What Happens When You Walk Away From Everything?
My struggle to give up the “good life” to find my life
“You’re really leaving?” she asked. “Yeah,” I said, trying to be as delicate as I could with the news. “The movers come on Thursday, flight leaves on Saturday.”
And with that, she looked down and nodded her head in despair. Whatever flicker of hope we had left to rescue the relationship flamed out. With no words available to heal our pain, we hugged in silence. And when the moment was over, we went our separate ways, hands trembling and tears waiting to release a deluge of unspoken emotions.
I was never good with goodbyes. I usually ducked out on them, but I needed to tell my ex-girlfriend I was moving to the west coast. Although we called things off awhile ago, she deserved to hear it from me. Still, I felt like I was abandoning ship, stealing away in a little dingy in the middle of the night while the captain and crew of my city slept.
I was a loyal to a fault, but I had to get out of here. If not, I was going to sink to the bottom with all the other emotional wrecks.
One After The Other
When I look back, I realize I was chasing something intangible called “success” to avoid the interior projects of myself. And in the process, I’d become over-identified with a public/work persona that was only a facade. But there was so much deferred maintenance inside.
I’d been ripping through the last decade at a maddening pace, trying to get our company in a stable position while pieces of myself — and others — were falling apart.
I got married too young and divorced too quickly. Ending that relationship felt like an amputation. I could still feel the nub where the limbs of our lives used to be. And before I could even heal, I jumped right into the next relationship, which deserved more intimacy than I could afford to offer at the time.
After two failed relationships, you’d think that I’d give it a break for awhile. But I fell in love with yet another girl who was already in an questionable relationship. Perhaps that’s what drew me to her — the unavailability of it all. We’d become fast friends, but it never got more physical than a brushed elbow. However, we were guilty of plotting and talked often about our big escape.
And so I invested what remaining chips I had left into this one bet, only to lose it all when she announced her engagement to the man in question. This self-inflicted wound bled me out, and there was no other distraction available to save me.
I wondered if things could get any worse, and then they did.
The Call
I knew something was terribly wrong when the phone rang at 4:30 am. The voice on the line informed me of the murder of my former high school sweetheart. She lived several states away from me, but our connection remained consistent because of the darling son we had together from only one night of teenage passion. We saw each other a few times a year and talked on the phone regularly to coordinate my active participation in my son’s life.
Upon hearing the news, I fell to my knees and didn’t get back up for many years. Her death was unbearable, and I didn’t know how to absorb it. So I poured myself into my work, which, by design, left me with no time to think.
As a diversion, I went out with the movers, shakers, and turtle neck hipsters in my city. They never seemed to fatigue. And they filled up all the time slots of my week like an old TV Guide. However, I knew I couldn’t keep going on like this, with layers of outstanding issues piling up, one atop the other like unpaid bills accumulating interest.
Even though I lived alone, I could never indeed be alone in my city. I’d moved downtown where all the action was and where the merry-go-round of business and nightlife never stopped. I was forever running out the door to go out, but it was time I left for good.
Is There More?
I’d been living in this city for almost 20 years. I went to college there, played in a semi-successful rock band, established my career in architecture, co-founded a business, built tons of noteworthy projects in the community, and worked tirelessly on many of the city’s most noble causes.
I loved my city, but I could already see the full stretch of my life there.
It wasn’t a bad future — a little heavier around the belt, lots of blue sports coats with polo shirts underneath, khakis, and no socks on the bottom. A traditional red brick home, spending my weekends learning to play golf, and maybe even a run at city council.
Sounds pretty good, right?
But there was this nagging feeling that maybe there were more rooms to my life that I’d not explored, and doors I hadn’t dared opened yet. The “settling down” too soon part is what got me into trouble in the first marriage. And what I needed was a good opening up — an expansion of life’s possibilities.
I needed to find a place that with no prescribed model for me to fit into, no social conventions to adhere to, and no expectations of me.
And Los Angeles was the perfect place to do that.
A Blank Canvas
The City of Angels was so big and spread out that it might take a year or two to run into the same person twice. And nobody cared how you lived there. You could marry a goat, and no one would say a damn thing about it. It was a thin culture in terms of having any social norms or rigid rules of conduct. But it wasn’t that I didn’t like rules. I just didn’t want my life to become a paint-by-the-numbers picture that everyone was waiting for me to fill in.
Instead, I wanted the freedom of a blank canvas to paint the picture of my life.
The longer I stayed in my city, the more firmly establish my role and script would be. My ongoing contract would be secured, if not rewarded. All I had to do was keep playing my part, and I would be assured a comfortable life.
Most people would kill for that opportunity.
But the idea of being typecast in a role that I would have to perform for the rest of my life smothered me. And I didn’t have it in me to just settle down into an established franchise life like this yet. Not in my mid-30's.
To some folks, I was pissing away everything I had worked so hard to achieve. But I was unshackling myself from social convention.
Too Close For Comfort
Although our city wasn’t that small, the patterns of our social life were. It was as if everyone in our scene went to the same high school. We all knew each other far too well. We went to the same bars and restaurants and saw each other out every weekend. We’d seen each other drunk off our asses, and in all kinds of comprising situations.
We’d maxed out our relationship options to the point where couples eventually started switching partners as if it were a square dance. But I wasn’t up for participating in this kind of “do-si-do.” It was way too incestuous for me, and our pool of candidates way too small.
I wanted to break out of this prison, cushy as it was. But it would require a tremendous amount of inertia to overcome the thick, gravitational pull of Southern culture.
Jilted Friends
Much to my surprise, not all of my friends took my decision to move well. Some saw it as an act of betrayal to give up on the community like this. There was this built-in assumption that we were all going to grow old together.
Some of my closest friends were downright furious with me for deciding to leave, which not only baffled me but also hurt me. They tried to make me feel guilty about leaving, as if I was cheating on them.
As my launch date approached, things got tense, ugly, and mean spirited. Words were said to me and about me that divided us into camps. But none of this mattered anymore because there was no backing out now.
Come rain or shine; blast-off was at 11:45 am Saturday.
A Supporter
When I told one of my local clients about my big move at dinner, I expected to get a shellacking from his as well. By now, I was used to the lectures, the shaming, and the warnings. But instead, he stood up in front of everyone at the table and made the most generous toast. He told me that this re-location would be the best thing to ever happen to me. And he wished me much success in the next chapter of life.
This response was the first time anyone supported me on the move. And it felt good. I later told my client how much I appreciated him celebrating this moment with me and how rare his encouragement was to see. He seemed surprised by the lack of support, but I explained that many of my friends weren’t so happy about it.
He then asked me a bold question, “Are you sure they’re your friends?”
“Of course, they’re my friends,” I said. “I’ve been running with this pack for the last two decades…I grew up with them. While things are a bit prickly between us right now, it’ll eventually resolve itself.”
Surprised by my tolerance, he asked, “What’s your definition of a ‘good friend?’”
I was ordinarily a skilled wordsmith, but I had a hard time articulating what a good friend was with any clarity. I tried to use words like “loyalty,” “commitment,” and “likemindedness.” I also tried phrases like “they always have your back,” or “you can call them any time of the night.”
But my client looked unimpressed.
I finally asked him how he would define a good friend, and he laid it down for me in the simplest of terms.
“A good friend is someone who wishes you well.”
“A good friend is a person that genuinely wants you to find what you want in life, not what they want. And what we all want, need, and ask for in life is different. A good friend understands that and will support your quest, even if they don’t get it or like it.”
His comment floored me.
Not all of my friends wished me well in my next pursuit. It seemed as if they wanted me to stay in the local prison with them for their sake and convenience, not mine.
My ex-girlfriend was one of the few who wished me well, even though it hurt us both. She knew my pain and wanted me to spend some time alone and away from everything. I still thank her for that understanding. My business partner was also supportive.
But some of my friends found my decision to leave a big let down, disappointment, and an ill-timed disruption to the natural equilibrium of the community.
I’ve been away now for longer than I was there. I got my blank canvas, and have realized how hard it is to create a new, ideal picture of your life— twice.
Has it been challenging? Yes!
But I’m the one driving my life now. My hand is on the steering wheel, and I feel every rattle, bump and pothole. And I have the freedom to go where I want now, which is what I needed.
I rarely travel back to my old city, but a few years ago, one of my friends called me. He wanted to meet up at a conference in Chicago he knew we’d both be attending.
We met at an old Chicago pub under a bridge. From what I could tell, he was doing quite well in my former city. His income had quadrupled just by playing the role and waiting for the returns. He was incredibly connected and running for political office now. And by the looks of it, he was living the ‘good life.”
My move had cost me nearly everything in terms of friends, lost business opportunities, and missing out on my prime earning years. The scope of my life is much smaller, and I had to work three times harder to make connections. But it has been an exciting adventure for me, and I find the feeling of earned success greatly rewarding.
When the bartender set down the 17-year old scotch, my friend made a toast to our new stations in life. He then looked at me smugly as if he’d inherited not only his good fortune but the one I’d left behind as well, and said,
“So, if you had it all over again, Kevin, would you still choose to leave?”
He asked as if he was sure I’d say no. But I told him that “if I had it all over again, I would make the same decision.”
“Why?” He asked in shock.
“Because I’ve always chosen adventure, discovery, and freedom over security, stability, and predictability.”
This comment cut him down a little, which was not my intent, but we both knew our tolerance for risk and appetite for adventure did not align. I genuinely respected and even envied his choice to stay. I wished I could have done it myself, but it was never my way.
The Decision
Some nomads roam about the world with ease. They have no home or misgivings about it. Then there are people like me and my old friend that wrestle with the question of whether we should stay in comfort and duty or go out into the great unknown to find ourselves and new possibilities.
For better or worse, I chose the latter.
Exploring new territories generally does not sit well with your friends, family, and co-workers. That’s because they will have expectations of you to “do time” with them. They will remind you — subtly or directly — of your duties, obligations, and responsibilities to the “community.” And if none of that works to reel you back in line, they might even resort to guilting you or scaring you.
But the two questions you must always ask yourself are this: