The Origins of a Quarter Life Crisis

It’s the Monday after Thanksgiving.

Fresh off a weekend of turkey and dressing, my phone rang a few minutes ahead of a normally scheduled 2:00 call. Before any “How are you doing,” my boss said, “I’ve got HR here with me.”

I immediately thought Thursday’s meal was coming right back up.

I don’t remember much of what was said after that other than the gig was up. It was all over. The end of a job that hadn’t been going all that well in the first place. I was given severance and signed a document swearing I wouldn’t do anything disparaging to the company.

It’s hard to convey what that moment feels like to someone who’s never experienced it. It’s a twisted mixture of a sucker punch to the gut and the dry mouth of a morning after having a few too many. But somewhere in the fear and panic was a feeling of sweet relief.

I walked out of the coworking space and onto the street and thought, “What am I supposed to do now?”

There’s no opportunity to send emails or say goodbye. I think I was the only person from the company at the shared workspace that day, so I couldn’t even leave my laptop.

I texted my then-girlfriend, now wife, who I’d been dating for only a few months. I called my dad. And I texted a friend who’d also been laid off recently. She said something I’ll never forget:

“They don’t teach you how to handle job loss in college.”

She couldn’t be more right. Professors and career counselors all talk about how to get a job, but no one tells you what to do when you lose it.  

It upends your world. Especially for someone like me, who, at the time, placed most of my value on what I did for a living.

I immediately threw myself into the job hunt, which was maybe my biggest mistake. Sometimes you have to do it. And while I wasn’t on destitution’s doorstep, I did feel the need to land a job sooner rather than later. If nothing else, to repair my battered and bruised ego.

There was no time for processing or self-reflection. And no one told me that I would go through every stage of grief, in no particular order, and more than once.

That same week I went to a coffee networking event. I knew there would be people there who would ask what I did for work. And what would I say? I fought the knots in my stomach while trying to come up with reasonable responses that didn’t make me sound like a fraud or a loser.

I’d seen the writing on the wall leading to this moment but never let myself really think it would happen. Not before I’d be able to leave on my own terms. I hadn’t had much success in sales but was finally seeing some breakthrough and one prospect became a client right after I was terminated.

I lined up a couple of interviews in the weeks leading up to Christmas, but nothing panned out. The days after job loss are an unbelievable roller coaster of emotions. You ride high on responses from real humans asking to set up an interview or connections saying they have a lead.

Then there’s the crushing lows of cover letter after cover letter and filling out job history forms after already submitting a resume.  

Maybe worst of all, the ghosts of recruiters that leave your inbox in constant limbo. And the difficult, lonely moments when you realize how long the days are without a place to go. Somewhere to be. Something to put effort into beyond mindless applications.  

I did learn that applying for jobs all day is bad for your mental health. So, after I’d exhausted all those “You may be a good fit for this role!” notifications from LinkedIn and Indeed, I found interesting ways to spend time.

I toured the USC law school, where one of the admissions staffers did not share my sense of humor about a career in higher education.

I got really good at Apex Legends.

And I went on a hike that sent me down an unending cryptid rabbit hole from which I’m still trying to emerge.

December wore on and every week meant I was a little closer to the end of my severance money. I had two options on the table. Three, if you count the unemployment office (I don’t, but that’s a story for later).

One was with a non-profit looking for people to be grassroots organizers for the upcoming legislative session. My interview with them was less than an interview and more of a “We really need someone and you’ll have to go to DC the week after Christmas to get started.”

The second option was a marketing agency that told me I’d need to interview with all 30-ish of their employees and then they’d vote on whether I’d get hired. I believe in democracy, but not that much, so I took the political job.

It was a good moment after a month of heartache, but the year ahead would continue to be rough.

I learned a lot about myself during this time. Mostly stuff I didn’t like. I struggle with anger, self-worth, and battling my entangled identity, which for much of my life to that point had been completely tied up in what I did for a living. I also had no concept of gratefulness, even during a bad season.

I made very little money. But I got the chance to work a political job, which I always wanted to try. I traveled to DC for work (and got locked out of my Instagram account trying to post a story with the House of Cards theme music). I realized I could plan and organize events, but the anxiety they produce is almost as bad as being jobless.

And I landed my first freelance writing project. Three emails for $100. I knew so little; I didn’t even hyperlink the text where links were supposed to go.

I landed another full-time job 11 months after being laid off.

What an amazing year. I wouldn’t go through it again if I had to.

Yet, I would go through it again in April 2020. No complete job loss, but let me tell you, the wounds were still fresh. And at 8:00 pm, about a month after the world shut down and two months before my wedding, getting a calendar notification for the next day about the future of your employment will reopen some stuff.

For a long time, I let what happened on that Monday in 2018 define me. I allowed it to cast a shadow of doubt over my ability. Over what my career meant in the grand scheme of my life. It’s taken work to untangle myself from that twisted mess.

I’ve gotten past it. Even though I don’t let that day, or subsequent moments like it, tell me who I am anymore, it was a defining moment. It started me on a path that has brought me here today. Self-employed. And find much more joy outside of work.  

Hindsight is a wonderful thing. I can look back and say it worked out how it was supposed to. But on that day in late November, it didn’t feel like things would work out. That was never part of the plan. Not much over the following year was.

But I can look back now and see how things were slowly falling into place. I was part of a coworking community where I first saw full-time freelancers making it work.

I had a conversation with the founder of that community, who said I should consider freelance writing. I talked to a couple of freelance writers who introduced me to some of my first clients.

Five years on, I still work with some of those folks. They’re friends. I ended up working for the co-working space for a bit. And I’m still in that community where it really all began for me.

I wonder if the sweet mixture of relief and fear I felt five years ago today knew something I couldn’t process at the time. The next few months would be rough, but they’d be a lot of fun, too. I’d meet a wide range of characters. And laid the groundwork for a life I really didn’t expect at all.