Freedom Isn’t Free
It's been about four weeks since I left my full-time job in finance. Since then, I've been in New York City. A common question people ask me is, “What do you do all day?”
I sleep for eight hours, and in the remaining sixteen, I do what most “men of leisure” do. I read, cook, and work out—these activities alone take about six hours. The rest of my time is spent writing, hanging out with friends, wandering through museums and parks, and sometimes rotting on my phone. Surprisingly, even without a job, I don’t feel like I have much more time. I do spend more time deciding what to do—but I’m still busy. And most importantly, I haven't gotten bored yet.
Beyond the obvious repercussions of quitting—like losing income or navigating the nightmare of American healthcare (or lack thereof)—this sabbatical has cost me more than I first realized. Many of the costs are not financial. There’s the cost of friendship—friends I miss from work, and new ones hesitant to connect with someone already halfway out the door. Also, it turns out telling someone you have no job and are about to travel for four months is an awful pickup line. Who would have thought?
There is a cost to everything. I sometimes get anxious about my future, but taking risks and time off like this is always expensive. However, I do believe the current cost is as cheap as it will ever get. For example, what is one year of lost income when you’re 26 or, say, 38? How much is the social cost when you have a wife and kids? Of course, that’s so expensive that it’s not even a question (assuming you want to keep your family).
The tradeoff has been stability for excitement. Regardless of liking your job, it does provide structure: a time to wake up and sleep, promotions to chase (especially before your competitors), etc. If work doesn’t offer a sense of purpose, it does at least set a routine and therefore, an expectation of the future. Freedom, I’ve found, is just another word for wildness: unhinged, uncertain, reckless. Leaving a prestigious job to travel the world with no guarantees took philosophy, stupidity, and courage. I’m glad I made this leap, but stability certainly had its perks. Freedom is not free.
In preparation for this voyage, I kept telling myself the terribly trite yet undeniably true, cliché: talk is cheap. It was very easy to talk about what I would do—and just talk. But I have learned that the real language of philosophy is action.
It's been about four weeks since I left my full-time job, and my journey has only just begun. I recently bought non-refundable flights, so while I’m still talking about the adventure, it’s now more real.
