Man, I never thought of myself as spiritual. Like, ever. I was just grinding. Working my butt off in the city, doing the same code review, hitting those deadlines, thinking that a big paycheck and a fancy title was the whole point of the game. I was all logic, all structure, never felt this “deep connection” stuff people talk about in books or on those crazy websites. I was just focused on the next promotion, the next quarterly bonus.
I pushed everything else aside. My gut feeling? Ignored it. That little voice that kept telling me to take a break, or maybe call my old man? Shouted it down with more caffeine and louder music. I thought all that intuitive stuff was just for people who couldn’t handle the pressure of real life, you know? The ones who needed a crutch.
The Day Everything Blew Up
It all came to a head about three years back. I was in a meeting, staring at a massive server error on the monitor. Just another Tuesday. Then my phone rang. I usually never pick up during meetings, but this time, something felt wrong. I don’t know why, maybe it was just stress, but I took the call and ducked out into the hallway.
It was the police. Not a joke, not a scam. My apartment building, the one I’d poured years of salary into, had a massive pipe burst and flooded the whole lower half. Everything I owned that was on the first floor—my old photos, my dad’s record collection, my entire gaming rig—just ruined. Gone. Water damage everywhere.
I walked back into that meeting and just stared at the screen. Server error. Who cares? My life was literally draining into a storm drain miles away. I walked right out of the building. Didn’t say goodbye, didn’t pack my desk, just left my badge on the security counter.
I spent the next two months living out of a cheap motel, dealing with insurance adjusters who acted like I was making the whole thing up. I was angry, man. So unbelievably frustrated. I had followed all the rules, done all the right things, and this is what I got? Chaos. Total, messy chaos.
Learning to Swim in the Deep End
That’s when the shift started. I had no job, no home, and hardly any possessions left. All those things I identified with—my job title, my nice apartment, my expensive suit—they vanished overnight. And guess what? I was still me. The sky didn’t fall. I stopped trying to control every damn second of my day and just… started reacting.
I had to learn how to deal with the messy stuff. I started listening to what felt right instead of what looked good on paper. I stopped searching job boards for titles and started thinking about what kind of place I actually wanted to live in. I realized I was done with the city noise and the concrete jungle.
- I took a cheap rental way out in the sticks, near the coast.
- I started building things with my hands again, fixing up old furniture.
- I spent time by the water, just staring at the ocean.
- I started talking to people who had zero to do with my old industry.
I was just drifting, man, letting the tide take me. That’s when the weird stuff started happening. I’d think of someone, and they’d call. I’d feel like I needed to go somewhere, and something good would happen there. It was like finally turning on a radio that had been unplugged for years. I realized that the “spiritual” stuff wasn’t crystals or chanting; it was just paying attention to the quiet signals my own brain was sending, the stuff I’d always blocked out.
I didn’t try to force a new career. I just helped a local guy with his website because he paid me in fish and coffee. That led to another little gig, then another. No big plan. Just following the flow. Suddenly, I was making enough to live, and I was happier than I’d ever been in my high-rise office.
The Weird Realization
I saw it last month. I was looking up some old contacts just to see what they were up to, and I found a listing for my old job. The exact role. They were looking for a Senior Architect to replace me. It’s still vacant, years later. The pay? They’ve bumped it up by, like, 50%. The demands? Brutal. All the same crap I left behind.
They’re throwing huge money at the problem, trying to buy someone to step back into the misery I walked away from. It’s sitting there, glowing on the screen, a massive pile of cash tied to a mountain of stress. I just looked at it and laughed out loud in my quiet little workshop. I wouldn’t go back for double. I finally understood that what felt like the absolute worst disaster of my life—that flood—was actually the universe yanking me out of quicksand. It forced me to stop thinking my way through life and start feeling my way through it.
I don’t know if that makes me “spiritual” or just less of an idiot, but I stopped fighting the current. I’m just sailing now.
