Your Escape

This was a newsletter email I sent out on July 30, 2026.

the itch

It never came across your mind, until someones in your world did it.

Someone quit and started their own business;
Someone got a good severance package and went nomad around the world;
Someone took their pension money and retire in Bali or Thailand.

You wished them good luck at their farewell party, wrote a card with a tad of jealousy.

"Why do you leave", you asked them. But you know what you were really asking:

"Why do I stay?"

Since that day something starts to feel off in your corporate life. Everything is fine, but something is just not quite there.

You can't name what.

the mirror

"Who have I become?"

Work used to be exciting and fun, but somehow it's now filled with dread and stress.

Friday afternoons are only enough to pull you out of it for a short bit; Sunday nights put you right back into it.

You start missing the "good old days", when you were younger, poorer, but happier.

It was a time when you still had a dream. And the dream, over the years, has turned into a less pleasant reality.

You start to feel nostalgic. You try to pick up your old hobbies, listen to the old songs, flip through your photo albums, do the things you did when you were younger.

You miss the days. You want it back. You want to return to innocence.

You crave being fearless, like you once were.

You want to feel alive again.

the wall

Then the walls start closing in.

"No, I need the paycheck."

"No, I'm still learning and growing."

"No, I've built this career for decades, I love it."

"No, I love the people here. They need me here."

"No, I don't know what else I can do, without this job."

No no no no no no no no no. No.

Let's not distract ourselves. Get back to work, it's not yet time to leave.

Not today.

the tipping point

You're sitting in the weekly meeting, where people are talking nonsense. You're not sure if it's the CO2 in the room, or the depressing speech by your peers. You just felt that you wasted another hour in life, and it didn't feel any better than one-hour doomscrolling on social media.

You're back at your desk, staring at the new project doc on the screen. You know exactly what it is because you've done the same thing months, even years ago. It's the same shit, just with a different group of people, a fancier project name. Re-inventing the wheel, history repeats itself, same problems, same solutions, same challenges, same mistakes, same story, just need to be told in a different way.

Your manager told you that the project was a new challenge for you, that it would amplify your impact, that it could be your opportunity of growth. You know that it was bullshit. It was a challenge, not an intellectual one but a political one. What would be amplified isn't your impact but the tasks on your plate. It could be an opportunity of growth, but it could also likely be a lost one, later when you ask for a promotion.

You want some passion, as you don't have any. You look around the floor, your peers are also like ghosts. Someone disappeared for good a few weeks ago, without a goodbye and you never heard a word from them ever since. Maybe fired. Someones make jokes as usual but the laughters are jarring. Someone never lifts their head, pretending to be busy and doesn't have the time for a chat. You know that's what their manager wants to see so you don't blame them.

"What am I doing here", there comes a sudden urge to be somewhere else. Anywhere but here.

Back home, there came a report from your clinic, a note from your parents' doctor, a call from your close friend's family. You suddenly found yourself in those grief moments, trying to grasp your life like the flowing sands.

Something must be done.

At the breakpoint. At the tipping point.

the leap

It feels like the hardest part; it felt like the easiest part.

This is one of the most sophisticated projects that you pull off. A lot of plannings, calculations, negotiations, coordinations, alongside with doubts, faith, excitements, fears, convictions, sorrows, joys. Everything instills down to that one click on the button, that sends out the most powerless and powerful message.

You take the leap.

You thought it'd be a quick moment of truth, but what you leaped into feels more like an era of truth. It feels like the longest jump ever.

It feels forever.

the grounding

You are now in the air, wishing to land just next minute.

It sucks to stay up in the air, trying to be ready for a crash landing any minute.

At first it felt like freedom, flying, no limits, no rules. Then you feel so distanced from the world, isolated, everything is far away, you yell your hello and can't hear a reply.

Then comes the gravity. You feel heavy, feel the fall. Feel like the rollercoaster flipping you front and back, throwing you up and down, and there's no button to call for a stop. You hear some screaming, some is out of fear, some is out of thrill. You start screaming, too, and you start feeling the adrenaline, the dopamine, the "whatever" of surrender, the "whatever" of conviction.

Just when you're about to lose your sense of time. You're dizzy, disoriented. You want to throw up.

But you're glad that you're finally on the ground.

You walk on.