[Ed. note: I wrote this in Sept. 2002, during a period of reflection and unemployment. It describes events leading to my rebirth as a journalist.]

“I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I don’t think I can do it anymore.” I heard myself say these words - quitting my job - and the corners of my lips tugged upward for the first time in weeks.

That was one Thursday morning in May of 2002.

Working at a software company was my first technical writing position. I came in with a bachelor’s in journalism. My editing and writing experience impressed higher-ups, and I gained responsibility quickly. I also gained responsibility as attrition eventually grasped the company. After two years, I wore several hats, from technical writer to marketer, from note taker to HTML tweaker. I still made just a bit more than I had before college, as a pizza delivery driver.

I admit my hopes were high. I was working in software, and I expected to learn and work with the cutting edge. Unfortunately, the company took a greater interest in training and supporting other more “vital” departments. Documentation, I discovered, is usually an afterthought. “Why?,” I would ask often myself. “Because they don’t know or understand what I could do for them,” was my usual justification. My reasoning felt thin, and a few years of tumbling around in this environment had worn it even more.

When my supervisor called me into his office and posited, “So, I hear you’re pretty upset over yesterday’s layoffs,” I had already thought of responses. Quitting was one of them, and I took it.

After I told him I couldn’t do “it” anymore, I told him how I felt about the company and its products. Phrases like, “financially bleeding to death,” “completely lacking in design,” and “poorly managed” flapped in the recirculating office air.

He sat there, listening patiently. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” escaped after a moment, and his extensive forehead furrowed.

Once I had laid my laundry out to dry, I went back to my desk to begin organizing my departure. Calls were made and meetings were held. Whether caught off-guard, or dragging their heels, it took management several hours to figure out what to do with me. In the end, they laid me off. I shook the hand of everyone in the building on the way out - including the president’s.

By that afternoon, the company had offered to call back an employee I had worked closely with. She had been laid off the previous day. It sounded like a fair trade to me.

I have no regrets, even though months have passed without sign of work. Unemployment is not as fun as employed people fantasize, but I’m confident that I’ll get by, and eventually find a job. The time off has helped me think. I understand now that it wasn’t that the company’s management didn’t know my potential. They knew what I could do, but had a different role for me based on their needs and budget. I also understand that, when the role you fill ceases to challenge you or spur you to excel, it’s time to move on.