This time last year I was like all other denizens of Wall Street. Lamenting our fate, griping about our bonus (I know I know, entitled bastards), relieved our respective firms survived the turmoil and trying to explain to friends and family the difference between a CDO and a CDS. (no grandma it really has nothing to do with CDs and rap music)
While last year was about grey suits, pink shirts, depression and Bloomberg screens, this year aint. I have been sitting on my balcony wearing a t-shirt, sipping some ketepa tea and drafting my resignation letter all morning. Did I mention it is 80 degrees with loads of sunshine? In January! I made the call to my boss and am following it up with a formal emailed resignation. I’ve got my two guys, one 35 , one 19 months, backing me up and there’s not a doubt in my mind that I’ll enjoy life in Kenya. Really. No, I’m not nervous. Ehm…seriously. I’m just shaking because of…oh whatever.
This here is my journal , not sure if anyone will read it, but hey, if you’ve got a few minutes to waste every day, you can join me as I try to navigate a new life, new town, new continent without any analysts push around and learn how to say diapers in Swahili (stat! that Costco stash of Huggies is running out).