The high of making a decision like this didn’t last for long. The reality of it all started to set in. This would affect relationships, finances, and goals. At least the expectations I had given them.

Exit interviews went on the calendar, the termination date, the final pay date and terms came in through email.

It hit me like a rock.

A time at a place where I spent eight years was coming to an end.

There weren’t any take backs.

Ironically, despite all of the effort, emotions, and hopes that goes into a role, it was just a button click that began the finality.

“This isn’t goodbye, it’s just a see you later”

...maybe.

You would hear this a lot from people leaving the company in the org-wide email or occasional LinkedIn post.

On the surface It sounded poetic, after reading and hearing it repeatedly it was cliche and unoriginal.

Maybe sincere, but it felt like an empty phrase to soften the blow of a departure when maybe deep down personally it was a good riddance.

Most of the people I saw every day I was likely not to see again outside of work related posts on my LinkedIn feed. People I had dug in the trenches with along with those I built bridges with. We built camaraderie in celebrating the good, the bad, and often head-scratching moments. This was my tribe and now I was walking away from the familiarity, flooded by thoughts of whether I would still be relevant.

Is this the end of what I knew?

Likely.

Relationships

When it came to friends, would we still be in each others lives when all is said and done? One of the difficulties of living in a place filled with transients is that they come and go like the wind. They start families. Circles get smaller. Priorities change.

Life.

I don’t blame them. The cost of living and traffic alone can make the day to day feel mechanical. So deep in the throes of work that relationship building built on status and title.

The neighborhood had changed too. Over the past five years the friendly waves and shouts across the street became more infrequent, reserved only for the dog walkers. The friendliness we had during the pandemic—neighbors checking in, a sense of shared uncertainty had shifted to keyboard warriors on Slack channels and Ring doorbell surveillance. HOA alliances had formed. The same stress, paranoia, and distrust that filled our workplaces had seeped into where we lived. It changed the vibe of the community.

Finances

What about the financial goals I set for when I reach 40? I didn’t really have taking a year break in the cards when I starting thinking about where I would be back in my early 30s.

Home. Check.

Salary Number. Check.

Saving Goals. On Pace.

Investment Goals. Could always be better.

A sabbatical would no doubt disrupt this. What would our runway be while traveling? We didn’t want to live large, but we also weren’t going to backpack through hostels. How would the bills get paid? What about the mortgage? If we rented out the place—what if we got a bad tenant?

Since we wouldn’t be working, we wouldn’t be saving, and that thought alone made me uneasy.

Then the economy. Anything can happen. What if a bubble bursts while we’re halfway across the world with no income?

These questions challenged everything. The discipline I had built. The habits I had formed. The safety I had strived for over the years.

Letting go

I have two older brothers who shaped a lot of my interests growing up. One of them was amazing at drawing—won awards for his work. It was something to watch ideas go from his mind to go through the stroke of a drawing pencil. One of his favorite subjects to draw was a Porsche 911 Carrera, his dream car. Years later, that influence would catch up with me.

A guilty pleasure of mine during the pandemic was test driving cars. One day I found myself at a Porsche dealer (for the second time). I hopped in one of their electric offerings and I was sold. Exhilarating in speed and technology. I put my name down on a list.

It was a 2022 Porsche Taycan. I had it customized to my liking and delivered from Stuttgart to Los Angeles. Getting that car was an ode to the progress and success I had over the years. It was only ten years earlier in my move to California I was struggling to the point I nearly lost the Toyota Corolla.

My brother flew out to Los Angeles to meet me to take delivery and we made it a family affair as my uncle wanted to tag along. My brother got track time in his dream car, the 911 Carrera and my uncle got to sit shotgun with an instructor in a Panamera. The day wrapped up with a delicious meal we all enjoyed as we were the only ones in the dining room at the experience center.

The next day, my brother and I would embark on a two day trip up Highway 1 where we would eventually reach San Francisco to cross the Golden Gate Bridge. It was one of the most enjoyable times in my life.

And then I had to let it go.

I can remember the moment I sold my car — the one that brought me so much joy. I then realized that for a journey of a lifetime I was going to embark on, it was an ode to how far I had come making way for something more significant.

As each day would pass the perceived value of the car would reduce and the car dealers didn’t hesitate to call me. I went on for weeks and weeks to delay trading it in for one more drive. I would eventually take it to the dealer that would offer me the best deal, sign some papers, and say goodbye. No ceremony, no champagne. Just an uber ride back home. While the car wouldn’t be in my possession those moments will live on forever.

The list

Letting go wasn’t easy but I came to terms with it much quicker than I anticipated because it started to feel more like an exercise in prioritization. Something that was familiar to me every quarter as I used to plan at work (see you can take some things from work and apply them at home).

The list itself was the turning point. Not completing it but creating it. Sitting down and converting the overwhelming chaos of “leaving everything behind” into discrete, manageable tasks made the impossible feel possible. Order replacement light bulb. Coordinate movers. Apply for IDP. Each line was a small declaration of intent, proof that this wasn’t just a dream I was entertaining but a plan I was executing. The act of organization forced me to confront what mattered and what didn’t. What needed protecting, what could be let go, what was essential versus what I had just been carrying out of habit. As the list grew longer, the doubt grew quieter. The prioritization—deciding what came first, what could wait, what had to happen before we could leave—that was where the abstract became concrete.

Where maybe we’ll do this became this is happening.

The list became my anchor. Each line item was a small ending, a tie being cut to the life we had built over eight years. Unsubscribe from Orange Theory. Return equipment to AT&T. Every canceled service, every donation run to Goodwill made the abstract concept of leaving feel concrete and irreversible.

But creating this list also revealed what we were protecting. International insurance policy. Living will. Double checking insurance policies. Understanding visa details for countries we would visit. These weren’t just logistics—they were the scaffolding of responsibility, the unglamorous work of making sure we’d be okay on the other side. And then there was Luna, our cat. Coordinating her flight to Seattle, getting her to the vet, making sure she’d be settled with family before we left. The weight of finding her a home for the year made it real in a way nothing else did.

The was now our property managers problem to inherit for now. Touch up paint. New keys. Deep clean. We were converting the place we called home into rental property, transforming intimate space into transactional square footage. And somehow, in the middle of orchestrating international relocation and bureaucratic nightmares, there was still that one light bulb in Cindy’s office that needed replacing. The jackets for my nephew that needed to be sent. These tiny, almost laughable details that suddenly felt monumental when everything else was chaos.

Choosing courage

In order to make dreams a reality there were sacrifices that needed to be made. It came with the territory.

One thing I quickly began to realize it was a practice and leap in many things that people talk so much about but not have the courage to do. Renting out the place for income, downsizing belongings, prioritizing rest, marriage, and exploring the world. These things would carry so many lessons and learnings.

As an executive I had become good at working in service of others—navigating ambiguity, advocating for my team, showing up the best way I could on behalf of the function or the business. But often times it was rarely met with the same energy from others.

Choosing courage despite the self doubt had more upsides than I could have imagined and for once I was grounded in knowing that the idea of doing something so radical was now right in front of me and it was mine to take.