Get fired. Trust me. It’s good for you.

A month ago I got fired from an executive leadership position.

And honestly, it may have been the healthiest thing that’s happened to me in years.

At the time, naturally, I thought my life was over. Because that’s what we do. We catastrophize professionally. You spend enough time answering urgent calls on your phone and responding to emails at 11:14 PM and eventually your brain convinces you that if you stop moving for even a moment, civilization collapses.

Meanwhile civilization continues completely unaffected while you stand in your kitchen eating shredded cheese directly out of the bag at midnight.

Executive leadership is an amazing scam when you think about it. People give you a title, endless responsibility, and access to meetings that should have been emails, and in return your body slowly converts itself into acid reflux.

I had headaches constantly. I slept terribly. My eye twitched for like eight consecutive months. Every phone notification felt like death from a thousand cuts.

Now?

Nothing.

Silence.

I sleep like a Labrador retriever.

I wake up in the morning and my first thought isn’t “what fresh administrative hell awaits me today?” Sometimes my first thought is literally just “huh. Nice weather.”

I spend more time with my daughter now too. Actual time. Not executive parent time where you’re technically in the room but mentally writing a staffing memo while somebody tells you about school.

Turns out kids can tell the difference between “present” and “physically located nearby.”

Who knew.

And the craziest part?

I don’t miss the job.

Not even a little.

I miss the paycheck. I miss having an answer when people asked what I did. “Executive Director” sounds way more impressive than “middle aged guy aggressively power washing his fence on a Wednesday afternoon.”

But the actual job itself?

Absolutely not.

I don’t miss the politics. I don’t miss spending twelve hours solving problems created by people that can barely tie their shoes, never mind think critically. I don’t miss the nonstop performance of pretending every minor issue is either a five alarm fire or an incredible strategic opportunity.

Now my biggest concern is whether I should plant new flowers this weekend.

And honestly? That feels significantly more aligned with human biology.

I’ve become weirdly domestic. I walk the dog. I drink coffee outside. I wander around Lowe’s like an aging suburban cryptid. Yesterday I spent twenty minutes researching different nozzle attachments for the garden hose.

A few weeks ago I was negotiating contracts and presenting operational metrics.

Now I’m emotionally invested in mulch.

Life comes at you fast. Then suddenly not fast at all. Which, it turns out, is actually pretty nice.

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Bimql chhetry.

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