I’ve been thinking about rock bottom lately.
Not because I’m there. Actually, kind of the opposite.
I think we’ve given rock bottom entirely too much authority.
We love a good rock-bottom story. The relationship became unbearable, so she finally kicked him out. She couldn't stand her boss anymore, so she finally quit. Wine had quietly become the answer to an alarming number of life's minor irritations, so she finally took a break. Everything fell apart—and then everything changed.
There’s something satisfying about that kind of story. The decision makes sense. Nobody needs an explanation.
Of course you changed your life.
Look how bad it got.
But what if it isn’t that bad?
What if nothing is on fire?
What if the job is fine, the relationship is fine, the business is fine, the life you built is actually pretty damn fine—and you simply don’t want it anymore?
I think that might require a different kind of courage.
Because when there’s no catastrophe making the decision for you, you have to make it yourself.
And for an embarrassingly long time, I thought I needed evidence.
A legitimate reason. Something I could point to and say, See? This is why.
For a long time, if something wasn't working, my first question wasn't whether I still wanted it. It was how to fix it.
Work harder. Try another approach. Give it more time. Fix the problem.
A crisis? Fantastic. Finally, something I know what to do with.
Rework the plan. Try again. Solve it. Be the hero.
I am very good at making things work.
It took me longer to understand that being capable of making something work is not the same thing as wanting it to remain part of my life.
Those are two entirely different questions.
And maybe that’s why rock bottom can be strangely appealing.
It removes the question.
Once something becomes sufficiently painful, dysfunctional, unhealthy, or impossible, you don’t have to wrestle quite as much with whether you’re allowed to leave.
Life hands you the permission slip.
But waiting for life to become unbearable before you permit yourself to change it is a pretty expensive way to live.
Because maybe the better question isn't can I keep doing this? Or even, should I?
It is: At what fucking cost?
What if noticing is simply enough?
This doesn't fit anymore.
I don't want to keep doing this.
I changed my mind.
There’s a part of me that still wants to follow each of those sentences with a beautifully reasoned explanation. Preferably with supporting documentation and perhaps a small Excel workbook. Because apparently even my existential crises require adequate internal controls.
But I’m beginning to understand that there are decisions in life that don’t become more valid simply because I can build a better case for them.
Sometimes you know before you can explain what you know.
Sometimes the discomfort isn’t evidence that something is terribly wrong. It’s simply information.
And sometimes you don’t need to keep digging until you hit rock bottom.
You can just put down the shovel.
And for God's sake, don't waste another year trying to refill the hole.
That sounds almost embarrassingly obvious as I write it.
But I’m not sure it always is.
We talk a lot about the courage it takes to rebuild after everything falls apart.
I wonder if we talk enough about the courage it takes to change direction before it does.
To leave while there are still good things you could point to.
To stop while you are still capable of continuing.
To admit that something once mattered deeply to you and doesn't anymore.
To recognize that the life you chose five years ago, ten years ago, or even last year does not get permanent jurisdiction over the person you are becoming.
No villain required.
No catastrophe required.
No rock bottom required.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can say is much quieter:
I could keep going.
I just don't want to anymore.
And maybe that's enough.