I'm a Quitter. And I Have No Regrets.

I created this draft in December, fresh off leaving another job and another career behind. I found myself faced again with the anxiety that comes with another holiday season, another marathon of family gatherings where well-meaning relatives ask “how’s work?” “are you still doing —?”. For the average person, this is normal small talk but for me, it always seems to be a question that launches me into a diatribe filled with over-explanation, excuses, and self deprecation.

I’ve done a little bit of everything: Barista, Campus Mail Person, Certified Bird Feeding Specialist, Closet Solutions Designer and Salesperson, Country Club Waitress, Customer Experience Manager and business crowdfunding coach, Dairy Queen Gal, Dog Walker, ESL Teacher, Gas Station Attendant, Grocery Shopper and Delivery person, Grocery Store Clerk, High School Teaching Assistant, Home Health Aide, Hotel Housekeeping, Hostess, Mobile Florist and small business owner, Nanny, Personal Stylist, Pharmacy Associate, Pre K Teaching Assistant (twice), Professional Organizer, Realtor in Training, Sales associate at a greeting card and fancy paper store (twice), Sales Development Representative for an Augmentative and Alternative Communication company, Sandwich Artist, Vintage clothing and home goods reseller.

And until really recently, I was so ashamed of this growing list of discarded opportunities. The story that I told myself was that I was lazy. I had no worth ethic. I didn’t belong. And that I had no purpose or ambition.

For a long time, I was sure that success looked like something specific: the“right” job, the “right” progression, a list of tangible achievements. When my path didn’t look that way, I interpreted it as failure, proof that something was wrong with me. I would scroll through LinkedIn and feel like an imposter in my own life. I discounted the value of curiosity, of experimentation, of trying things out without guarantee of a perfect outcome.

After I left my job last November, the unease and sense of lost self was paralyzing. I had originally planned to spend three months studying for my real estate license but after becoming so overwhelmed by my growing stack of flashcards, I quit that as well. But with time, and with the help of an excellent therapist, I began to embrace play. I discovered an amazing online community for creatives, a place full of like-minded women from all over the world, at all different chapters of their lives and careers. I started saying “yes” to everything that sounded interesting. I volunteered, joined clubs, utilized online learning platforms and the local library. I started a garden. Most recently, I enrolled in the lifelong learners program at my local university, an incredible resource designed for retirees, but perfect for anyone curious to explore.

In the last several months, the act of showing up, of exploring without expectation, has changed everything. Each conversation with a stranger, each new class, each small experiment felt like it was leading me toward a life that feels purposeful and joyful. I began to see my past not as a series of missteps, but as a series of explorations that brought me closer to clarity, confidence, and connection. To quote Jamie Beck, in An American in Provence, “by removing everything I knew, I allowed myself to live in each moment, and that living eventually turned into the thing I stopped planning for — a fulfilling life”

I don’t want to over-simplify things. I recognize that it is an extreme privilege to be able to leave a job, to devote time to non-credit courses, or to say yes to even most of what comes your way. But what if you tried saying yes to a few more than you did last year? I have so many things I want to learn and I don’t want to wait for a retirement that isn’t promised. I’d love my legacy to be that I spent a significant part of my life in pursuit of joy. Let my life be a cabinet of curiosities. I want to know how to reupholster a chair, hell, how to build a chair. I want to have made my own clothes. I want to start things, experience people loving them enough to be sad to see them go, and let something else rise from their ashes. Is it possible that, for some of us, this is success?