Sorry, millennials. Quitting is the new hustle

I’m not a trust fund baby, I just don’t want to work like a robot

Three years ago, while on a pre-interview call with the HR manager of an advertising agency, after I had walked her through my CV, she said, “See, I like your work, but we need someone more loyal. How do we know you won’t quit like you’ve done before?”

She was referring to the habitual two to three-month gap I had taken between jobs over the two years that I’d been working after graduating. She seemed put off by my nonchalance in explaining I had needed them to refresh myself before getting into the next job.

I was stunned for 30 seconds. I had heard about loyalty only in a Hum Saath Saath Hain-style family context before. At that moment the only reply I could think of was, “Well, I haven’t found a company worth being loyal to.” I regretted it immediately; I knew it was going to go down that well of ‘lazy Gen Z’s don’t want to work’ LinkedIn articles.

It happened again about a month later, with a jewellery company. They loved me during the interview but later called me to ask if I could sign a separate contract. The company would take cuts from my salary every month for a year and pay me back the amount at the end, to ensure I stayed on that long.

My ever-optimistic parents thought this was a good savings plan, but the company sounded to me like a serial divorcee insisting on a prenup. I politely declined the offer stating I was uncomfortable with a company restricting (more like punishing) me in this manner.

I did manage to get a job after another month of looking, and stayed there for a year before moving on to freelancing for a year after that. Now at almost 26, I’m back to a full-time job and do not regret any of my decisions. I’ve come to realise that this non-linear way of working is not about loyalty to a company or job, but rather about the bigger commitment I have to myself—to not burn out by the time I’m 30.

Getting the job done

When it came to taking up my first full-time job as a content writer at a fast fashion brand, I was 22 and very resentful. I had accepted the job offer out of pure guilt. I had aspirations of a creative career, perhaps in advertising or as a magazine writer. But I also knew it was getting hard for my dad to run our home, including caring for a sick grandparent, on just his income. It felt unfair and disappointing for a creative person to be stuck with a desk job, but I put those feelings aside and started working.

Each month, I would be left with just a fraction of my junior-position salary by the first week itself. It was hard, but I was also proud of myself for being able to help out at home. A year into that job, I was offered another job by a luxury shoe brand. It would mean better pay and a different title in marketing. I was flattered, I had never imagined I would be poached this early in my career. My mind began to race with those lofty motivational quotes about success and grit. I felt like Andy in The Devil Wears Prada, and this was my Chanel-boots moment (IYKYK). Against all wisdom and advice from my parents about staying put, I took the leap for a higher salary.

Well, the oasis of better pay dried up in two months. The environment was great, but the long, long hours and endless spreadsheets started haunting me. By the end of month three, I started getting nightmares about going in to work and was always logged in mentally, even when I was supposed to be relaxing.

The stress aggravated my PCOS and impacted my immune system heavily. I stopped getting my period for three months and kept falling sick every other week. At 23, I was spending my weekends discussing medications and treatments with the doctor, rather than debriefing texts my best friend’s latest Talking Stage had sent her.

Opening up about this to my parents, who were finally a bit relaxed about our finances, was tough. But to my surprise, they told me to focus only on myself and not worry about them. The relief was immense—I realised that better pay or not, I had continued to work there only out of guilt and not because I actually wanted to. I took that as a sign to step back, and quit.

Less money, more life

My friends and I often joke how we are the ones keeping unemployment relevant. One of us is always either quitting or in the middle of their notice period. There’s this detachment around employment among my circles that I wasn’t quite expecting.

Growing up, we’re taught that if you fail a class or grade, your friends are going to go ahead and forget about you. And we carry that all through to adulthood, in work and in life. But when I quit and was unemployed for four months at a stretch, I found my friends would readjust our meeting spots from trendy cafes to free parks and walks around the mall so I could come. They did not care where we hung out, as long as we got to meet.

An ex-colleague, who sits right on the cusp between Gen Z and millennial, once asked me, “Don’t you miss having regular money though?” I thought about it and honestly? I didn’t really. I was still making some money through freelance projects. It was unorganised but I was in control of the kind of work I was doing and when I worked. I realised I wasn’t spending as much money as I used to when I worked full-time out of an office—my travel costs were nil, and I was rotating between old jeans and pajama sets now.

Productivity-wise too, along with my freelance assignments, I was also helping my parents with day-to-day errands like handling bank paperwork adn chopping vegetables for every meal. It was a sweet spot of independence with structure. And my friends loved seeing this side of me, never too busy or too sick to meet them like before.

On the other hand, things with my relatives started to get awkward.

New rules for new priorities

My extended family seemed more worried about my professional prospects than my parents. When the larger family met from time to time, the concerned questions and remarks would inevitably come:

“You had such a good job, why did you leave?”

“What is with you Gen Zs getting tired a few months into jobs? Just focus on one thing na.”

I could see where they were coming from. Their generation was not wrong in sticking to one job forever. The times were different, the economy was different, and it was the smart thing to do then.

But everything’s changed now. Experts say job-hopping in your 20s can actually help you explore, evaluate and understand where you can truly flourish. With the unstable job market, and companies going on lay-off sprees as AI comes for everyone’s jobs, asking for unyielding loyalty from employees and job seekers doesn’t seem fair.

I’ve personally thought of my short career breaks as check-in moments with myself, about how I’m feeling and faring. I can also acknowledge that being able to take these breaks is a privilege. Especially if, like me, you live in an urban city, you don’t have to worry about housing and paying rent, and also have family and friends who support your choices. Plus, networking events, which tend to happen more in the metros, also give one easier access to people in the field of one’s choice.

After speaking with multiple Gen Z friends across industries, I’ve concluded it’s not that we don’t like working. We just prefer to do it at our own pace. Even if there’s a gap in our CV (or our wallet), we no longer see professional lags as personal failures. I’m lucky enough to now be working as a writer like I’d hoped, and that this line is flexible about these gaps. Because these gaps have allowed me to return to full-time work with a fresh perspective, new energy and soft skills, minus the nightmares.