I Gave Up My High-Profile NYC Job And Moved Home To Serve Ramen. It Changed My Life.

“It’s $2.13 an hour plus tips. $7 an hour when you’re working the bar. Plus, you don’t have to fold napkins and silverware. The job’s yours, if you want it.” 

I nodded quickly.

“Yes, I do,” I said, rising from my seat. The woman interviewing me smiled crookedly, told me to wear all black, and said I could start on Tuesday.

It wasn’t the job of my dreams. I had just turned 27, gone through a devastating breakup, was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and moved from my one-bedroom apartment in New York City to my grandfather’s basement in a town 10 miles south of Atlanta. I’d quit my high-profile nonprofit job because I couldn’t keep up with the stress and traded it in to serve ramen in a shopping mall.

I had a master’s degree, years of experience, and still couldn’t find anything else. Like the “zillennials” I kept reading about online, I was both overqualified and underemployed. I was a walking LinkedIn paradox in an apron and non-slip shoes. 

I told myself it was temporary. I wasn’t planning on selling noodles forever.

I walked into the ramen shop already carrying a diagnosis: bipolar II disorder, with psychotic features. I was stable, medicated, and seeing a psychiatrist monthly, but I knew how fragile that stability could be. 

I never told anyone outside of my close friends and family about my disorder. Everyone saw the polished, high-achieving version of me — not the one who sometimes couldn’t sleep for days, or thought the news anchor was speaking directly to me and could see into the future. 

In my old position, I spent countless hours hovered over my keyboard building out campaigns, analyzing metrics, and hopping on zoom calls. Everything was urgent. I didn’t feel a sense of peace. I spent most of my time panicking. 

At the ramen shop, all I had to do was take orders, carry hot bowls of ramen, smile at customers and wipe tables. It was the first time in years I’d felt my body working in sync with my mind. Granted, I wasn’t using my master’s degree, but I was being active and interacting with people, and I finally felt good. 

For a while, I let myself believe that this feeling of stability would last. However, when you have bipolar disorder, feeling good isn’t always a comfort. Sometimes it’s a warning sign.