11/17/22
Yesterday, I did a thing. Without knowing my next move, I gave notice to the executive team of my board of directors. It was a soft notice, not a hard two weeks. I said I’d be leaving, and I’d like to do so early next year (two or three months from now). I said they can choose otherwise – I’m at their service for however best they’d like to pursue a transition, but I’d prefer the transition not go beyond March. I’m currently a candidate for job out in San Francisco, but it’s in the early stages, and it’s hard to get a sense of how competitive my candidacy is. Beyond that, I have applications out, but no leads. Admittedly, I have been pretty selective in my search. There’s talk of a recession looming – and that makes this decision feel pretty dumb, yet still necessary.
My back up plan… which is not at all thought out is to focus more on reading and writing and being out in the world. If I don’t have a job lined up by the time my tenure is over, I’m thinking of hitting the road. I’m growing more enamored with the idea of throwing some stuff in the trunk of my car, buying a tent and a sleeping bag, and driving around the country for a month. Again, I don’t have a plan but I do have some freedom and flexibility. I think I’ll beg for money online (a combination of subscribers to a writing site and supporters of my road trip). I’m keeping my revenue expectations low. I may pick up odd jobs here and there so as to slow the bleeding of funds. This concept may force me to produce something – articles, essays, poems. That wouldn’t be a bad thing. I’m also thinking of making volunteering a part of my road trip. Giving back a day or two in the various cities I visit, learning about organizations and people – a man in search of kindness and compassion in America. I might try to cut down on costs by camping in some national parks (hence the sleeping bag and tent). I’ve never camped before – that could be fun.
Feeling a little bold – as though anything remotely vagabond might now be possible, I also looked up an itinerary for a cross country Greyhound trip – what would it take to go from here to Los Angeles? Could I “survive” nearly three days on a bus with little more than a suitcase?
Years ago, shortly after getting divorced and facing a similar existential crisis, I thought maybe I’d do an exploration of dating around the country. Go on a date in each of the fifty states – experiential journalism. I could never get around/stomach the exploitative nature of such a project. I worry that the women who might consent to being written about would be attention seekers. Attention seeking sounds boring to me (said the guy who wants to travel and write and get attention).
All of this assumes that I have some product to sell – different versions of me that people might want to know or read about. I have serious doubts about how interesting my life could be. I also want to focus on the experience and being present as opposed to looking for an angle and marketing myself.
I have to embargo this post until the end of the month. I won’t be notifying my team until a day or two before we discuss my departure at a full board meeting on December 1. I wish the timeline were shortened. Emotionally, I’m ready to go tomorrow. I worry that I’ll have too many days, weeks, and months to spin myself dizzy over what to do next. I don’t think I want to go straight into my next job. The more I think about this road trip idea, the more I’m interested in it. I love seeing new places and meeting new people (perhaps this is just an expensive way to fall in love with myself in different settings – thanks Joni Mitchell).
12/3/22
This week was emotionally draining. On Tuesday, I notified my two director-level team members of my intention to leave. On Wednesday, I notified the rest of the team. On Thursday, I notified those board members who were able to make it to our board meeting. There’s been a lot of discussion, and some worry, about what’s next for the organization. I try to keep folks focused on immediate next steps and not getting ahead of ourselves with worry or speculation. Human nature is to game-plan the possible bad scenarios – it’s how we prepare ourselves to weather storms. That’s fine, so long as we don’t ignore the immediate steps.
I don’t really owe anyone any explanations, yet, being the person I am and placing a high value on transparency and authenticity, I feel like I should explain my decision. I hinted at it in my post on quiet quitting. Professionally, I’m tired. Personally, central Pennsylvania isn’t where I’d like to be. Change either one of those two factors, and I could probably stick it out a little longer… but even then, “mid-life crisis Matt” says life is too short to “stick it out.” I want to thrive. I want to feel more alive than I’ve been feeling.
This has been a long time in the works. In a different post, perhaps after I officially leave, I might try to tackle some of the professional challenges I’ve faced and what I’ve learned these past two years… but on a personal level, I never found a sense of comfort or home here. I cherish the friends I’ve made at my Friday night hang at Otto’s. But that’s only one day a week. I’ve worked hard to build my solitude into something enjoyable (reading, writing, and thinking) but I’d like a little more variety and a little less solitude – or at least new places to visit and things to take in. And while it’s taken a while, I think I’m finally ready to try my hand at meeting new people and seeing if I can find that person about whom I am endlessly curious. I had an amazing thing a few years ago – perhaps a once in a lifetime vibe with someone. I’d like to experience that again or something similar but also different – perhaps something with “more padding” and patience. Unfortunately, I’ve found my options here to be limited.
I struggle with voicing the “not feeling fulfilled” aspect of my discontent. For starters, it comes from a place of privilege. I can hear my father saying, “oh, poor baby, he doesn’t have live music to see…” A suck it up buttercup, rub some dirt on it mentality. An unhelpful thing many of us do as parents is tell our kids that they better eat their dinner because there are kids starving in (insert any poor nation). This is a ham-handed attempt to teach gratitude using shame and guilt as a weapon. The message it sends is ignore your own discomfort, needs, likes or dislikes because someone always has it worse. Yes, perspective is important, but always trying to draw comparisons with other people’s happiness or misery isn’t terribly helpful. Life is far more nuanced than that and suffering, no matter how trivial or deep, is still a form of suffering. To be fair, I’ve talked to my parents about the perils of loneliness and they’ve been sympathetic. I also struggle with voicing my discontent because Buddhism teaches us to practice finding beauty and peace in everything and everywhere. In that regard, not finding enough beauty or peace in my present situation feels like a failure of presence and awareness.
But quite honestly, wanting to leave goes beyond the limited dating options and the petty frustrations associated with a dearth of live music. It goes beyond the weather… though it is cold and miserable here for several months of the year; it’s one of the cloudier places in the country; and is, on average, ten degrees colder than it is in Philly (where I’ve lived most of my life). The truth is, beyond dating, weather, and culture, I’ve seldom felt at home here. This isn’t my house and I was recently notified that I can expect more family visits in the coming months and years (a step-niece just transferred in to Penn State and today I was asked to make some extra keys). I’ve been living with many of my possessions in boxes for over three years now – so I’ve never felt very settled.
Aside from the physical aspects of not feeling at home, culturally and politically, I’ve felt like an outsider – like I’m not walking with my tribe (Otto’s friends excluded). My first seven months here were very turbulent in terms of my job. During that same time – early January 2021 to be exact – I had a community member “report me” to my board of directors. I had been working from home on January 6 and tuned in to CNN for the election certification. I watched in shock as the violent insurrection unfolded on live TV. Like many people, I took to social media to express my feelings. I posted to my Facebook timeline a NYT picture of the confederate flag being marched through the capitol. My commentary was along the lines of “Let’s be very clear to whom our president just said ‘we love you, you’re very special.’” I believe in living a transparent life. At the time, my Facebook profile was public. I wasn’t connected to, or friends with, anyone in the community where I worked, yet someone somehow saw my post and reported it to my board. I believe they were trying to draw a connection with a previous incident (prior to my time) in which an employee was dismissed for sharing an anti-trans comment on Facebook. My board didn’t tell me who reported it or what this person wanted to have done about it. The board said they investigated and saw no issue with what I had said (it certainly didn’t rise to the level of the previous incident). They urged that I use more discretion.
I work in a community that overwhelming supported the former guy in both elections. There are quite a few election deniers in the community and lots of Let’s Go Brandon bumper stickers. Perhaps I should have been more cautious knowing the political landscape… but the difference is, I don’t go around trying to get any of them fired for the racist and homophobic behavior I’ve seen on display. Yet, an anonymous community member had been following my social media looking for reasons to either get even or… I’m not sure what. At that point, I made private any posts that could be deemed political. I made private the pictures from when I marched in the BLM movement in Memphis (something I was proud to have participated in). I knew I was in a community where I, and my way of thinking, wasn’t accepted. I felt attacked, I felt unwelcome, I felt a little unsafe. I had expected the politics in central PA to be a difficult fit. In January of 2021, I knew I wouldn’t be putting down roots.
Normally, I can weather that type of bullshit. I don’t get scared off that easily. In fact, sometimes it puts a chip on my shoulder because I believe in fighting the good fight (which means leading and teaching through tolerance, compassion, and acceptance). Even though it was a personal attack, I don’t take things like that very personally. But again, if life is short, I’ve had to ask myself if this is how I want to spend my time? To do so without a lot of allies is a hard task. And to do so for a prolonged period in which I also don’t have the sense of personal fulfillment would be exhausting.
I’ve always believed that we have several domains from which we find fulfillment: family, friends, work, passions, partners, community. Over the course of time, some of those buckets fill up and others empty out or get low – and we spend quite a bit of time trying to find balance. I suspect for many people, finding balance means going all in on one or two domains while neglecting the others… I’ve spent the better part of my time in central PA focused on developing passions, learning to appreciate (or at least tolerate) solitude, and trying to do a good job at work. But I never quite got over those early setbacks. The turbulent months at work meant being months behind where I had hoped to be, and all of it has felt like swimming upstream. The effects have been cumulative – or so it feels.
At various times, I’ve worked on leaving. I’ve spent nights looking for and applying to jobs. I’ve tried to figure out where I might want to be. I’ve had a handful of interviews, but it’s been a process that has been time consuming with many fits and starts. When work got intense or when we had turnover, I would pause my efforts. Last December (2021) I was a candidate for a chief program officer in Oakland. In January it was Austin and then with the departure of a team member, I hit pause. Later it was San Francisco and San Diego, and in the summer, it was Savannah, San Jose, and Seattle. Each time, I’ve felt guilty about leaving. Each time, I’ve felt the tug of being in two places at once. Each time, the proposed timeline would be short and I’d feel bad about giving inadequate notice. Each time, the feedback was the same – great candidate, but they’re going with someone local. The further I got in the process, the more it felt like I was living two lives and the less committed I felt to my current life. Meanwhile, I’ve had to try to lead an organization through stabilization and change and visioning. I’ve done my best in those efforts, but we’re at a point where I feel they need someone more committed to the long-term success than I can be. The easy thing to do, the personally safe thing to do, would be to bide my time and plod along. But my organization, my team, and I all deserve better than that.
A few weeks ago, I did a thing. I gave notice that I’d be leaving.