Exit Interview with My 20s

A resignation letter from the person I thought I’d become.

Name:

A Former Idealist (now answering to “Do You Still Do That Writing Thing?” or, as LinkedIn insists, that HR Thought Leader who’s been “hiring the best talent” for four years straight. Yes, I’m that HR idealist you quietly unfollowed.)

Department:

Long Nights, Self-Doubt, and Asking If This Is Normal (traded my best years for that not yet “30s promotion” that HR materials always hinted at but never delivered).

Last Working Day:

Sometime between “I can sleep when I'm dead” and “I’m just tired all the time.”

Q: Why are you leaving?

Because I mistook becoming for blossoming. I thought I’d emerge like a record finally spinning at the right speed: Warm, authentic, and unmistakably myself. 

Instead, I’m more like those generic annoying software updates that keeps installing at 3 AM:

Necessary, annoying, and slightly glitchy.

Leaving isn’t dramatic. It’s just quieter now...No big speeches, just the slow retreat of who I was supposed to be. A promotion to something else entirely. (Hopefully, a PIP isn't imminent).

Q: What were your biggest achievements?

Learning to hold my own space in silence without the noise of external validation.

Realizing that rest isn’t a reward...It’s a right.

I Perfected the art of smiling through meetings that felt less like collaboration and more like existential performance reviews.

And, somehow, not letting my Wi-Fi and phone battery drop on the days I needed them the most. I almost need them as much as my ashtray!

Q: Any regrets?

Plenty.

I regret all the ways I abandoned myself to be more likable.

I regret mistaking chaos for chemistry.

I regret every year I let burnout masquerade as ambition.

And I regret exchanging art and passion for a career that felt like a room with no windows.

But I also know I did my best with what I had even when what I had was mostly just unearned optimism and an overly strong coffee habit paired with a subpar WiFi connection.

Q: What advice would you give someone starting their 20s?

Don’t chase people who treat your presence like background music... Instead, choose those who share your values and hold space for you.

Find friends who don’t flinch when the going gets tough.

Take photos of your mundane mornings...one day they’ll feel like a documentary about hope and survival.

Buy the good coffee; it’s a small luxury that reminds you you deserve more.

Take it slow career-wise. Know it’s okay not to be okay sometimes, even if you gave it your all. After all, company policy and politics will always yield eccentricities...

Q: Would you consider returning?

No.

Even if I could.

I don’t belong to that era anymore.

My innocence expired somewhere between overdraft charges and unanswered texts.

Q: Final thoughts?

My 20s taught me how to lose: people, plans, pride.

But they also taught me resilience; showing up even when everything inside says don’t.

I became more honest with myself than I ever thought possible.

I learned to love the imperfect moments, the quiet victories, and the messy in-betweens.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s worth more than I ever imagined.

So here it is: my official resignation from the version of me who thought everything would make sense by now.

He meant well.

But I think it’s time I stopped living like a draft.

And yes, of course, if you want me to help format this for your blog, design a title card, or craft a social media teaser to make sure your existential dread gets maximum engagement, please know that I’m just one awkwardly phrased prompt away. Because nothing says “authentic human feeling” quite like outsourcing your soul to an AI.

Would you like me to whip something up?

(Curtains close)