary and health insurance. For two years, I worked under an incredible manager in communications marketing and felt equal parts relieved, grateful, and bored. Relieved because I could make my student loan payments without worry each month, grateful because I was able to pay down those loans with money from a job in which I spent the majority of the time writing. Bored because, well, it wasn’t my dream job — I mean, it’s not like I was writing for a blog titled “All Things Sam Mitchell Is Either Extremely or Mildly Excited to Shout About” (which, incidentally is the formal title for this blog [I am very good at titles]).

When my incredible manager switched teams, then left altogether for better opportunities, I was entering my third year of employment: 2020-2021. As you know, lots of things happened in this year. I got a new manager, I got a new team, a worldwide pandemic changed every single person’s life, and I decided to start saving money more seriously than I ever had before.

Everyone has those moments in life that give one the gift of clarity. These moments often come at a very high price, at a very inconvenient time. Something terrible happens, and changes your life, and you look around, and you think what the fuck am I doing? If you don’t like your answer to that question, the life-changing moment gives you clarity. It tells you — sometimes only very briefly, in a flash of brilliant inspiration and wisdom — what to do and why.

When the pandemic hit, I was relatively spared. My family remained safe and healthy. I kept my well-paying job, and even got to start working at home. My student loan payments were paused indefinitely — but regardless, I was able to pay off multiple individual loans while all interest was halted, too. I lived in a spacious, affordable apartment which was only two blocks away from my girlfriend’s equally spacious and affordable apartment. I got to hang out with my cats all day. I got to run outside any time I felt like it; I just put on my running shoes and went. Life wasn’t just not bad, it was good.

As of this writing, life is still good. I’m fully vaccinated; I’m properly medicated for my anxiety and depression; I have a wonderful, supportive network of badass, conscientious friends; I have money in the bank; I was able to quit my job without another full-time gig lined up, because of standing freelance contracts and the promise of more opportunities in the near future; I was able to take some time and make my moment of clarity — that rare gift — even rarer still by stretching it long, stretching it wide. I’m in this moment still, giving myself time to figure out my next step: my what to do and why.

The pandemic threw my life into perspective, even if it didn’t throw it into disarray or despair as it has with so many others. I am incredibly privileged to be spared, both on a systemic and individual level. It’s a privilege to be able to take stock of my life and have the ability, wherewithal, and time to change it, or even to not change it. It’s a privilege to have options.

This blog is meant to help me both take and not take my writing seriously. I wanted a low-stake option for honing a craft I’ve been trying to hone for a long time. I don’t know if what I write on this or any post will reflect my thoughts and opinions a year from now, two years, ten years, etc., but I intend to keep every post as is — to see the changes and the growth, the nuance of my thoughts when trying to corral them into some semblance of idea or theme or thread, how these threads weave together or unravel over time. What kinds of designs the threads will make. In a lot of ways, writing is as close to my life as my life is to writing. They are both a form of evolution.

So, my life is evolving (as is my writing, and vice versa). I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m excited to see what happens next. What my options are. I’m feeling very grateful and fragile and wanted to be transparent about the whole tapestry, if you’ll excuse me for extending that cliched metaphor.

What are you grateful for today?

Thanks, as always, for reading.

X

Sam