Two Years Ago I Quit My Life

How It's Been Going and Where I'm At Now

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Two years ago I gave up tenure and retired early from my job as a literature professor in New Orleans. I bought a one-way ticket to Paris and was determined to remake my life, on my own terms. Two years in, it seems like a good time to take stock and share a bit more about how my “audacious” decision to chuck it all and live a more creative life is going.

“I like your life,” someone said to me online in response to some pictures I posted from my month in Italy. This got me thinking, do my friends and acquaintances have any idea what my life is really like now? Would they really like to live as I do now?

View of Tusa, Sicily, taken last week

Ever since I arrived in Paris in September 2022 and began traveling, people have been telling me how brave I am, how I am living their dream. It was my dream, too. I was 52 and had long fantasized about living in Europe again (as I had done at 16 and 22).

But I didn’t know how to make that happen. I desperately wanted to have all the answers: where I would live, how I would support myself, how I would make new friends. But my therapist encouraged me to take my time with those decisions. She said, “Put a reminder in your phone for a year from now. Then you can start thinking in earnest about those things.” I did. And then I planned a year of travel and gave myself the gift of time.

That reminder popped up exactly a year ago. So by now I should have a new life in place, right? But I don’t. I’m still living in limbo—and I’ve been trying to learn to love it. Because I can either think of myself as a homeless, jobless, drifter—or I can embrace the freedom of an unsettled lifestyle.

I can revel in the fact that I have no job to dash off to in the morning, no more carpool, and no more papers to grade. Instead, I have had more hours than I can count in trains and planes, hiking in gorgeous mountains, lounging in piazzas, seeing amazing art exhibitions, eating croissants, and sipping Scotch.

But I also can’t help thinking about one of my favorite Deborah Levy quotes (there are many), from The Cost of Living:

“Freedom is never free. Anyone who has struggled to be free knows how much it costs.”

Opting Out

When things feel uncertain and I feel anxious about how unsettled my life remains, it’s helpful to remember why I left in the first place. I was burnt out and sick with an autoimmune disorder. My life was not sustainable. I simply had to jump off the train I was on—which was really the same train just about everyone is on (and why so many people are getting burnt out and developing life-altering diseases and syndromes). This is how

Leyla Kazim

, interviewed in

Kirsten Powers

’s wonderful newsletter describes the train:

You work hard, you find a partner, you get married, you buy a property, you have a family, and you continue. And then as you progress through adulthood, your wants and needs increase. And so you are constantly trying to progress up the ladder to earn more, get promoted in order to be able to sustain this life.

Such is the capitalist lifestyle most of us live. Call it the “default life.”

My own life was similar, with the added compulsion to “do it all.” I felt like I was on a gerbil wheel, or starring in the myth of Sisyphus:

Get up early, get ready for work, drive daughter to school, fight traffic driving across the city to campus, go sit in my little office and answer emails, attend a demoralizing meeting or two, cram for class, teach class #1, meet with anxious/depressed/worried students during office hours, strategize with chair about how to keep the department running in face of budget cuts, answer more emails, teach class #2, race to pick up daughter from school, weave around potholes through heavy after-school traffic, drive home, make dinner, eat dinner, wash dishes, prep for classes and/or grade some papers, collapse on the couch and watch an hour of mindless television, go to bed, wake up at 2 am, makes lists in my head of all the things I need to do, stare into the darkness and wonder if I’ll ever sleep again, drift off finally about 4, wake up to the alarm at 6:00, hit snooze . . . and it all begins again.

This would have been a pretty ordinary day. But it kept getting harder, particularly at work. My university was cutting back on just about every little thing that made my job as a professor (barely) manageable. It was all a game of figuring out how to do more and more and more with the ever-dwindling little that was left. The final straw was the provost telling me I would never get support for my research and writing, let alone a raise, while a new hire straight out of grad school was making more money than I was and given course reductions to support her research.

I’m not the only one chucking the academic life, even giving up tenure. My grad school friend Rebecca Saulsbury has recently done it, and a bunch of people on Substack have written about leaving and why they did, like

Joshua Doležal

,

Dr Jessica Taylor

,

Hannah Voss

,

Anne Helen Petersen

, and

Anna Meier

.

I have no regrets. In fact, just recounting all of this has made me feel nothing but relief for having left it all behind. But leaving one life usually entails beginning another. That has been harder to figure out.

What Came Next?

Rather than leap into buying a house in French countryside, which I had been fantasizing about, I decided to travel. I stayed in various places in France, Sicily, Germany, England, and Scotland, looking for a place that could feel like home. I found that in Scotland. As a German woman in Sicily told me recently, “There are no words for it. You just feel it. Like falling in love with a person.”

I have too many gorgeous pictures of Scotland to choose from. This one was taken on a hike near Loch Ness. I just noticed the little rainbow forming in the distance.

Actually making a home in the UK has been more difficult. As I shared last year, my attempt to get a global talent visa as a writer failed—because I write nonfiction, instead of fiction or poetry, which is utter nonsense.

My Plan B was to apply to Masters programs in creative writing in the UK. I would become a student again, learn how to write a novel, and have a 3-year visa to live in Scotland. I applied to a variety of programs and was accepted at all of them, including the prestigious University of East Anglia course in Prose Fiction, which was heartening. However, the fees for international students are high.

So I’m still trying to decide what to do. If I don’t take the student route, that would mean at least another year, if not many years, of continuing to move around Europe and live out of my suitcase, of renting overpriced apartments on a short-term basis.

It means that when people ask me, “Where do you live?” I don’t have an easy answer. Sometimes, when I explain my situation, they think it’s really cool. Other times they don’t seem to know what to make of it—or me. Who would choose such a chaotic life?

What’s My Life Like Now?

Not having a home has its advantages. So does moving around. I never have to do repairs, and I rarely have to clean because I don’t stay long enough to make too much of a mess. Those weekends of deep cleaning an entire 3000-square-foot house are long gone. Hallelujah!

I also don’t have a car, which means no trips to the dealer for oil changes, no car washes, and no exorbitant car insurance or repair bills. I’ve been able to get around fairly easily in Europe, where public transportation is a priority. And I walk a hell of a lot more than I ever did in car-dependent America.

I also don’t have a closet full of clothes. I live out of my suitcase but change my wardrobe out as needed with used clothing that I buy in charity shops. They are everywhere in the UK! It really is an ingenious model that other countries should adopt. There are shops selling donated clothing, books, and housewares in just about every community. The proceeds go to support cancer research, the homeless, and pets who need vets, among many other charities.

When I no longer need an item of clothing, I donate it. Really I’m just renting the clothes I wear, paying perhaps 6 pounds for the use of a sweater for a few months. It’s so much better than stocking my closet full of things that I hardly ever wear.

I follow the same process for books. I buy them mostly used and donate them when I’m done. I’m also reading so much more than when I was teaching and doing research full-time.

A few of the books I’ve picked up on my travels.

Something I miss is a well-stocked kitchen. I can’t buy nice olive oil, herbs, and spices every time I move. So I’ve learned how to make simple dishes with a minimum of ingredients. (If you have any good, simple recipes, send them my way!) The most important thing is not to rely on processed foods or eating out, a habit I sometimes fall into.

I also miss getting together with girlfriends. I feel envious when I see two, three, or four friends hanging out and gabbing at a café, while I’m on a date with my computer or a book. Although I’ve met some wonderful new people, who have widened my horizons considerably, they are spread out around Europe.

What’s Next?

I’m in limbo again—and trying to embrace it. I’m working on Plan C, looking into UK PhD programs in creative writing to see if I might be able to get some funding to work one-on-one with a tutor to write my novel. (Graduate programs are structured much differently in the UK, so it’s been a bit of a learning curve to figure them out.)

That would give me time to establish myself in a new home. If not, I’ll need to start looking elsewhere again. I dread going back to the drawing board completely, but I may have to.

A year ago, when that reminder popped up, I decided that I wanted to devote myself to writing. I’ve wavered from that idea some as I’ve spent long periods of time alone doing that. Writing is a very solitary endeavor, so now I’m working on getting involved in some temporary volunteering or other activities that will give me more social contact—in real life.

My life is still a puzzle, with a few pieces tentatively in place. I hope that more pieces will fit soon. But I’m also learning to accept—and appreciate—where I’m at. I don’t want to rush into a new life or plunk down a lot of money on a house until I’ve conducted enough tiny experiments to know whether I’ll be happy in somewhere long-term. And I actually enjoy having so few responsibilities—and so little stuff!—after years of overwhelm.

So that’s roughly where I’m at these days. I’d love to know where YOU are at, too. Are you happy with things as they are in your life? Are you considering making big or little changes? Do you have a plan or dreams you are hoping to fulfill? Are you struggling to imagine how things could be different? Is anything holding you back? What questions do you have for me and other readers about leaving academia, moving to Europe, or anything else?

Until next time,

Anne

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