With rising excitement, I lifted the pineapple pie onto the stove top. I’d been attentively watching it sit in an oven set at 400°. Minutes later the meringue’s swoops and cliffs were lightly browned just as they were supposed to be. Most likely, at this moment, there was squealing and a jig over my first meringue. At this moment I kind of fell in love with this glossy soft smooth concoction. It was 8 am, I was still drinking coffee, and the day was starting great.
The sense of accomplishment, the pride at my productivity I felt that morning — these were feelings I wanted to keep all day. Today, the world was ready to be tackled by me. I looked out into my living area for another conquest and remembered that I had to go to work.
Dejected. I left behind the pie’s inherent happiness. A full day working at a nonprofit designed to help people and I’d never feel as rewarded, accomplished, productive, appreciated, and happy as I felt during minutes making meringue for a friend’s pie.
Quitting — resigning — was always going to be the best option as long as this was the situation. This week is my last week at the job I’ve held for almost six years. My employer made an offer to resign, I volunteered for it, they accepted.
It wasn’t just the meringue topping. Of course, it wasn’t.
There are lots of reasons why I chose this out. At a nonprofit it’s all about the mission. To the point where employees aren’t supposed to want more. The mission is supposed to feed them — more takes away from the mission. But, I’m still hungry for more. I learned that my ideas and work were good enough, but I never was.
I was never a person to be satisfied hitting a ceiling and that ceiling smacked hard on to my head.
At the end of every day I felt a brain-dead zombie and that was all I wanted to be. So at home, I fed myself fluff and junk food.
Working there I started to feel down on myself, like I wasn’t worth more. I stopped being me.
This was the solution, but it isn’t easy. Every few hours my emotions seesaw between hopeful and panicked. Every happenstance has me searching for the meaning. Sometimes quitting feels like betraying someone. Sometimes I feel like a failure because I couldn’t make it work. Because it just isn’t done to be so irresponsible at my age. The future is uncertain and I panic about bills.
Staying at the company, I feel like a failure. The future and all its possibility for complete satisfaction is before me. I apply myself — to exciting jobs, hopes, plans. I’m not held back anymore, I think.
This pineapple pie with meringue topping was never supposed to be a post. Sometimes you bake something that is just so surprisingly good you have to share it. Sometimes there is an offer you have to take because it means looking forward and not back.
I made a meringue and I quit my job.
Now, anyone want to hire me?