Exit Strategy
Photo courtesy of Gratisography
Sunday, October 5th, 2025The last two weeks of work have been my least favorite kind of grit — long hours, impossible deadlines, too much overthinking, and scrambling to get it all done. Most of it, anyway. I’m in year seven of the same role, and for the last year, it’s felt like treading water with weights on.
I want the recognition of moving up, but not what comes with it: more meetings, more responsibility, more of the same. Every deadline bleeds into the next. Push, push, push. I don’t mind the push — as long as there’s rest at the end. There isn’t.
I’ve been told there won’t be another headcount. I also know I’m too valuable to lose and that I’m paid well for my position. Both statements feel like traps. I like the people I work with — but maybe not enough to outweigh the bullshit anymore.
Last week, I applied for another job. I don’t really want it; it’s a pay cut and would require moving. What I want is the offer — proof that I’m still viable. That I have options. That someone else might want me. Maybe I just want my current job to know someone else might want me. What I really don’t want is to do the same thing somewhere else, with a different product and the same pressure.
Instead, I’ve been scrolling real estate listings. Houses across the country, closer to family, closer to a city that feels a little more like home. A couple have caught my eye.
One is in a cute neighborhood — a brick house with a big front porch, well kept, with original features everywhere: built-ins, leaded and stained glass, hardwood floors, a small, neatly manicured yard, and a detached two-car garage. It’s straight out of a storybook. It’s also close to shops and basic amenities. I like the idea of community and knowing my neighbors and baking them cookies. But I’d like more space for the pups to run around — and the houses really are quite close together. And I’m not really a neatly manicured, well-kept kind of person.
The other is brick and wood, with sun porches in the front and back, plentiful windows, and a fenced yard that’s a blank slate. The inside’s been renovated, and the walls are that lifeless gray every flipper seems obsessed with lately. The kitchen backsplash tile is horrific, as is the shower tile. The main floor is vinyl — the dogs will hate it — and there’s new (gray) carpet in the bedrooms.
But what gets my fingers itching are the other buildings on the property. There’s one in the back with a rec room on the second floor — painted like a teenage boy was given full creative control, despite a lack of ability. The disclosure mentions a woodshop underneath. Another smaller cinderblock building could work for storage.
And then there’s the massive garage. High ceilings, open space, and — ironically — a lift. Big enough to make oversized art or run a small clothing line. I could use the lift to create giant fiber installations or learn to change my oil. There’s room for sewing machines, a cutting table, even a ceiling-mounted projector.
It’s ridiculously huge — and perfect for making a mess.
The big hesitation is location. It’s on the edge of an industrial area, with a few junked-up yards nearby, tucked where a river meets a stream. There’s a park through a creepy tunnel, and the crime rate is high — it definitely seems like a great place to toss a body into the river.
Still, compared to Seattle prices, either house is an absolute steal. I could have my own space again. Free to fuck it up as I see fit. Not in some future life, but now.
And I keep thinking: What if I did?
I’m committed to Seattle through mid-December. I have twenty days of vacation to use — I don’t know if those pay out if I quit. I need to stay through the end of the year. But then what? I don’t want to keep giving more to this job than I’m getting back. And I don’t want to stay just for the sake of stability.
I’m not trying to run away. I’m trying to move on.
My mind is already somewhere else. My body’s still here, though, pushing through another deadline, yet again.
I’ve started looking for opportunities in the area — teaching, pattern making, something different. I wouldn’t need, or even want, to start right away. But I’d want something coming down the pipeline.
Or maybe I’ll make something of my own. That garage could be a studio, a workshop, a test kitchen for every half-finished idea I’ve ever shelved — and there are more than I can count.
I’ve been threatening to quit my job since I started. It’s given me a lot — experience, opportunity, stability. I’m grateful for that, and its time is coming to an end.
I’m ready for something else now. Somewhere else.
And this time, it’s not just talk — I’m planning my exit strategy.
Stay Gritty