5. Three Months And No Plan

The countdown had begun.

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5. Three Months And No Plan

When I handed in my notice, I told myself — and everyone else — that this was the start of something.

But if I’m honest, I had no idea what that something was.

There was relief, definitely. 

A weight lifted the moment the resignation became real. 

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I’d taken control of the direction of my life instead of just following momentum.

But relief and clarity aren’t the same thing.

I was on a three-month countdown. 

Ninety days until I walked out of corporate life. Ninety days until the routine, the commute, the meetings and late nights would no longer define my weeks.

And beyond that?

Blank space.

I booked a one-way ticket to Bangkok. 

It sounded bold when I said it out loud. It sounded decisive. 

People reacted the way you’d expect — excitement, curiosity, the occasional “I wish I could do that.”

But underneath the surface, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to travel.

It was just the only idea that felt remotely possible.

I knew I couldn’t jump straight into another job. 

That would defeat the point. 

And I didn’t know what career pivot I wanted, if any. 

So travelling became the placeholder. 

The bridge between what I was leaving and whatever might come next.

I was fortunate in one sense. 

I had some money behind me. I’d been paying into a company share scheme for a few years, and as I exited, that paid out. 

Ironically, if I’d stayed another year and a half, it could have benefited me far more financially.

That thought crossed my mind more than once.

Was I walking away too early? Was I sacrificing long-term financial gain for short-term uncertainty? 

On paper, staying made sense.

But staying had already stopped feeling right.

Even so, as the weeks ticked by, I wasn’t filled with some romantic vision of backpacking freedom. 

I wasn’t dreaming of beaches and hostels. I wasn’t secretly plotting a location-independent future.

I was just… unsure.

Unsure of what I wanted to do.

Unsure of where I wanted to live.

Unsure whether the life I’d once imagined — climbing the ladder, settling down, buying property, following the accepted sequence — was something I actually wanted, or just something I’d absorbed.

For years, I’d worked towards a version of success that made sense at university. 

You study hard. You get the job. You progress. You build stability. 

That was the framework.

Now, for the first time, I’d stepped outside it.

And standing outside the framework is uncomfortable.

During those final months at work, everything felt slightly surreal. 

I was still showing up, still doing the job properly, still operating within the system — but mentally, I’d already detached. 

There was a quiet countdown running in the background of every meeting.

At the same time, doubt crept in.

What if Bangkok was a mistake?

What if I hated travelling?

What if I came back six months later with nothing but a thinner bank account and no direction?

There was no master plan. 

No five-step roadmap. 

Just a one-way flight and a decision that I couldn’t keep living on autopilot.

That was it.

I hadn’t found a new dream. I’d just walked away from the old one.

And sometimes, that’s all you have at the beginning — not a clear destination, but the willingness to step into the unknown anyway.

The clock was ticking.

Three months.

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