That Time I Ditched My Desk Job for Something Wild
So, back in early 2019, specifically around April, man, I was feeling it. I was in this corporate gig, you know, spreadsheet city, the whole nine yards. It was comfortable, sure, good pay, decent benefits, but I was just dead inside. Every morning felt like dragging myself through mud. I kept looking at those “career horoscope” things online—don’t judge, we all do weird stuff when we’re lost—and I remember seeing this one for Pisces, which is me, talking about major shifts and following your gut. Sounded like total fluff, right? But it stuck with me.
I started planning my escape. It wasn’t some sudden, dramatic quit. I actually started small. I used to hate networking events, all those forced smiles and bad canapés. But I forced myself to go to three different industry meetups in March. I wasn’t looking for a new job in the same field; I was actually interested in finally trying to turn this stupid, niche hobby of mine—building custom arcade cabinets—into something real.
I started digging around. I spent every evening scouring forums and local maker spaces. I needed to figure out if there was actually a market for these custom builds. I built my first real prototype in the garage. Took me weeks. It was ugly, the wiring was a mess, and the paint job looked like a toddler did it, but it worked. That clicking sound of the joystick? Pure bliss.
The realization hit me hard in early April. I had enough saved up for about six months of survival, thanks to being super cheap for years. I went through my accounts, calculated the absolute minimum burn rate, and decided I was going to give it a shot. The horror-scope thing said something about trusting intuition and making a bold move, and honestly, that gave me the stupid little push I needed. Sometimes you just need an arbitrary excuse to jump.
I walked into my boss’s office on April 15th—tax day, fitting, right?—and resigned. It was terrifying. He was surprised, mostly confused, asking why I was leaving a “stable trajectory” for “some woodworking thing.” I just told him I needed a change. I walked out of that office and felt lighter than I had in years. I literally drove straight home, cleared out the garage even more, and started buying the proper tools—a decent router, better saw, proper sanding equipment. No more cheap tools. I was all in.
The first few months were brutal. Turns out, building one decent cabinet for yourself is way different than building three perfect ones for paying customers who expect perfection. I had to learn how to deal with suppliers, manage inventory, and, worst of all, actually market myself. I started an Instagram account purely focused on the build process and the nostalgia factor. I documented every single failure, every stripped screw, every incorrectly cut piece of plexiglass. People loved the honesty.
By the end of June 2019, I had my first major custom order. A guy wanted an old ’80s-themed machine, but modernized internally. It was a massive project, consuming my life for about six weeks. But when I delivered it, and saw the look on his face, man, that feeling crushed any satisfaction I ever got from a corporate bonus. That was the moment I knew I hadn’t made a mistake. That horoscope garbage might have been nonsense, but the action I took? That was real.
- Quit comfortable job.
- Calculated survival funds.
- Invested in proper tools immediately.
- Started documenting the messy process online.
- Landed first major custom build project.
I look back at that time and shake my head. I went from pushing papers to smelling sawdust every day. Best decision ever. If you’re stuck, just calculate your risk, set a date, and take the plunge. Stability isn’t worth feeling miserable.
