The Wall Street Journal says employers have a new challenge: not enough people are quitting their jobs.

Also, Veterans Day is coming up.

Let me use those two hooks as a chance to revisit the story of how I quit my job as a lawyer for the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs after just one day.

I love this story now, but living through it was not fun (to put it lightly). I know some people have heard variations of it, but I think it improves as I tell it. So let's set the stage:

In January 2009, I was living in DC. I'd been an attorney, but I'd quit practicing law to chase my dreams. Part of that had to do with writing a couple of books.

But, remember the Great Recession? Bottom line, my bank account was looking grim, and while I was working on more projects, I sometimes fantasized about being the kind of regular person who could get and hold a regular job with a regular paycheck.

Then, I saw an ad for lawyers at the Department of Veterans Affairs HQ, at 810 Vermont Avenue NW in Washington; exactly a 2 mile walk down 16th Street from my apartment.

So I applied ... and I heard nothing back.

Ghosted. I basically forgot about it.

Then, that summer, I was out with some friends and chatted with a woman who was dating one of my buddies. It turned out she worked as a lawyer in the exact office I'd applied to in January. What's more, she told me that they hadn't hired anyone, and now they were about to run the ad again.

I once heard someone say that nothing feels worse than not getting a job you didn't really want anyway. If so, I'm living proof. The fact that they hadn't even bothered to tell me "no" got my Irish up. I reapplied, and I asked my new friend to look out for my resume.

Score one for nepotism. During this second round I applied in July, got an interview in August, a job offer in September, and a start date in October.

Quick clarification in case I haven't made this clear: this was a "real job," with a 6-figure salary and a clear career progression. Hundreds of people applied for it, and now I'd landed it. Even if my Spidey sense was tingling a bit, it's hard to say no to a $110,000-a-year job when you don't actually know how you'll pay your bills in a few months.

Still, when I showed up on Day 1, I quickly realized I had made a big mistake. You have to remember that even if you serving the nation's veterans is a worthy endeavor, the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs is an enormous bureaucracy. And when it comes to bureaucracy, I just can't.

The first thing I had to do on my first and only day was to attend department-wide new-employee orientation in a windowless, basement cafeteria.

I remember one speaker joking that the most important thing you'd learn in this job was the exact countdown of how many days you had to work there until you could retire.

Every other speaker picked up on the joke (I think it was a joke) and did the same thing:

I felt bad for them, but I also felt really bad for myself. Also, I started taking copious notes -- documenting my own depression. A big part of me hoped that I would one day be in the position I'm actually in now, in which this experience is relevant only because I can write about it.

Anyway, I sat through orientation and then settled into my shared office, where so many files covered the desk that I could barely see the window. Later, I stepped out for a cup of coffee and to clear my head; on my return somebody made a snide comment about how it was only the first day and I was already taking 10 minutes longer than we were allowed.

Yeah, this wasn't going to work.

Now, when I've told this story in the past, I've kind of glossed over just how down and depressed I was that day. It all seems kind of funny now, like I was a disinterested observer. But I wasn't. This was my life, or so it seemed, and I couldn't imagine a way out.

Here's a detail I probably shouldn't share, but whatever: When I walked out of the VA HQ at 4 p.m. on the dot, I headed straight to a seedy liquor store. Then, I headed up 16th Street, in broad daylight, carrying a 6-pack of beer—and blatantly downing the bottles one after another as I made my way home on foot.

I guess God was clearing my path, because somehow I didn't get stopped by one of the bazillion uniformed cops normally walking around that area.

That evening was emotional, but by the time I went to bed I steeled my determination to quit. So, I showed up at the office before 7 a.m. the next day to be sure to catch my boss before he did anything else.I told him I was sorry, but that if we didn't have this conversation immedately, I was sure we'd have it in 6 months, and it would only be worse.

He was nice about it. And that was it. It wasn't even 7:30 a.m. on Day 2.

Things I did afterward:

• Ate an enormous breakfast at a diner. It's funny how your body reacts physically to these things; I hadn't been able to eat for days, and now I was instantly famished.
• Apologized profusely to the woman who put in a good word for me. (Funny thing is, I'm still in touch with her, but not with the original friend she'd been dating at the time.)
• Thought how to cut back on every expense, since I'd been counting on the paycheck.
• Started a ghostwriting business. I'd had lots of unsolicited requests to do this kind of work, but I'd never seriously thought of it. Now, I started accepting clients. Eventually, I built it into a real business that could be done from anywhere and ultimately led a bunch of other opportunities.
• Told nobody about the experience for almost a decade, until I decided to write the whole story and publish it on Inc.com.

The piece went viral. Millions of people read it, I was on a whole bunch of podcasts, and eventually I was a centerpiece of a big story on CBS Sunday Morning about people who quit their jobs.

Ironically, telling the story of how I quit a job became a job in itself. I've spent much more time writing and talking about the experience than I did actually living it—and I still get messages from people asking me if I think they should quit.

Nine times out of 10 I can't offer any counsel on that one, of course; I don't even know them!

But, I do have good advice on how to quit, for anyone who has already decided to:

1. Don't wait.
2. Do it in person.
3. Accept that some will think you're an idiot. I've heard a rumor that in some bureaucratic offices in DC, "pulling a Murphy" is a euphemism for simply deciding not to do something.
4. Don't put it on your resume (obviously).
5. Eventually, write articles about it. This one might not be replicable, but it worked for me.

Quick caveat: I wasn't a dad yet when this all happened. If I'd been counting on the salary and health insurance for my family's sake, I would have probably sucked it up in the short term. But I wasn't, so I didn't.

Even with the revelation about walking up the street almost begging to get arrested on the way home, I still don't know if I've done justice to just how overwhelmed with emotion I was that day. When I went on CBS Sunday Morning, Tony Dokoupil interviweed me, and he noticed that I'd written on my notes from that day, "trying so hard not to cry." It was pretty bad.

Still, the job probably was a good fit for someone else. So, if you're reading this, and you happen to be a lawyer who got a job offer from the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs in late October 2009: You're welcome. I hope it's worked out for you.

(Today's newsletter continues after the main sponsor's message below. Want to learn about sponsoring Understandably? I'd love to have you. Get in touch here to learn more!)

7 other things worth knowing today

• Election Day was yesterday. In Kentucky, Gov. Andy Beshear, a Democrat, won reelection, and in Ohio, voters decided to enshrine the right to abortion in the state constitution, and to legalize recreational marijuana. (NBC News 1, NBC News 2, NBC News 3)
• Americans now owe $1.08 trillion on their credit cards, according to a new report on household debt from the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. Credit card balances spiked by $154 billion year over year, notching the largest increase since 1999, the New York Fed found. (CNBC)
• Social media researchers have canceled, suspended or changed more than 100 studies about X, formerly Twitter, as a result of actions taken by Elon Musk that limit access to the social media platform, nearly a dozen interviews and a survey of planned projects show. (Reuters)
• A Florida rock and crystal store that advertised a human skull on sale for $4,000 is now the center of some unanticipated attention, as the store owner apparently didn't realize it's illegal to sell human remains in her state. “We’re working hard to see if there was a crime committed,” said Carmine Marceno, the county sheriff. “When a human skull ends up in a store, it’s alarming.” (NYT)
• The NFL’s viewership has seen a 6% increase this season, largely due to the rise in audience for Thursday Night Football on Amazon Prime Video and more viewers tuning into ABC and ESPN networks. The ratings for Thursday Night Football have spiked by 25% compared to last year. (BNN)
• These are the 100 most expensive zip codes in America. They're spread across 11 states, but 65% are in California. (Property Shark)
• Harvard has a secret back door for ultra-rich kids with lousy grades. It's called the Z List according to one expert, and it basically means admitting the kids with the understanding that they'll do a gap year, so their low marks don't affect the incoming average grades of the entering class they'll be a part of. (NY Post)

Thanks for reading, and a special welcome to the 115 new readers who subscribed to Understandably since the last edition of this newsletter! See you bright and early tomorrow.