Exit

This piece was born during one of those beautiful moments when life grabs you by the collar and screams, “You’re done.” I was burnt out—fully fried, overcooked, charred at the edges. My job had drained every last drop of me. We’d just survived round two of mass layoffs, and even that didn’t sting as much as realizing: there was no future left in that place. None.

Then my body did the most human thing possible—it shut me down. Like, full system failure. I was out for two weeks: dizzy, sick, exhausted, cold-ridden, and mentally not even on this planet. At the time, I thought I just needed rest. Turns out, I needed a way out. I just didn’t know it yet.


What I didn’t realize then was that this collapse would be the spark for everything you’re seeing and reading right now. And for that, I owe a lot to my wife.

One day, she looked at me and said, “We’ve been together for a while now, and there’s one thing I’ve noticed. No matter how bad things get, no matter how low you sink, there’s one thing you always go back to. And you never hate it. Your art.”

That hit hard. Because it was true. I had spent years drifting from one soul-sucking job to the next, desperately searching for something I didn’t hate. Tolerable would’ve been enough. But the only thing that ever made sense—besides her—was painting.

That’s when it clicked. This wasn’t just some burnout. It was an EXIT sign. A blinking, red, no-turning-back sign pointing me toward something real.

Yeah, it might take time before I can live off this. Before success finds me—whatever that even means. But at least now I know where my heart is. And wherever your heart beats? That’s where the real road begins.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this mess, it’s this: listen to your body. Listen to that strange voice inside that you keep shushing with to-do lists and deadlines. It knows when you’re breaking. It knows when you’re lying to yourself. And sometimes? It pulls the brake for you—just in time.