How I Found Freedom by Quitting My Cushy Corporate Job

I n the early months of 2017, I found myself navigating the familiar hallways of my workplace with a mixture of nervousness and determination coursing through my veins. With sweaty palms and a stomach tied in knots, I knew the time had come to take a leap — to quit my job. After months of careful planning, the moment had arrived.

As an assistant HR manager with an upward trajectory and a competitive benefits package, the prospect of resigning felt somewhat daunting, especially considering the familial atmosphere that permeated our workplace. Yet, in order to officially bid farewell, I knew I had to first inform the head honcho — the big boss himself.

Upon entering his office, I was greeted by his assistant, a nurturing presence akin to Mother Goose, whose enduring tenure at the company had earned her the status of a beloved matriarch. Her smile seemed particularly radiant that day, hinting at a deeper understanding of the significance of my visit.

And then there was John, the boss — a figure of authority with a demeanor that exuded warmth and congeniality. His welcoming demeanor only served to heighten my sense of anticipation as I prepared to deliver the news.

As I began to explain my decision, John’s expression remained attentive, his eyes reflecting a familiarity with such conversations. “I’ve had many female employees come to me with this news,” he remarked, his tone a blend of empathy and understanding.

As I stood there, facing John’s expectant gaze, a flicker of confusion danced across my mind. What could he possibly be thinking? And then it hit me like a bolt of lightning — he thinks I’m pregnant. The countless baby showers that had become a staple of office life during my tenure there had undoubtedly left their mark, casting an ever-present shadow of speculation over my own reproductive status.

For a moment, I entertained the notion of setting the record straight. But then, a different strategy presented itself — playing dumb. It seemed like the safest option, a shield against the prying eyes and well-intentioned but misguided assumptions of my colleagues.

Summoning all the acting skills I could muster, I feigned ignorance and casually deflected the conversation. “So, Susan told you I’m leaving?” I interjected, hoping to steer the discussion away from the erroneous assumption that hung in the air.

John’s reaction was immediate, a subtle recoil as if I had startled him with an unexpected revelation. With a furrowed brow and a perplexed expression, he seemed to struggle to make sense of my words.

Gathering my courage, I took a deep breath and plunged ahead, determined to set the record straight. “I’ve decided to take a position as Director of DEI for a startup,” I announced, the words tumbling out in a rush of excitement and trepidation. “And first, I’ll be taking six weeks off to hike through Europe. My last day will be on June 30.”

As the gravity of my decision sank in, John’s initial surprise gave way to a more subdued reaction. He nodded slowly, the realization dawning on him as he processed the implications of my departure. And then, to my surprise, a glimmer of recognition flickered in his eyes.

“I know about your hiking trip,” he remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of admiration. “I’ve read your blog.”

In that moment, I realized that perhaps my assumptions about my coworkers had been misguided. Despite the facade of routine office banter, they had taken notice of my passions and ambitions beyond the confines of my current role. And as John’s smile faded, replaced by a look of solemn understanding, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of validation in my decision to pursue my dreams, regardless of the uncertainty that lay ahead.

As John’s question hung in the air, a palpable tension settled over the room. His reluctance to meet my gaze spoke volumes, betraying a sense of disappointment and perhaps even a hint of betrayal. In the span of a few seconds, I had gone from the demure assistant to a thorn in his side, an inconvenience disrupting the smooth operation of his domain. It was as if my decision to leave had transformed me into a pariah, an outsider in the very place I had once considered my second home.

As the news of my impending departure spread like wildfire through the office grapevine, whispers and rumors followed in its wake. Colleagues exchanged knowing glances and hushed conversations, speculating about the reasons behind my sudden exit. Some assumed marital troubles, unable to fathom any other reason why a woman would willingly leave her husband behind for six weeks. Jokes were made at my husband’s expense, quips about him languishing in solitude without my constant presence to tend to his every need.

But the truth was far simpler than their wild conjectures — my husband supported my decision wholeheartedly, excited for me to embark on this new chapter of self-discovery and adventure. He looked forward to his own period of growth and exploration, relishing the opportunity to indulge in his hobbies and passions uninterrupted. And while the assumptions and insinuations of my colleagues were disheartening, they only served to reinforce my conviction that I was making the right choice for myself, regardless of the judgment of others.

As my hiking buddy Christina and I prepared for our journey, we encountered a myriad of reactions from those around us. While I faced skepticism and thinly veiled disapproval, Christina was met with a different brand of sexism altogether. The assumption that her pilgrimage was merely a ploy to find a husband abroad was both patronizing and infuriating. It seemed inconceivable to many that a woman could embark on such a journey for reasons other than romance or marital pursuits.

The discomfort with women traveling alone, or worse, together, was palpable in the reactions we received. People seemed unsettled by the notion of two independent women setting out on a spiritual journey without the company of men. The idea that we were forming some kind of clandestine sisterhood or witchy coven was not lost on us, but it only served to fuel our determination to defy societal expectations and norms.

Even at social gatherings, the reactions to our plans ranged from incredulity to outright derision. One wedding guest, in particular, seemed to recoil in horror at the thought of spending weeks walking through cities and countries without the “safety” of a man. Her assumption that my husband should have been the one to accompany me only underscored the deeply ingrained biases and double standards that women face when it comes to adventure and exploration.

Yet amidst the judgment and skepticism, signs of liberation began to emerge as our departure date drew nearer. The contents of my hiking pack were a testament to my newfound freedom — practical, utilitarian clothing designed for comfort and functionality rather than adherence to societal beauty standards. Gone were the makeup and floral-scented toiletries, replaced by SPF protection and multi-purpose Castile soap. My focus shifted from appearance to performance, prioritizing practicality and resilience over outward aesthetics.

As I sat in the hairdresser’s chair, I made a simple request: a no-fuss haircut that would be practical for my upcoming journey. I opted for a length that would allow me to easily tie my hair back or braid it away from my face, prioritizing functionality over style. Despite my specific instructions, my hairdresser couldn’t resist making a few comments about starting a family, implying that my decision to embark on this adventure was somehow selfish or misguided.

In the days leading up to our departure, I caught sight of myself in the mirror, clad in my hiking gear with my newly trimmed hair pulled back into a simple bun. There was a sense of strength and simplicity in my appearance, a quiet confidence that emanated from within. It was in that moment that I made a conscious decision to embrace my natural self, to let go of societal expectations and embrace the beauty of authenticity.

As I stepped outside to retrieve the mail, I felt the warm breeze caress my skin, and I couldn’t help but smile. Gone were the days of conforming to arbitrary beauty standards, of worrying about how others perceived me. In my practical hiking attire and with my unstyled hair, I felt a sense of freedom and empowerment that I had never experienced before. It was a small but significant step towards reclaiming my autonomy and embracing my true self.

As the days counted down to our departure, a strange mix of emotions washed over me. On one hand, there was a palpable sense of excitement and anticipation for the journey ahead. On the other, there was a lingering anxiety, a weightiness in my mind that I couldn’t shake.

The incident with the gravelly-voiced man on the street served as a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked outside our doorstep, especially for women navigating the world alone. It was a moment that underscored the importance of reclaiming my autonomy and feeling safe in my own skin.

As I reflected on the dynamics of our marriage, I couldn’t help but notice the subtle ways in which heteronormative gender roles had seeped into our lives. Despite our best efforts to maintain balance and equality, there were certain expectations and responsibilities that fell squarely on my shoulders. From running errands to managing household tasks, the burden of domestic administration seemed to disproportionately rest on me.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks as I prepared for our trip, compiling a laundry list of logins and responsibilities that highlighted the extent of my role as the household manager. It was a wake-up call, a reminder that true partnership and equality required a concerted effort to challenge traditional gender norms and redistribute responsibilities more evenly.

The impending hike loomed before me like a beacon of clarity, promising a much-needed reset and a chance to recalibrate my priorities. It was an opportunity to shed the weight of societal expectations and reclaim my sense of self, both physically and emotionally.

As I embraced my new, unkempt appearance, I realized that it wasn’t just about feeling more comfortable in my skin — it was about reclaiming a sense of safety and autonomy. With each passing day, I felt myself shedding the layers of societal pressure and expectation, emerging stronger and more resilient than ever before.

With just a week remaining before our departure, I found myself grappling with a familiar sense of frustration and exhaustion. The responsibility of organizing such a large trip fell squarely on my shoulders, a burden I had grown all too accustomed to carrying. It was a stark reminder of the unequal distribution of labor in our household, a reality that had gone largely unacknowledged until now.

But as the countdown to our departure continued, I felt a renewed sense of determination and purpose. It was time to leave behind the confines of societal expectation and venture into the unknown, ready to embrace whatever challenges lay ahead.

This brings me to the final perk that taking the risk of travelling without my husband provided: space to think freely.

When women are not pulled to the grimy sink, the smelly cat box, the grocery list, or the demands of those in crisis, where does their attention go?

Not until I hit the outskirts of Italy did I run out of things to feel guilty about or rationalize into oblivion. And then, as if they’d been patiently waiting in the wings, the hidden thoughts of weirdness, anger, silliness, confusion, sadness and elation all shuffle-ball-changed to the front of the stage. We were here all along! they sang.

As I walked through the streets of cities centuries-old, I made a few discoveries. I can’t remember the last time I smiled and meant it. I can’t remember the last time I’ve truly experienced enthusiasm. At some point, I stopped believing that I could have a beautiful life, even when everything around me was beautiful all the time.

Every candy bar I grabbed for a late-morning snack tasted like something out of Willy Wonka’s factory. Every soda was the first soda I’ve ever sipped, the sugar straight from the cane plant, and with just enough bubbles to make me giggle. A one-euro glass of wine might as well have been from the most exclusive winery. The bread in the center of the table tasted like the clouds in the sky and the wheat along the trail had a great conversation.

When I first hiked across Europe in 2017, nearly 60 percent of my fellow walkers were men, according to travel guide statistics. Women began to show signs of taking the lead in 2018, and anecdotally, there’s no question of that. All genders are shifting on the Way. There are more female-identifying people, yes, but there also appear to be more LGBTQIA+ individuals. There are more “I’ve never hiked before” people, more “I’m not a religious person” people, and more “I just had to make a change” people. Travel looks far less white, straight, thin and male than it did in 2017.

A table at a cafe includes a Russian man next to a Brazilian woman and a Norwegian 20-something next to a Nigerian in their 70s. The lady from Texas cozies up with the teen from New York. We all meet at the table as equals. More than tourists, less than locals.

We all have the same calluses, bruises, knee braces and bandages. We all have the same lopsided sunburn and desperate need of a shower. We also share the same knowing smile and secret: The road is out there even when you’re not on it — a place to be equal, heard, and silent enough to hear your own ideas.

Perhaps the true irony of a feminist hiking adventure is my growing disconnect with the idea of being a female hiker. I certainly no longer walk with “I am a woman” in mind, even as friends still worry about my safety on my “solo female traveler” trips. Identity, it turns out, can drift to farther lands than the strict categories we slip into at home with the structured ease of a spreadsheet.

I think about what I would say to that old boss if I could go back to that office with the knowledge I have now. Perhaps I wouldn’t have played dumb. Perhaps I would have gotten angry. Or perhaps — best of all — I would have drowned out his disappointment with an enthusiasm so boundless he would have packed his own backpack and set off to the road himself.

I risked everything by quitting my safe, stable career at a publicly-traded firm and taking on a job heading up a new department at a startup. I put myself in harm’s way travelling across Europe without the protection of my husband. And I found freedom.

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