the archaeology of becoming / #22
on alllll the things i've learned since quitting my job (spoiler: not a lot)
“So, what life-changing insight did the sabbatical unlock?”
The question lands, weighted with the expectation of transformation.
There’s a smile too, waiting for me to deliver a tidy hero's-journey update: an epiphany about time spent away, non-stop insights about my new passions and pursuits, or at the very least, a plan for what’s next.
Instead, I do this awkward little dance around the truth:
"It's been… good. Really good. I'm learning… a lot about… myself?”
Which is true — and hopelessly inadequate. Like describing a symphony as a few nice sounds.
Also, I'm not even sure I'm still calling it a sabbatical.
A sabbatical implies there's something to return to. A position held, a leave of absence with an expected end date, a temporary departure from the real life.
But there's no corporate job waiting for me to come back to, refreshed and grateful. There’s no team holding my spot while I (cringe) find myself. If there’s one thing I’m clear on now, it’s that I’m not going back to that kind of employment.
Calling it a sabbatical made sense last year: safer, more legitimate.
I even soft-launched it: two unpaid months I called a “sabbatical prototype,” just shy of quitting.
Then I quit outright on the first working day of the year, and so it goes.
Six months in, and here's the thought I wish was perfectly formed in the moment so I could tell it to that expectant face—
It's not a vacation. It's not a gap year. It's not a spiritual retreat or a productivity hack.
I think people expect a certain formula: the crisis → the journey → the revelations → the transformation.
The meditation experiment that Changed Everything. The books that rewired my brain. The moment I found my new passion while hiking or diving in unknown lands and waters.
But it's archaeology.
You're digging through layers of I should and expectations and inherited ideas about success, trying to find the parts of yourself that got buried under years of being a good employee, a helpful colleague, a productive member of society.
Some days, you uncover something beautiful. Other days: just old anxiety and imposter syndrome, perfectly preserved.
The tools matter, too. Some days it’s the fine brush of writing, putting all the words on the page to make sense of them. Other days, it’s the heavy machinery of being able to say “no”.
You figure out which artifacts are worth preserving, and which are broken pottery from someone else’s life.
Sometimes, you hit bedrock faster than expected. Others, you keep digging and realize you’re still in the topsoil of who you thought you must be.
(And maybe, sometimes you even find that there’s nothing there needed to be dug up at all.)
It's methodical work, this uncovering who you are underneath everything you thought you should be.
The data says… something. I’m just not sure what, yet:
331 hours with family at the half-year mark (vs. 80 hours last year, same duration)
An estimated 60 cups of bubble tea consumed (and counting)
6 times I downloaded and deleted the poker app (turns out I can’t resist cheap dopamine hits, still)
But the real work is happening underneath the numbers.
Here’s what I’m cherishing, six months in:
Enjoying mornings that begin with quiet, not alarms
Spending time with people I love, without needing to earn it
Engaging in conversations, where I don’t have to rush to explain or perform
Finding that the limiting factor isn’t my body, but my own stories about my body
Sitting with uncertainty, without immediately feeling the panic of trying to solve it
The slow clarity that comes, from asking not just what I want to do, but who I want to become
Six months in, and I don't have Instagram-worthy transformations to offer. They're quiet, internal shifts that would sound underwhelming in an AI generated meeting summary.
But they're the foundation for everything I want to build — something I’m still shaping.
So when people ask, I think I’ll hand them the trowel. Metaphorically, of course.
Not because I want to be difficult, but because the real answer isn't a destination — it's an invitation to dig, and to sit with the uncertainty of not knowing what I’ll find.
I want to trust that the work itself is worth doing, even when the artifacts don't photograph well.
My map isn’t finished yet, not by a long shot.
Every scrape feels like a brick I can build with later; every decision a design choice.
It’s not satisfying. But it’s real.
And right now, real feels like enough.
Other things
Apparently we’re closer to 2050 than we are to 2000 😐
Some housekeeping: I’ve changed the cadence of this to every two weeks, while I try to spin up and write another newsletter specifically for The Full Stack Life! As usual, I’m bogged down by planning instead of executing, despite knowing I should be focusing on the latter.
Until next time,
Jalyn