I did it.
I just walked into the office, handled my laptop and presented my resignation.
The salary was excellent, and the people had good intentions. I was in my own office with a privileged window that let the sunshine fall over an orchid I had over my desk. As much as I hate common places, one fits the situation: It's not you, it's me.
My values have changed in a way that money can't buy, at least at the current exchange rate. In my short stay in the United States, I have had one Fire Bird, two convertibles, three flat screens, laptops, iPads, smartphones, home theaters, play stations..., but it took me a while to realize that I don't need this pile of stuff.
I'm not going to preach against materialism, consumerism, and imperialism; I actually love them all when they are engaged with real ambition. What I'm doing is banning myself from dispassionate activities.
I came back to my apartment, listed everything on eBay and told my landlord that I was moving outside Florida. No destination, just direction.
That was the easy part. The hardest was to realize how psychologically tied I was to a routine. My dreams had become a collection of speeches, and every of my actions was postponed by a plausible reason. I've been smart, safe, reasonable, responsible and completely disposable.
I sold my small convertible to a happy guy who wanted it just to socialize in his local Miata club (great perspective). I bought myself an SUV, and even after the online yard sale, it would contain half of the things I still have left. Where are all these objects coming from? I tried to take off, and these things were like a heavy anchor holding me ashore. This is stuff in which I invested time and money, and now it has no market value, but keep slowing me down with its weight. It managed to invert its status from property to proprietor.
This road trip that I started today is not about getting to know tourist attractions but getting to know my place. I don't mean deciding on my next job or my next neighborhood. What I really want is to find out how I was able to deceive myself into betraying my dreams. This is not the search for "true", this is a quest for sources of lies.
I'm in a small hotel in Orlando right now. Tomorrow I'm crossing the state line and tossing a coin to decide between North and West. I've never been so uncertain and happy at the same time.
I just walked into the office, handled my laptop and presented my resignation.
The salary was excellent, and the people had good intentions. I was in my own office with a privileged window that let the sunshine fall over an orchid I had over my desk. As much as I hate common places, one fits the situation: It's not you, it's me.
My values have changed in a way that money can't buy, at least at the current exchange rate. In my short stay in the United States, I have had one Fire Bird, two convertibles, three flat screens, laptops, iPads, smartphones, home theaters, play stations..., but it took me a while to realize that I don't need this pile of stuff.
I'm not going to preach against materialism, consumerism, and imperialism; I actually love them all when they are engaged with real ambition. What I'm doing is banning myself from dispassionate activities.
I came back to my apartment, listed everything on eBay and told my landlord that I was moving outside Florida. No destination, just direction.
That was the easy part. The hardest was to realize how psychologically tied I was to a routine. My dreams had become a collection of speeches, and every of my actions was postponed by a plausible reason. I've been smart, safe, reasonable, responsible and completely disposable.
I sold my small convertible to a happy guy who wanted it just to socialize in his local Miata club (great perspective). I bought myself an SUV, and even after the online yard sale, it would contain half of the things I still have left. Where are all these objects coming from? I tried to take off, and these things were like a heavy anchor holding me ashore. This is stuff in which I invested time and money, and now it has no market value, but keep slowing me down with its weight. It managed to invert its status from property to proprietor.
This road trip that I started today is not about getting to know tourist attractions but getting to know my place. I don't mean deciding on my next job or my next neighborhood. What I really want is to find out how I was able to deceive myself into betraying my dreams. This is not the search for "true", this is a quest for sources of lies.
I'm in a small hotel in Orlando right now. Tomorrow I'm crossing the state line and tossing a coin to decide between North and West. I've never been so uncertain and happy at the same time.
Godspeed!
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