Formal Resignation from the Role of Functioning Cog

To Whom It May Concern (and I know you're out there, spreadsheets in hand),

Please accept this letter as my official resignation from the position of “Well-Adjusted Adult in Late Capitalism,” effective immediately, or retroactively — whichever causes less disruption to the algorithms tracking my productivity.

I am stepping down from the unpaid, full-time role of Cheerful Participant in the Rat Race™. While the benefits were never particularly clear, I understand I will no longer be eligible for the dopamine hit of checking off to-do lists, nor the occasional corporate pizza party that tastes suspiciously of moral compromise. Please know that this decision does not come lightly. It comes with the weight of 12,387 unread promotional emails, the scent of burnt coffee, and the sound of a motivational podcast buffering for eternity.

Let me be explicit: I am done chasing carrots tied to sticks stapled to job applications that require a master’s degree, five years of experience, and the blood of a unicorn. I am done measuring my worth in credit scores and annual income brackets, done checking my FICO number like it’s a spiritual thermometer.

I am tired. Not the sleepy kind of tired, but the bone-deep existential kind that settles in your chest like unpaid rent.

I resign from smiling at meetings where the words “synergy” and “pivot” are spoken with a straight face. I resign from pretending that Excel is a love language. I resign from answering emails that arrive after 5 p.m. with false urgency and “per my last email” diplomacy. I resign from clapping for promotions I did not receive, and pretending the company “feels like family” when I’ve seen actual families show more grace to a dog that peed on the carpet.

I resign from being “good with money,” which seems to involve some combination of self-loathing and spreadsheets. I am tired of being financially literate but emotionally bankrupt. Tired of pretending budgeting apps will solve the slow, creeping panic that occurs when I see the price of eggs. I am, frankly, exhausted by the daily psychological warfare of being told that a $7 latte is the reason I can’t afford a house, while billionaires launch themselves into space like emotionally-stunted fireworks.

I resign from hustling, grinding, side-gigging, and brand-building. I will no longer be turning my hobbies into income streams, my personality into a LinkedIn profile, or my attention span into advertising real estate. Monetize this.

I resign from goal-setting. I do not want a five-year plan. I barely want a five-minute plan. I want to sit in the sun like a lizard on a rock and not worry if my Roth IRA is diversified enough.

I resign from pretending I am okay when I am not. From saying “I’m just tired” when I mean “I’m unraveling.” From making “busy” a badge of honor and “overworked” a status symbol. I am no longer interested in being “resilient.” I have bounced back so many times I feel like a cartoon anvil.

I resign from being polite in spaces that exhaust me, from being silent to keep the peace, from saying “yes” when every cell in my body is screaming “absolutely not.” I resign from folding myself into shapes designed by other people’s expectations. I am not an origami crane. I am a person. And I’m sore.

I resign from comparing myself to influencers who seem to have it all together and yet somehow still find time to create seven Instagram reels about breakfast. I resign from morning routines that involve seventeen steps, including gratitude journaling, lemon water, and sun salutation yoga. I am not a wellness brand. I am a human with questionable posture and a fondness for Pop-Tarts.

I resign from pretending capitalism is a game I can win if I just try hard enough. I’ve read the rules. They were written in disappearing ink.

I resign from the myth of upward mobility, which turns out to be more like a treadmill pointed at a wall. I’ve been sprinting in place for years, and all I’ve got to show for it is joint pain and a modest collection of branded tote bags.

And lastly, I resign from shame — the shame of not doing enough, earning enough, achieving enough. I resign from internalizing a system that asks me to sacrifice joy on the altar of productivity.

What will I do next? Frankly, I have no idea. Maybe I’ll lie on the floor and blink at the ceiling until something softer takes root. Maybe I’ll build a life where my value isn’t calculated by what I produce, but by how I breathe, rest, and exist. Maybe I’ll learn to enjoy things without needing to post about them. Maybe I’ll finally read that book about boundaries. Or maybe I’ll write a new one: “How to Quit Without Guilt: A Field Guide to Stepping Down from the Madness.”

Please forward all future requests to my voicemail, which is currently out of service due to a sudden lack of giving a damn.

With all due respect (and none of the overtime),

Tay

Former Employee of the Hustle

Chief Executive of Nope

Founder of the Department of Sitting Down for a Minute