It’s been an incredibly warm February in Detroit, so spring is on my mind and feels tantalizingly close. Just two days ago, I was promoted to VPE (Vice President of Engineering) for the first time. And so, exactly a year later, I find myself reflecting on being myself again.

I’m thinking about how easy it is to get locked into a path. We tell ourselves lies about who we are every day and make choices based on those lies. If your career leads you into a particular niche, or you fall in with a particular group, or you buy a house at a particular time, you can find yourself on a narrow path with no easy turns for miles. Sometimes, an exit ramp you want appears suddenly and nothing short of a sharp, decisive veer will let you take it. In that moment, you need to tell yourself the truth quickly and unflinchingly before it’s gone, no matter how painful it is. And it’s always so challenging.

My first job out of college was as an Instructional Technology Coordinator at a prestigious liberal arts college. It was a cushy job, if low-paying: Two paid days off a month, low expectations, wildly low staff turnover, bucolic pace, and a 30-minute coffee break mid-morning daily. So cozy. I could see myself slowly working my way up the ranks there over a decade, buying a row home in my hometown and walking to work every day.

But within two months, I felt stuck — trapped, even. My boss was a control freak and was image-obsessed. His mantra was that it was better to do nothing than to accept any risk whatsoever. And so we wasted money, horded our technology toys, and avoided interacting with professors. When I took it upon myself to start interviewing professors on how we could enable them with technology (you know, my job description) I was read the riot act and told to cease immediately or be fired. So, I quit.

It wasn’t that simple, of course. I felt like I was losing my mind. Did my boss truly not give a shit about our mission? Was this the end of my career? Did I have any other options? Should I talk to the CIO? My blood pressure is rising just remembering those weeks and phone calls, seeking out advice and venting. I didn’t have the vocabulary or experience to talk about what I was seeing in that workplace, all I had was strong emotions and very clear sense that this was all wrong and I needed to get away from it.

At a time (2007) when the media was blasting a narrative about self-entitled Millennials entering the workforce and expecting to be coddled, how can you not frame yourself that way when you find yourself trapped with a toxic boss? That lie was in my head, trying to become my truth.

Because the gig was in my hometown, I’d moved in with my parents until I had a few months of income saved to find an apartment. This turned out to be lucky since I didn’t even make it those few months. I quit my job and with laser-like focus I pursued Plan B: web programming. I figured my edtech career was dead in the water since I couldn’t explain away quitting what on paper appeared to be a plum job in less than a semester. So, I pivoted to writing my first big web application.

I had a clear goal — build a content management system for the online community I was helping to manage. We had a feature list and clear audience and direction. From November to March, I worked long hours researching and coding and launching that system. And then a friend from that community living in Detroit called and said he’d found the perfect starting web programming gig for me. A month later, I moved 500 miles away to a city where I knew six people.

It was a very fast, sharp exit ramp.

When I came out, I had to break up with my girlfriend who I adored but could not love the way she deserved.

I bought a house in less than 90 days to help my adopted family escape foreclosure.

I have twice more in my career needed to abruptly exit a job that had turned deeply rotten beyond my control in the span of a few months.

I endured the murder of a boy I helped raise and spent years picking up the pieces into which it shattered me. I’ve finally accepted I’ll never find them all.

Each time, getting through the crisis involved peeling away lies I’d been telling myself. Sometimes they were deeply rooted lies about how I felt, what I believed or valued, or who I was. Buddhism teaches that all suffering is ultimately rooted in attachment — to things, ideas, people, places, stories, and emotions. It’s all the stuff you take for granted and just know. Working through those attachments and slowly finding healthy ways to look at them objectively is the only real path to happiness. “Letting go” sounds peaceful and serene but my experience belies that notion. They don’t just give up and fade away.

When you find a lie and try to discard it, it leaves a messy void. It’s jarring, confusing, exciting; sometimes even traumatic. What new story or idea will take its place?

I wish I could say I’ve found all my attachments, or even done nearly enough work on the ones I already know about. But, today I can see and understand far more than I could that week when I rightly chose to throw away my first career and try again. I can name the stories I am rejecting, and the new labels and ideas I choose for myself. And finally, I’ve started to figure out how to tell the new stories that I think need telling instead.

For at least this moment, I like where all the stories are headed.