Stepping Away to Step Forward

It wasn’t more than an hour after I placed the order for a new NAS for my home lab that my Microsoft Teams notification chimed.

The message was from one of the founders of the company that had recently acquired the business where I had worked for the previous fifteen years.

“Schedule a time with me when you’re back from holiday to discuss how we could make IT services better.”

That was it.

One sentence.

I remember staring at the screen, wondering if I had just spent a good portion of my bonus on hardware while unknowingly standing at the edge of unemployment.

I reached out to the founder of the company I had originally joined years earlier. He assured me nothing was happening to my position. Others said the same over the following months. I believed them.

Mostly.

Yet something had already begun to change.

Looking back now, I don’t think the acquisition itself pushed me toward leaving. It simply accelerated questions I had been avoiding.

The company was changing rapidly. New software, new processes, new expectations, and a different style of leadership all came with the transition. I embraced many of those changes. In fact, I was one of the first people within our organization to move events to the new cloud-based systems. I believed the direction was right, even when it was uncomfortable.

What I struggled with wasn’t change. It was no longer feeling like I belonged within it.

As time passed, work became increasingly difficult to enjoy. Projects that once energized me became obligations. Technology—the part of the job that had always drawn me in—gave way to production schedules, long events, and increasingly stressful logistics.

Then came the event that finally forced me to look at things honestly.

Nine days away from home. Twelve- to sixteen-hour days. Three recovery days on my calendar that disappeared under the weight of post-event deliverables waiting for me when I returned.

Some people thrive in environments like that. I realized I no longer wanted that pace to define my working life.

One evening during that trip, after everyone else had finished for the day and gone back to their rooms, I was still sitting at my workstation trying to finish the last few tasks before I could call it a night. I pulled out my phone and recorded a short video.

It wasn’t intended for anyone else. It was simply a message to my future self.

Don’t forget how this feels.

It’s time to come up with an exit strategy!

After returning home, I talked it through with my wife and took a hard look at our financial plan. I resigned the following week. That was in February, and I remained with the company until June to help with the transition.

Since then, I’ve had lunch with former coworkers. I’ve answered questions when people needed help. I remain grateful for many of the people I worked alongside.

But I don’t miss the job.

What I miss is the version of myself that existed before I became exhausted.

Looking back, I suspect burnout had quietly taken hold long before I admitted it. Nothing seemed enjoyable anymore. My hobbies gathered dust. My commute left me frustrated before the workday had even begun. Even my patience had become noticeably shorter.

When every part of life begins to feel heavier, it can be difficult to recognize the common denominator.

Over the past few months, something unexpected has happened.

Not all at once. Little by little.

I rebuilt this website. I started writing again. I began organizing projects I’d been putting off for years. I inventoried shelves full of equipment and started asking an uncomfortable question.

“Does this still represent the person I want to become?”

Much of it didn’t.

My drone equipment has now found new homes. Other technology projects have replaced it. Not because the drone wasn’t enjoyable—it was—but because our interests evolve, and sometimes the healthiest thing we can do is acknowledge that.

Letting go isn’t always about loss. Sometimes it’s about making room.

I don’t know exactly what this next chapter looks like. Maybe it includes another technology role. Maybe it leads to software I’ve always wanted to build. Maybe it’s simply a collection of projects, photographs, essays, and ideas shared from this little corner of the Internet.

What I do know is this:

Stepping away wasn’t about stopping. It was about creating space to move forward again.

And after a long time spent helping build other people’s ideas, it feels good to begin building a few of my own.