Yesterday, I quit my job. Even writing those words feels strange to me..
I had accepted another position with a different company, and even though it was the right decision, it was still one of the hardest professional conversations I've ever had.
You see, three years ago, this company came into my life at exactly the right time. I was going through a divorce and I needed stability. I needed a place where I could take a deep breath and know that, at least professionally, I was okay. This company gave me that.
So why leave? Because sometimes leaving isn't about running away from something. Sometimes it's about moving toward something.
And as much as I valued everything this company gave me, I wanted more opportunities for my daughter and me. I wanted a little more breathing room. More experiences. More possibility.
The hardest part wasn't making the decision though. It was telling my boss. Before I ever walked into his office, my mind had already written the story.
He was going to be disappointed. He was going to be angry. He was going to feel betrayed.
The morning of our conversation, my chest was pounding. My hands were sweaty. I could feel every worst-case scenario my mind had rehearsed playing on repeat.
But underneath all of that fear was something else - Trust.
Trust that I had made the right decision. Trust that honesty was the right approach. Trust that no matter how the conversation went, everything would be okay.
So I sat down across from him and something unexpected happened. I started to cry.
Not because I was unsure. Not because I regretted my decision. I cried because I was grateful.
Grateful for a leader who had supported me through one of the hardest seasons of my life. Grateful for a company that had given my daughter and me stability when we needed it most.
I spoke from the heart and do you know what happened? He wasn't angry. He understood.
He hugged me and thanked me. He told me I'd always be welcome back.
Every story my mind had written was wrong. It's funny how often that happens.
We create entire realities based on fear. We rehearse conversations that never take place. We suffer in futures that exist only in our imagination.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately. About how easy it is to become so attached to our own ideas and assumptions that we stop seeing what's actually in front of us. We convince ourselves we know how things will unfold, and in doing so, we lose the ability to trust.
Trust other people. Trust the process. Trust that life might have something better in store than the story we've been telling ourselves.
This morning, while walking with a friend and processing everything that had happened, I mentioned my mom.
Right then, a monarch butterfly flew directly toward me.
It circled around me once. Then again. And again.
Maybe it was a coincidence. But when I got home, I learned that many traditions view monarch butterflies as symbols of transformation, new beginnings, and even messages of comfort from loved ones who have passed.
And for a moment, it felt like my mom was saying:
"Hey buddy, you're okay. You're doing the right thing."
I don't know exactly what this next chapter will hold. I'm excited. I'm scared. I'm hopeful. Probably all at once.
We all tell ourselves stories. About what people think of us. About how change will go. About what we'll lose if we take the leap.
Some of those stories are true. But many aren't.
So I'll leave you with this question:
What story are you telling yourself right now?
And how would your life change if you stopped believing it?
Love,
Zak