I’ve decided to pursue the #VanLife dream. I have an offer from a small start-up. It’s a flex-time, remote position, and it’s going to give me so much more freedom than I have now.
I’ve always been one of those people who reads Jack Kerouac and longingly looks out their bedroom window. This is my chance to hit the road. I don’t hate the work I do now; it’s just that the routine has been wearing on me. Commuting back and forth, sitting at a desk, attending strategy meetings—even the nicest office starts to feel like a cage after a while.
On top of that, I’m dating a girl who lives in Modesto, which is about a 90-minute drive from where I live in San Francisco without traffic, or nearly three hours with traffic. There’s always traffic. Handcuffed to my desk, I see her only on weekends. But with my newfound freedom, I could spend a whole week with her. And then a week in Tahoe. Or Barcelona. It all seems pretty perfect. Right?
I’ve been at my company for just over two years—practically tenure in the tech industry—and in that time I’ve gone from curating Instagram content to assisting with our biggest brand campaign of the year. Recently, I even got the green light on a creative project I’ve been trying to push for a year.
Even the nicest office starts to feel like a cage after a while.
Last week, I went out to happy hour with my coworkers. We drank some beers. We ate some fried food. It reminded me of the best thing about my job: the people I work with. I got the start-up job offer on the next afternoon, and I thought, am I really ready to sell all my shit, hop in a van and leave them behind?
I asked some of my friends for advice. Of course, if you ask a millennial about quitting your desk job to becoming an ambiguously employed traveller, they will tell you to do it. That’s the Instagram dream. Minimalism and mobility are what our generation is all about.
I think of the scene from Aziz Ansari’s Master of None in which his character is trying to decide what he wants to do with his life, and his dad tells him to read a section of Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. In the novel, Plath compares major life decisions to picking a fig off a tree.
“I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
I know that it’s a privilege to even get to make this kind of choice. For almost every person in human history, it’s “eat whatever fig you can to survive.” But for me, the questions are “Do I want to take this new job and live in an expensively outfitted camper van?” or “Do I want to keep my current cushy position and eat handfuls of dried mango out of the bins in our kitchen?” I know that either choice is amazing, but that didn’t quell the anxiety I felt all weekend when I was trying to make this decision.
I think of Megan. Our relationship isn’t long distance—it’s more of a medium distance. But that might be the hardest part about this whole thing. I want to spend more time with her. Every weekend is a compromise. If we don’t do the same thing, we don’t see each other. If one of us has another commitment, then that’s two weeks apart. If I were unstuck from the office, I could wake up next to her seven days in a row. Even if I went van-setting around the continent for two weeks, I’d get to come home to her when I was done.
It’s like jumping off a tall cliff into murky water. I decide I just have to leap.
I am anything but certain, but I decide that that’s just the nature of making a big decision like this. It’s like jumping off a tall cliff into murky water. I decide I just have to leap. I decide I’m going to quit my job on Monday.
I’ve resolved to tell my manager during our weekly meeting first thing. I know she’s going to be upset. I’m important here. I’m involved in all these big projects. She’s going on a three-week vacation later this month and is planning on leaving me in charge. Oh, man, I’m really screwing her over, aren’t I? But this is just my job. They’d fire me anytime they wanted to without a second thought. I’ve gotta break the golden handcuffs. But I kinda feel like I’m going to throw up.
“I’m leaving,” I tell her. I’ve made the leap. I’m in the air. But she is not visibly upset. She is incredibly supportive. She says she understands if I need more freedom. She understands that working in an office isn’t always the easiest thing. She spent some time as a freelancer when she was my age and respects my desire to break out on my own. She asks, “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
I’m falling through the air and starting to fall apart. I am not sure this is what I want to do. I am not sure about anything. Fortunately, we’ve taken this meeting out of the office. I tell her I might actually need a minute to think about it, and she politely excuses herself, leaving me alone in a small park by the SOMA Caltrain station. I start to cry.
I jumped, but I want to catch the ledge.
All the stress I’ve been feeling over this decision comes out at once. I want to see my girlfriend. I want to see the world. I want to see my friends. But most of all, I don’t want anyone I know to see me having an emotional breakdown in the park right now. I jumped, but I want to catch the ledge. I realize that to live the “#VanLife” dream is to leave behind the people whom I really care about. And I’m not ready to exchange my community for freedom. At least not now.
I pull myself together and think about getting a Coke from the Safeway by the park. No, I don’t want to spend money on a soda. We’ve got plenty of drinks in the office. Fuck. The handcuffs. But they are my handcuffs.
I go back, grab a La Croix out of the fridge and hide in a meeting room so I don’t run into my manager. I write her an email. I tell her I’m not leaving. I ask if, maybe, I could work remotely on Fridays sometimes so I can drive to my girlfriend’s house in the morning. And then it’s five o’clock. And I decide I’m not going to get anything else done today, so I head home.
While I’m riding my bike, I almost get hit by some asshole in a Prius. And I smile. That’s my commute. That’s my life in San Francisco. It’s going to be the exact same routine tomorrow, but now I feel like I’ve chosen it. I turned down the “#VanLife” dream.
I caught the ledge as it were almost out of reach, and throughout the rest of the week, I’m finding new joy in all the little things I used to let get under my skin. I no longer feel handcuffed to my desk. I know that other opportunities are out there, and I can go after them whenever I want.
But for now, this is the fig I’ve chosen, and I’m going to enjoy every last bite.
Hey! The Bold Italic recently launched a podcast, This Is Your Life in Silicon Valley. Check out the full season or listen to the episode below featuring Eileen Rinaldi, CEO and founder of Ritual Coffee. More coming soon, so stay tuned!
