WE'RE GEN X. WE'RE NOT CAPABLE OF QUIET QUITTING.

Long before anyone coined the term "quiet quitting," we Gen Xers were fleeing our jive jobs for chump change.

Years ago, I took a live storytelling classes with the wonderful and funny author/storyteller/writer, Margot Leitman. In class, I recounted many embarrassing workplace encounters and Margot said, “Hilary, you’ve had more jobs than anyone I’ve ever met.” I thought about this exchange the other day after reading an article in the New Yorker about quiet quitting. ICYMI, here’s an excerpt: The whirlwind surrounding “quiet quitting” first stirred in July when Zaid Khan, a twentysomething engineer, posted a TikTok of himself talking over a montage of urban scenes: waiting for the subway, looking up at leaves on a tree-lined street. “I recently learned about this term called quiet quitting, where you’re not outright quitting your job but you’re quitting the idea of going above and beyond,” Khan says. “You’re still performing your duties, but you’re no longer subscribing to the hustle-culture mentality that work has to be your life. The reality is it’s not. And your worth as a person is not defined by your labor.”

The article’s author identifies as a Millennial and declares that EVERY previous generation has experienced career disillusionment. She then proceeds to analyze the workforce habits of Millennials, Boomers, and Gen Z. Notice anyone missing? I sure did. There’s absolutely no mention of Generation X—the 65.2 million of us born between 1965 and 1980. WTF? We’re the OG quitters, but we don’t go quietly.

Plagued with artistic leanings, my Gen X friends and I were cautioned by our not-so Silent Generation parents that pursuing our art would lead to a life of destitution. In response, we cultivated skills and graduated college with dreams of getting paid for “artist adjacent” jobs like copywriters, teachers, marketing execs, graphic designers, and industrial designers. The recession of the early 90s derailed those plans. No corporate jobs for us. My BA in Advertising proved to be as enticing to potential employers as canned clams.

Unable to get hired as a copywriter post-college, I juggled a few part-time jobs—bakery manager, ad sales office assistant, cotton schmatta salesperson, and temporary worker. I shared an apartment with three other roommates and spent my hard earned paychecks on rent, cigarettes, cocktails, and Mission-style burritos. What can I say? I was in my early twenties and these were my priorities.

I figured my tendency to quit job after job was informed by unattainable creative aspirations. And while that was probably a contributing factor, it turns out that growing up in a broken home as a latchkey kid likely led to my unending search for job satisfaction. Most of us Gen Xers were “parentified” as kids, which means we parented ourselves and our mothers and fathers while the world descended into chaos around us. Here’s a quick recap the Gen X experience from the site MyBusiness.com:

• Gen X grew up against an international background of the Cold War, Watergate, corporate greed, AIDS, Live Aid, the Dot Com Boom and Bust of the '90s, nuclear disasters, Space Shuttle Challenger disaster, fall of the Berlin Wall, the Global Financial Crisis and wars including Bosnia, Afghanistan, and Iraq. Some have known war firsthand, while others protested those wars.

• Not only have they grown up in a largely ‘hands-off’ culture without much adult presence, their parents are also the most divorced generation in our history. 

• Experienced being laid off, restructured, outsourced, reorganized and relocated possibly more than any other generation, acquiring many necessary skill sets for adaptability.

• They’ve created innovative startups with the explicit aim of making the world a better place.

• Gen Xs currently fall into the age range of roughly 40 to mid-50s and are entering either the ‘opportunity decade’ or a mid-life crisis. Whichever it is, many are soul searching, seeking greater meaning in their lives and considering significant changes to their career direction and lifestyle.

The psychologist, Dr. Nicole Pera started a thread on Twitter about “parentified adults,” and it may be a cliche to say this, but I felt seen. “Adults who’ve been parentified have been conditioned (since childhood) to ignore how they feel. And to prioritize the needs of others. They tend to find adult relationships where they: try to fix, rescue, or enable. Just as they did as children. They struggle to understand what they actually feel, what they actually think, and what they actually need. Many fill this void with constant “busyness”— always on call for other people’s crisis or issues. This feeds their familiar childhood need to feel wanted. The most important step in healing is learning to set boundaries.” Alas, this is the psychological make-up of many Gen Xers. We had to keep the ship upright without a captain. Is it any wonder we grew up to be self-sufficient, results-oriented, and hard-working people in constant search of work/life balance?

Which brings me back to that New Yorker article. How did Gen X get left out of this conversation? We’re the generation that birthed Gen Zers and quit our unfulfilling jobs for decades. I think the hardest part about reaching middle-age is realizing that one can be so easily rendered irrelevant. I’m aware that we live in an agist society, but in an article about a shift in current workplace dynamics, where Gen Xers hold the lion share of upper management positions, this oversight seems particularly egregious.

So here’s my Gen X take on quiet quitting; I could never do it. Based on the psychological profile detailed above, I’m too invested in “other people’s crisis” and solving problems to ever be able to do the bare minimum at work. I suspect my Gen X peers feel the same. We’d rather quit and exit the building than phone it in. I’m not criticizing the quiet quitters, I’m just saying it would make me crazy to simply pass the class. I want an A. When I grew up, competition was encouraged. There were no trophies for everyone. I desperately wanted to win. Winning meant you had the situation under control and when you grow up in an environment that feels chaotic, you’ll do whatever it takes to stabilize the situation.

The first corporate job I secured and quit was with a trade magazine publisher called Miller Freeman. It was a long-term temp assignment and the lofty title for the position was Editorial Assistant. In actuality, I edited nothing. I was a data entry drone, typing woodworking business listings into a database that would eventually be published as a woodworking directory/phone book. If that sounds exceedingly tedious, you’re picking up what I’m laying down. Still I worked hard and searched for something better. My boss, let’s call him Evan, was a smug upstart with a blond mullet and real Lundbergh energy. I fantasized about quitting and rehearsed my exit line in my head; “Hey, Boss? Got a minute? I quit.” A few months later, I applied for and landed a full-time gig within the company working for a trade show group that put on software development expos (think Mac World, but way nerdier). According to my new boss, one of the reasons they hired me was because I’d listed “salsa dancing” as a hobby on my resume. (Take note, job seekers!) Finally, I’d found my people . . . at least for a while. The job and my coworkers were great fun. We traveled, drank too much, and worked hard. The hours were long and the pay wasn’t great, but I was happy to have a paycheck, work friends, health benefits, and a raison d’etre.

Over time, I grew, well, disillusioned to borrow a word from the New Yorker article. Why? Because I was a frustrated writer working a stressful non-writing job for chump change. Of course, I wasn’t self-aware enough at the time to understand the cause of my ennui. I just knew I wasn’t happy doing what I was doing anymore. I needed to shake things up and make my mark. I told my boss that I was quitting and moving to LA to start a tour company where I’d drive people around Hollywood in a vintage car. Genius idea, right? HA. I give my youthful self props for high hopes and not worrying about troublesome details like the cost of liability insurance for this type of venture, or what would happen if I ever got into a car accident with a bunch of tourists in tow. That’s what disclaimers are for! My boss urged me to stay and said, “Hilary, come on. That will never happen.” In that moment, all I wanted to do was prove him wrong.

Me and My Fairlane

So I purchased a sea foam green 1965 Ford Fairlane as soon as I got to LA. The Fairlane was like a retired show dog—very pretty and best kept in the shade for passerbys to admire. On the road, she smoked and overheated and often left me stranded roadside. I pivoted the tour company idea to an online newsletter with membership benefits. I’d write up cool stuff to do in LA and subscribers could get discounts at various establishments. I also recruited my friends to contribute. I tried to live the dream, I just wasn’t very good at figuring out how to make a living doing it.

In the years that followed, I secured, thrived at, and quit several non-writing jobs in an attempt to figure out what would make me happy. I was too scared to pursue a writing career, terrified to fail. Everyone fears failure of course, but for those of us who grew up watching our parents struggle, it’s even more daunting. Eventually, I took the leap and left my steady paycheck behind, largely because I was sick of my discontent and the ripple effect it had on other aspects of my life. And now, after a half-century on the planet, I’m finally getting paid to write. I don’t make nearly as much money as I used to working for The Man, but I love what I do. Better late than never.

I saw a video the other day of Jim Carrey giving a commencement speech. He talked about how his dad dreamed of being a comedian, but didn’t think it was possible. Instead he got a “safe job” as accountant and later lost that job. That taught Carrey a valuable lesson: “You can fail at what you don’t want, so you might as well take a chance at doing what you love.” Hear, Hear. I understand that quiet quitting is a way to earn money and enjoy life in your off hours. But work is still at least eight hours of your day, five days a week, and that feels like a lot of time to invest in something you care nothing about if you ask me. Then again, I’m a parentified adult desperately trying to “set boundaries.” So, there’s that.