Uncertainty / uhn-sur-tn-tee / n. The state of not knowing who the hell you are, what the hell you’re doing, and where the hell you’re going.
When someone says, “I’m so sorry” after I mention being recently laid off, I always respond in the same joking (but honest) manner: Don’t be.
A Choice to Break Away
My layoff did not come as a surprise. My small biotech company was acquired back in December 2023, kicking off ten grueling months of transition work for our tiny tax department. When the dust settled, I was given a choice: accept a position with the new company, or walk away with a severance package.
I chose the latter.
I traded the stability of a predictable paycheck for 40 extra hours of freedom every week. For someone who has always planned life two steps ahead (and then two more, just in case), this felt radical. But in hindsight, it was exactly what I needed.
I want to first acknowledge how incredibly fortunate I am. Not everyone gets the chance to make this kind of decision. To be offered full-time employment (and also have the ability to decline it) is no small thing. Whether it stems from confidence or naivety, I trust in my abilities as a CPA and believe in my capacity to secure meaningful work when the time comes – let’s hope that’s actually true.
Trading a Script for a Blank Page
In today’s society, a 30-something with no house, no children, and no spouse is often seen as missing the mark. But when you’re on a self-imposed career sabbatical, those same “shortcomings” start to feel like enviable advantages. I don’t have the pressures of childcare or a looming mortgage, and for the first time in years, I can focus solely on me – I can choose time over money.
Truthfully, I’ve been wanting to take a career sabbatical for years – which probably sounds entitled and “very millennial”, considering I’ve only been working professionally since 2017 and already feel the need for a break. But this petition for free time isn’t about laziness or an aversion to hard work, but rather the recognition of two simple certainties: 1) I will never have more energy and fewer responsibilities than I do right now, and 2) Nothing in life is guaranteed, especially time.
Most people spend the majority of their lives caught in a state of perpetual drift. They make more money over time, so they spend more money over time. Their job fuels their life, and their life fuels their job. It’s a cycle that often goes unnoticed until much later in life—and one that I have been very keen to break as early as possible in my own. With rising economic uncertainty and shifting expected lifespans, I’m increasingly doubtful that 65 will still be the retirement age by the time I get there. Waiting until I’m older—when time and energy is surely no longer on my side—feels like a gamble I’m unwilling to take. With that in mind, this layoff was simply an opportunity disguised as a setback: an invitation to pause, recalibrate, and embrace the life I have right now. A “mini-retirement”, if you will.
My First Two Weeks of (F)unemployment
My very first instinct after being laid off was to make the list – a compilation of everything I wanted to accomplish now that work was not monopolizing the best hours of my day. Some items on my list are ambitious and career-oriented— like studying for and passing the CFP (Certified Financial Planner) exam. Others are delightfully simple—like picking up my guitar again, just for fun. It’s a mix of “what’s next” and “what’s now,” a blend of productivity and play that I haven’t allowed myself in years.
But here’s the thing: I’m two weeks in, and I still haven’t woken up feeling free yet. The transition hasn’t fully set in. My mornings are quieter, but they feel a little aimless. I don’t think I was expecting to wake up and feel like a completely new person, but I’m also not sure I was expecting total sameness. To me, nothing has yet changed. But then Luke said something a few days ago that perked up my ears. “I’ve seen a lot more of the old Alli since you got laid off.” When I asked what he meant, he pointed out these small things: how I now sing out loud while doing chores, or how I spend more time playing with our dog in the evenings.
That brief conversation with him reminded me of something profoundly important: this new chapter of my life isn’t just about discovering exciting new aspects of myself; it’s also an opportunity to reconnect with parts of me I did not even realize had grown quiet over the past few months (or even years).
What This Time Is Teaching Me
Stepping off the corporate treadmill is liberating, but it’s also humbling. Without the job titles and deadlines to anchor me, I’m left confronting just how much of my identity has been tied to my career. This time off isn’t just about figuring out my next move; it’s about rediscovering who I am outside of work.
It’s still early days, but here’s what I’m learning so far:
- It’s okay to slow down. For the first time in years, I’m not rushing to meet someone else’s expectations.
- Freedom feels quieter than I imagined. It’s not a thunderclap; it’s a slow, gentle rumble off in the distance, subtle enough to miss if you’re not listening for it.
- This time is a gift. Each morning, I kiss Luke goodbye as he heads out the door to the office, and I can’t help but feel sorry for the guy – but I quickly just roll over and go back to sleep.
The Road Ahead
For now, my focus is on healing—both physically and emotionally. I need my knee to recover because I can’t go much longer without fresh mountain air or a long ride on my bicycle. I’ve transformed my home office from a workspace into a cozy retreat, complete with a hammock tucked into the corner—a perfect spot for finally tackling the backlog of books on my Kindle. I am loving the moody fall weather that has now arrived in the Pacific Northwest, and I am grateful that I can get out each day for a rainy walk through the neighborhood – without having to be on a Teams call and pretending that I am at my desk.
Finally, I’m free. And it feels incredible. And scary. And a tiny bit foolish. But mostly incredible.