Why My Job Isn’t My Identity
I recently walked away from my stable job without a safety net or fallback plan. It was a big foolhardy step into the unknown. Echoing in my mind was a tiny voice panicking from this rebellion from everything I've been raised around success and stability. Why would I commit the equivalent of career suicide? What could I gain from this?
I'm impulsive and hopeful, but not crazy or thoughtless. I walked away from a job that was turning me into a joyless shadow– constantly irritable due to being caught in a perpetual whirlwind of stress, pointless meetings, and stifling red tape. I don't regret leaving. At least, not yet.
Yet, the panic in my mind's tiny voice stirs up a question – why was I having such a strong reaction to losing my job? I think the answer lies in The way Americans equate identity with their job and my own Asian-American upbringing.
Identity Crisis Factor #1: The American Metric of Success
I think America is too fixated on job titles and wealth. 'What do you do?' is often the first question when meeting someone new, setting the stage for a slew of judgement about the other party's earnings, company prestige, and job responsibilities. I don't think it's a coincidence that our identities are so intricately tied to our occupations. Ever since I was young, I remember hearing the phrase 'hard work equals success' parroted and hammered into me. For myself and many Americans, committing fully to a job has been cemented into our identity.
Think about being addicted to work. In my mind, it means fielding emails and answering calls around the clock, constantly having my thoughts clouded with work-related thoughts, and the willingness to sacrifice key personal moments – friend's marriages, celebrations, family gatherings – for professional advancement. Think: Is this mindset a professional strength or an obsessive flaw?
In the past, addiction and over-commitment to work were deep flaws of mine. As a result, my measure of success was heavily based on two factors: job titles and, by extension, income. These were the metrics I unconsciously used to determine how 'valuable' it was to continue engaging with someone new. My old evaluation method is hugely biased and incredibly unfair. It was a one-dimensional method focused solely on perceived professional status.
It was my quick and dirty route to identify people who resonate with my aspirations and who I want to include in my professional circle. Hearing esteemed job titles like 'Director' or 'Head of XYZ' commanded respect and fueled the desire to connect professionally. But I've realized that there's so much more to people.
Judging based on professional achievement completely disregards so much else that defines a person – their interests, hobbies, family, beliefs, and passions. I know people who work in finance with their Radio show, programmers living in the mountains of Colorado, and product managers on a Semipro e-sport team. But when you ask about their job and instantly disregard them, that fascinating part of their person never gets the chance to come to light. This judgment method creates many missed opportunities for connecting with like-minded people beyond just jobs.
Looking back, I was miserable being 'successful.' Yes, I flaunted a Practice Lead title, made more money than ever, and worked in the glitzy consulting realm. To outsiders, my life was enviable; I was in a position to connect easily with others. But behind the veil of success, I was crumbling under stress, overwhelming expectations, and crippling imposter syndrome. My work, building bank workflows and steering a fintech team, felt far from impactful or exciting. Waking up each morning was a battle against existential dread, with clients constantly battering at the door.
So yes, to the American public, I was 'successful.' Yet, I was far from happy or fulfilled. This one-dimensional evaluation of success left me grappling with the paradox of feeling successful and unhappy simultaneously.
But leaving my job meant that a core part of my identity got stripped away. How in the world do I answer, "What do you do?" So much of how I defined myself stemmed from my job – my title and responsibilities. Now that I've willingly walked away from that, I find great discomfort in not having a good response.
Identity Crisis Factor #2: My Upbringing: The Asian Treadmill
When evaluating my happiness, it's essential to go back in time to understand why I ended up where I am and why I felt the way I did. Raised within a stereotypical Chinese-American family, my upbringing was steeped in disciplined pursuits and academic rigor, complete with early piano lessons and the hovering presence of tiger parents. It's almost like there was a tiger parent handbook that all my friends had – top grades were non-negotiable, just like the strict punishments when academic marks weren't met. My parents vigorously ensured I knew the importance of attending a good school (sorry, Mom, I never made it into Harvard) and getting a good job.
My parent's expectations culminate into something I call the 'Asian Treadmill' because it's a blueprint for success that I know so many first-generation Asian-Americans are familiar with. This familiar blueprint, not exclusive to the Asian-American community, was our parents' interpretation of the American Dream.
The Asian Treadmill
1. Get good grades.
2. Go to a good college.
3. Get a good job.
4. Get married.
5. ???
The overwhelming popularity of The Asian Treadmill exists because it's the most reliable way to a comfortable life. Many of our parents were coming to the US for better opportunities, safety, and a better quality of life they never could've gotten back in the motherland. Some of our immigrant parents made it – they achieved the American dream. Others didn't, but they knew the steps their kids must take to make it.
Education was the starting line. Knowledge can never be taken away. Once you learn and internalize something, it's yours forever. We expanded our horizons and opportunities with each new piece of knowledge we learned, giving us more insight, options, and possibilities.
Earning a bachelor's degree and a job meant lifelong security for the child. It's why parents pushed the 'Asian Treadmill' so fervently, not because they want to crush their children's childhood with math problems, but because this blueprint was the most reliable means of ensuring their children have a comfortable life – justifying the stringent 'Asian Treadmill' training routine. But notice that somewhere between getting a job and getting married is a lot of implied time and uncertainty.
Somewhere between the steps of landing a good job and getting married, the treadmill blurs into a massive gray area. The metrics of happiness and personal fulfillment are never considered.
But somewhere between the steps of landing a good job and getting married, the treadmill blurs into a massive gray area. Notice how the metrics of happiness and personal fulfillment are never considered. The only metric for success is wealth. I think this is why so many participants in the Asian Treadmill have an insatiable desire, whether they realize it or not, to make more money since it's the only success metric they know.
But there's more to life than just money. Having lots of wealth definitely makes life easier. I could free up time because I could literally throw money at problems to make them disappear. Cleaning, laundry, and transportation became things I never had to think about – I had people for that. But that just resulted in more time for me to… play games? Obsess over hobbies? Work?
It reached a point where I looked at myself and realized I was living to work and not working to live. I immersed myself in a work-centric existence, chasing money and comfort, only to discover that my life was meaningless beyond work. 'Success' wasn't bringing me happiness.
But stepping away from my job meant more than losing my identity – it also meant coming to terms with the fact that I was stepping away from being 'successful.' Yes, my definition of success is skewed, but it doesn't change the fact that it's been the definition I've been living with for decades. More importantly, it also meant that I would be stepping away from a traditionally successful job for my parents as well. Since family is such a core aspect of my culture, the stereotypical act of disappointing my parents would be a genuine issue I had to come to terms with too – especially since they may never understand why I chose to do this.
Stepping Off the Treadmill Again
Believe it or not, this is not my first time leaving my job like this. Previously, a nearly three-year sabbatical allowed me to gather some life-altering insights:
My first time stepping off the Asian Treadmill taught me some core wants:
1) A job will never be my defining attribute.
2) I want to work for myself since 100% of my efforts benefit me.
3) My happiness is not linked to my income.
But it all went out the window when a crisis resulted in me hopping back on the Asian Treadmill – my dog was diagnosed with penis cancer, and returning to my old consulting job was the immediate solution. The good news is that my dog made a full recovery six months later. But surprisingly, three years on, I found myself still shackled to the same job. The question was – how?
I ended up running through the same gauntlet of thoughts and troubles again, albeit slightly differently, since COVID fundamentally changed the nature of consulting. I had a suite of new issues to tackle – remote work, new software, and managing a team for the first time. I could make a difference – I could define how my company's new flagship software will be implemented in the future. Forever. I could build a legacy.
It's been weeks since I left. When I reflect upon the opportunity, everything was promised – albeit two years too late. I could've defined how things would be done, but I don't believe I was positioned to succeed. This might sound like an excuse – as if I'm running away because I couldn't do something. Maybe that's true. I'm still grappling with that. But the facts were that my parent company's rules were undermining my efforts in a big way. My mindset towards growth and solutions fundamentally differed from the bank's approach.
My preferred way of working is assuming I can do anything unless told otherwise. My parent company's approach is that employees can do nothing without permission. I ran into barriers around this difference in working style – but my breaking point was when something I had been working on for over a month was torpedoed overnight with no recourse. No option to salvage – that was the final nail in the coffin.
Looking back, I should've expected something like that to happen. Financial services are accountable for massive regulations around data privacy and security. I was using an unapproved, third-party software to facilitate my new initiative. So when it began to gain significant traction, it was axed in the cleanest, most definite way possible. It's the safe, conservative option that makes sense. Now that I've recognized the risk and the solutions, it will weigh heavily on my decision-making process in the future – but it still felt horrible when it happened. I'm still upset about how a faceless exec could axe my team's month-long initiative without warning. It became clear that incompatibilities were not reconcilable, so I chose to leave.
This time, instead of running from my problems and using the shining veneer of travel to 'find my meaning,' I want to document my journey towards happiness and the steps taken for others like me.
My Next Steps
I'm somebody with a LOT of hobbies. I get sucked into things quickly and become obsessive. It's probably unhealthy, but that same driver lets me push harder, longer, and more consistently than most people I know when it grips me.
I want to harness this obsessive energy and channel it into something productive. I want to learn a subset of skills that interest me, which (hopefully) also provide a means for me to live off. I don't need much money to be happy, nor am I measuring my success through my income. I admit shrugging off the golden handcuffs may not be easy, but it's something that I realize I have to do.
My problem right now is focus. I have so many interests (music production, archery, video games, podcasts, photography, coffee, cooking…) that there's no feasible way for me to tackle all of them consistently, daily. I want to identify a bare minimum (2-3) obsessions I chip away at daily. After all, proper learning requires regular interaction and consolidation rather than the last-minute cramming sessions I did as a student.
I must decide which subset of hobbies and skills to pursue. And I must build a schedule that best positions me so I can succeed. I must commit to spending time, even if it's just 10 minutes, each day on my obsessions.
Who am I now?
I'll be honest – I don't know. I can't call myself a consultant anymore because I'm no longer one. I can't call myself unemployed because I'm not looking for another job. Nor do I feel like I'm unemployed – I'm working on myself. Maybe my identity is something akin to retired. Maybe I'm a thinker. Perhaps I'm an entrepreneur with no idea. Ultimately, I don't know right now, but that's okay because I'm figuring it out