Two weeks ago, I quit my job. It wasn’t a bad job, not by most metrics. It ticked the boxes a job is supposed to tick: good pay. Health insurance. Remote work. Time off. Nice coworkers. I worked as our org's only design engineer and maintainer of our design system. My job was to build components, to polish the final product that went out into the world, and to bridge gaps between design and engineering. During my time, I doubled surface coverage of our components, chipped away at bugs, and fixed accessibility issues. I published documentation. I administered twice-yearly surveys which indicated high satisfaction from the team—up significantly compared to when I began. I was doing good work. And yet, work was rendering me increasingly miserable. I questioned myself. Why am I here? Does any of this work actually matter? And if I stop caring about the quality of my work... will anyone notice? (An uncomfortable thought.) I knew I was tired, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to quit. I took a…
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