Loud Quitting

“How would you rate your performance?” 

“Solid B plus. I’m not leading the charge but I’m doing really good work.”

“No. You need to strive for a C. C minus. Stop going to meetings and see how long it takes until someone notices. Anyone asks, tell them you have other things to do. Start phoning it in. Do the bare minimum.” 

My friend Bee had been patiently trying to coach me through a dissatisfying season at work.  My friend Arrem had done the same. “Can you just … downshift?” I tried. Every Sunday night, I committed to peak apathy. By Wednesday, I was toasted around the edges by frustration.

I took this job during the darkest part of the pandemic. My personal life was a minefield. I was in the middle of an acrimonious divorce. My mom was dying. My freelance markets had collapsed. Everything sucked. I wanted to hammer down one corner of the thin shell protecting me from the elements. I pictured myself with a mallet and a single stake, pitching a tent on a stormy evening. A day job would allow me to secure a steady income (and health insurance) to staunch the bleeding of legal fees and settlement payments. It would give me one less thing to worry about. 

For two years, I barely thought about work when I was done for the day. I wrote two screenplays and made serious headway on an essay collection. I went to the gym. I got a raise. I made healthy lunches. I got a bonus. The elusive work-life balance was mine. Then, I was re-orged to a new team. 

Within three months, I turned into that person who complains about work all the time, who orders takeout because they’re too tired to cook, who feels lucky if they make it to the gym once a week. My back started to hurt from too much desk time, and my pants got tighter. Between meetings, I made budget spreadsheets to see how long my savings would last if I quit and I read antiwork on Reddit. I did not like who I had become, and to my horror, I was so boring. 

I had this therapist who was into radical acceptance. I found her philosophy hard to embrace; I want so badly for people to step up and Do the Right Thing. But not taking a situation at face value will drive you absolutely batshit. Serenity prayer philosophy makes me feel like punching a kitten, but I found myself thinking about what I could change and what I couldn’t. This same therapist had the maddening tactic of asking me if something I was fretting about was serving me — did it enrich my life, or was I just spinning my wheels? Could I just… not? Grant me the wisdom to know what things I can change and what things I can set on fire and walk away from in slo-mo action-hero sequence.

I was always annoyed when I left her virtual office, not because she was wrong, but because she was right. Manifesting is bullshit; you can’t merely wish things were different. You have to do something, even if that something is walking away. The thing about radical acceptance — and good therapy — is you can apply it to just about anything. Your marriage. Your friendships. Your job. 

The last time I was an employee was 2001. I was hire number nine at a startup, and I was hoping it would make me rich. I hated it. I was expected to “add value” during times when there was no deadline work. What does that even mean? I hated the pretend urgency, I hated the meetings, I hated the management training. It all seemed spectacularly wasteful to me. I did not last a year, and my stock was canceled when the company sold; I had gambled badly. I learned a lot, though, including that I am impatient with corporate America. And if they replace the milk with powdered creamer, dust off your resume.

I spent the subsequent years freelancing, a mix of tech projects and magazine and website articles. Some years were lean, but I enjoyed the work almost always; it fit me. I have little ambition beyond getting it done and being well paid for whatever “it” happens to be. I like to finish a thing, truly finish it, then go do something else. 

For much of my career, I worked for the same creative agency, going from project to project and bolting from the room whenever they wanted to talk about making me staff. I fought them when they tried to give me a desk, but I loved working with them, the people were so smart, the pay was good, and the projects all ended. It’s a wonder I lasted so long after taking a staff job; it speaks to the severity of my circumstances, that’s for sure. 

It was useful to hunker down, but the weather has cleared, the wind has died down. I don’t know if these blue skies will hold or for how long, but it’s time to find what’s next. 

Oh. I quit my job. I couldn’t be happier.