Pardon the strong language but the title, as said by Dwayne in Little Miss Sunshine, which I rewatched with my daughter a couple of weekends ago, seems fitting for this update. I’ve considered leaving my current day job (been there nearly 7 years, by far the longest I’ve ever stayed in one job) several times over the past couple of years. Not because of any one thing. It’s been a great gig in many ways (that’s why I stayed as long as I did, way longer than I ever imagined I would when I accepted the then part-time role). This fully remote role supported me and my distance learning kids through the pandemic, revealed (and supported) how much I like working as a project manager, provided opportunities to travel to the Brighton (multiple times), London, Copenhagen, and Montréal, and allowed me to work with some amazing people I now consider friends. But as I approach a certain milestone birthday next year, on the heels of supporting my son through the college application process this past year, I feel more and more certain that an intentional pivot is necessary, and I don’t think I can make that happen while working full-time on top of family and other obligations. So I quit.
I’ve really agonized this past year over what I have to show for the past 18 years since receiving my MFA degree. I have an adult kid, for starters (and a 13 year old). I started and ran my own creative business for a few years. I created a podcast from scratch and recorded two seasons, albeit six years apart. And, although I’d describe my own studio practice as “significantly reduced from where I’d like it to be,” I’ve continued making work off and on throughout this time. All of this is the impetus behind the book project (but that’s not why I’m quitting…I don’t have a book deal and I’m not totally delusional, but I do look forward to working on it a bit more before I land my next paid gig, after which I’ll continue to chip away at it, as any working parent artist can relate).
What I realized after much self-reflection is this: what I want professionally and creatively is actually pretty clear. This is not, in fact, the existential identity crisis I feared it was. I’m not confused about who I am; I’m someone who values creativity, community-building, making things, connecting people, and working with purpose. The conflict has been more about timing and permission to act on all this.
Yes, the art guilt I feel is real. But I realized I’m not failing at art. I’ve been grieving the version of myself who had more time and space for it. The FOMO and inadequacy I feel should not be signs to abandon this crazy artist life altogether. On the contrary, these are signs that it still matters deeply. Trying to maintain a meaningful creative practice on top of an at-times draining full-time job while raising two kids in a major transition year has genuinely been too much. Something had to give, and for awhile now it’s felt like everything is losing.
So, what will I do moving forward? After my last day later this month, I’ll hit the reset button, for starters. I already have mostly weekend trips planned with my daughter (Vichy Springs at long last!) and husband (Mendocino, which was one of our first trips together after we met nearly three decades ago), but also look forward to being able to spend a little more relaxed one-on-one time with my son before he goes to college in mid-September, a transition I’ll now have more time to support.
Creatively speaking, I’ve narrowed things into three pillars: growth, or how I’m collectively referring to my studio practice, continued learning (e.g. watercolor, digital photography), and community immersion, which includes applying to various exhibition and residency opportunities, eventually; the podcast and related book project; and prototyping what I’m calling ‘The Plant,’ which I’ll get into more at a later date. Creative practice, I’ve realized, needs a protected time slot, even if it’s just 30 minutes a day, so I’ll feel out what that looks like and hopefully establish some good studio hygiene and habits that will stick after I go back to work.
Mid-September or so I plan to network more and start the job search in a little more earnest. One thing I’ve wrestled with in the past is the idea that I need to pick one lane when my whole “career” has been a mix of making, organizing, connecting, and educating. The right role ideally is that mix where I don’t have to choose between being an artist and being a project or program manager. The goal will be finding the context where both are welcome.
I’m hoping that this reframe that will help my search: I’m not a “tech PM looking to leave tech.” I’m a community builder and program manager with a creative practice, arts education background, and a track record of coordinating projects, artists, events, and audiences. I’ll include my PMP and CCM certifications, sure, but translated to something like this: what I’d like to do is bring project management rigor to creative communities*.
Ultimately, this is the question I kept coming back to: if a close friend described my exact situation to me and asked whether they should take the break (same savings, same supportive partner, same budget already worked out) what would I tell them? Pretty sure I’d tell them to go for it without hesitation. I’d probably also tell them that the guilt was understandable but not a reliable guide. In this way, while I’m nervous about leaping into this void, I ultimately decided to extend myself the same generosity.
I’ll end with this, which is making the rounds so you may have already seen it. It’s the brilliant actor Christoph Waltz paraphrasing Voltaire: “change is annoying, but certainty is absurd.” Oliver Burkeman’s latest update is also pretty timely. More to come as I step into the terrifying and exciting void of uncertainty!
*Or cats. I also really, really like cats.