“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”
— Seneca
It’s been 12 years since I was laid off from my corporate job. With so many layoffs happening right now, I thought it would be helpful to talk about an important part of navigating that phase of my life + career.
When I was laid off, there was nothing to commemorate an ending to that chapter.
No final goodbye party. Not even a quiet handshake in the hallway.
One day I was there – coming off my best performing quarter in over 4 years. The next, I was gone. Deleted from the company roster. Email account deactivated. Like I had never been there at all.
It wasn’t necessarily a bitter exit. My entire team was let go and we were offered a generous severance package.
I once loved being a software sales executive, but I couldn’t become who I truly wanted to be without releasing who I had been.
I tried my best to ignore the voices who called me reckless for walking away from a proven career path, especially when I had other offers coming in.
But even clarity on what you’re moving towards doesn’t make you immune to the naysayers and the ache of a silent ending.
In the months that followed, I found myself stuck, replaying old conversations. Mentally defending my decision to friends and former colleagues. Maybe even a bit of regret for staying on that path as long as I did.
There was an uneasiness I couldn’t name. A sense that I had left something behind, but hadn’t fully let go.
Eventually, I understood what was happening: I hadn’t just left a job, I’d left a version of myself behind.
And I never got to say goodbye.
So I did something I felt called to do: I created a unique space for my former self to dissolve and my emerging self to breathe.
My wife and I had just received an offer we couldn’t refuse – a completely refurbished Winnebago motorhome that Jill’s dad and step-mom wanted us to have.
It was perfect timing!
Once we had the RV in our driveway, we began planning a month-long road trip as a ritual to mark the end of a chapter and a beginning to something new.
The first night of our adventure – camping along the Metolius River
We decided to spend the month of August camping around Oregon.
First stop – a few days parked along the Metolius River. Then, some time at Crater Lake National Park. And finally, a slow and meandering trip up the Oregon Coast from the California-Oregon border to the northern coastal town of Manzanita.
Happy to be at Crater Lake!
Along the way, the grip finally loosened. The past finally let go of me.
We all carry chapters that ended without ceremony. Relationships that fade out. Jobs we choose to walk away from or employers that break up with us. Friendships that evaporate. Dreams that dissolve quietly when no one’s looking.
And most of the time, we don’t mark those endings. We don’t create a space to say goodbye.
We just move on. Or try to.
But unmarked endings don’t disappear. They fester. They show up as guilt you can’t quite explain. As decisions you keep second-guessing. As a version of you who won’t stop knocking at the door, asking to be remembered.
We’re not built for that kind of silence. Endings need to be marked. Celebrated even. Otherwise, they bleed into everything that comes next.
Enjoying our nightly ritual somewhere along the Oregon Coast
You can do this too.
Maybe it’s a career. An identity. A former version of you – the overachiever, the people-pleaser, the perfectionist who turned joy into a checklist.
What would it feel like to say: “Thank you. But it’s time to start something new. Thank you for getting me this far. I couldn’t have done it without you. Now I want my fullness. You can rest now.”
You don’t need an audience. You don’t need closure from anyone else. You can hold the ceremony on your own, or with a loved one, as I did.
Cape Lookout State Park – near the end of our journey
It doesn’t need to be a month-long trip. Just a candle. A letter. And a moment of witnessing will do.
Because grief needs form. And endings need shape.
Not just for the sake of the past, but also for the sake of your future.
Jill and Maggie taking in the ocean air
Let it end. Say your goodbyes.
So you can begin again.
Live bravely,
Michael
P.S. Please consider passing this along to someone who is navigating a layoff, career change, or any other form of uncertainty/loss/transition.
