I told my boss I was quitting on March 7, 2025.

I had rehearsed what I wanted to say a million times in my head. But when I finally sat down with my boss to deliver the news, I stuttered. My delivery wasn’t as smooth as I had imagined, but I got the message across—I was quitting.

Leading up to the meeting, I was incredibly nervous. A voice in my head kept whispering: It’s not too late to back out. Stay in this job, in this comfort, in the certainty of a paycheck every month. The job isn’t that bad. Sure, there’s office politics, pointless tasks, and frustration, but it’s easy, and you’re getting paid well.

But despite that inner doubt, I did it. I made the decision and followed through. And that moment—flawed delivery and all—was the first step toward something new.

It was an incredibly hard decision because corporate life was all I had ever known after college.

Growing up, I dreamed of landing a corporate job—mainly because my parents believed it was far better than manual labor. They were farmers, working long hours under the scorching sun. That wasn’t the future they envisioned for their daughter. They wanted me to become a doctor, but when that didn’t happen, corporate life became the next best thing.

I learned about the corporate world from TV dramas. On-screen, it looked so glamorous and exciting. But when I landed my first corporate job, reality hit hard. I still remember my first day—it was torture. They assigned me a cubicle, and my work consisted of data entry and account reconciliation. I had a degree in accounting, and my official title was Accountant II, but the work was mind-numbing.

At first, I struggled with the rigid eight-hour workdays. Before corporate life, I had more freedom, so sitting in front of a computer for hours felt unbearable. What made it even harder was that, at night and on weekends, I had to study for the CPA exams. Those early days were brutal—spending weekdays in a tiny cubicle and nights buried in CPA textbooks. It was exhausting.

As I adjusted, I started noticing something—most of my co-workers hated their jobs. They felt trapped, uninspired, and drained. It was as if everyone had resigned themselves to a life they didn’t enjoy, simply because it provided a steady paycheck.

I was just like them—a cog in the machine. Maybe if I moved out of state and got a new job, things would be different? A fresh start had to be the answer.

So, I did it. I packed up, moved out of state, and took a job at a smaller company. But it didn’t work. If anything, I hated the job even more. I was still young, unsure of what I wanted, and stuck in the belief that having a job equated to success.

Besides, what else was I supposed to do? If I quit, what would I do all day? When people asked, “What do you do for a living?”—what would I even tell them? So, I kept my head down and stayed in corporate for 11 years.

My current job was everything I once dreamed of when I first graduated. I analyze financial data for the airport, hold a CPA license, and have finally crossed the six-figure salary mark. A decade of experience has deepened my understanding of accounting and finance, making complex concepts second nature. The work itself isn’t even that challenging—mostly routine analysis—and I enjoy the flexibility of working from home most of the time.

Over the years, I’ve become an Excel expert; spreadsheets that once felt overwhelming now feel like second nature. I’ve built friendships with colleagues who understand the daily frustrations, providing a sense of camaraderie in an otherwise monotonous environment.

On paper, I had achieved everything I set out to accomplish. And yet, I was walking away from it all.

Because the truth was—I felt dead inside.

I was constantly exhausted, perpetually drained. Every time I logged onto my computer, it felt like another piece of me withered away. The only moments of peace came during my breaks, when I could step outside, breathe fresh air, and feed the local birds. But even then, my mind never truly escaped. Stress clung to me—office politics, pointless drama, meaningless work, unfair treatment, and the frustration of working under a boss who never quite had a handle on things. Maybe I just struggle to compartmentalize, but the weight of it all felt unbearable. I couldn’t do it anymore.

You’d think that after working somewhere for almost a decade, people would be shocked when you decide to leave. But when I told my boss, the response was simple:

“Just try to complete whatever you can in your last two weeks, and we’ll send out an announcement so we can start hiring your replacement.”

No shock. No major reaction. Just business as usual.

What will I be doing after I quit? I have no idea. And that’s what makes it so terrifying.

I’ve always had a job lined up. But not this time. Now, the only thing I know is uncertainty.

And yet, that’s okay. Because I think I’m ready for it.

I’m in my mid-30s now. If I don’t do this now, I’ll be sitting in corporate for the next 25 to 30 years, wondering what could have been.

No one on their deathbed has ever wished they had stayed longer in corporate.

Time. I want my time back—to do what I want, to pursue what feels meaningful and fulfilling.

True happiness isn’t money.

It’s time—your own time, unsold.