Drew Thomas Humphrey

On March 4, 2018, I stood in front of several hundred people and announced my resignation from a position that I had spent the previous decade believing to be my dream job. It was the most vulnerable experience of my life. I had no idea what was next for me or my family. I only knew that it was time to go, even if that meant sacrificing my income, my reputation, and my deeply held sense of personal identity. I was only thirty-two years old. 

What followed was an extended period of tremendous upheaval. In addition to enduring the disillusions of a comprehensive spiritual metamorphosis, I had to confront for the first time the frightening reality of an uncertain vocational future. I had always prided myself on having a clear vision of what I wanted to do and what ladder I wanted to climb. But when that ladder collapsed beneath my weight, I found myself left with little more than a few splintered pieces and a vague hope that I might one day reassemble them into a fulfilling, sustainable career.

For a long time, that didn’t happen. A month turned into a year. A year turned into two. Despite my gratitude for many positive developments in life – starting a community with some wonderful people, working as an educator in two supportive public schools, raising our kids in a city our family has grown to love – I continued to feel adrift. 

So I scoured job postings. I enlisted a career coach. I took personality tests. I got advice from people close to me. It was a lengthy process of frustrations and dead ends, and I often doubted that it would ever bring the clarity I so desperately wanted.

Gradually, however, a realization began to emerge. If an ideal job existed (and I still wasn’t sure that it did), it would have to provide a meaningful outlet for creativity and expression. Looking back on my previous career, this was the one thing I missed. I loved the daily thrill of operating in a generative space – dreaming, exploring, crafting, sharing. And even though I didn’t know exactly what it would mean to return to that space in terms of particular industries or job titles, I knew that in a dream scenario, it would somehow incorporate the discipline of writing.

At every stage of my personal evolution, writing has been one constant that hasn’t changed. I’ve always been fascinated by the power of words. As an introspective adolescent with borderline emo tendencies, I wrote cringe-worthy poems. As an insecure suitor to the woman who’s now my wife, I wrote sappy love letters. As a graduate student with more ideas than I knew what to do with, I wrote philosophical blogs. As a pastor who wanted to explore the mysteries of the divine, I wrote earnest sermons. No matter the season, no matter the mood, no matter the occasion, I’ve always tried to write my way through. 

Perhaps that’s why so many people have asked me over the years, “Have you ever thought about becoming a writer?” It’s an idea I always dismissed. Sure, I’ve had no problem seeing myself as someone who writes. But to go from “someone who writes” to “a writer” – that felt like a leap I’m unqualified to make. After all, I have a spouse, four kids, and a mortgage. Even if I had the necessary writing chops (which I don’t) I’m not exactly in a position to go hide away in a cabin until I emerge with the next great American novel.

As my search for a long-term career unfolded, however, I began to ask myself: What if I could find a writing opportunity that was more practical and family-friendly than moving to the woods, growing out my beard, and becoming a tortured novelist? Surely it was at least a remote possibility. Plenty of businesses, for example, rely on writers to tell their stories and create engaging content. Maybe I could do that. I just needed to find an organization whose mission I believed in – and who, in turn, believed in me.

That was easier said than done. Despite my vigilant watchfulness, opportunities weren’t exactly falling from the sky. My hope slowly dwindled, and I was nearly ready to give up the search altogether. But then, on a morning when I was at my lowest, my wife changed everything with one simple question: “Babe, have you seen this job that’s just been posted?”

It was everything I had been hoping for, and then some. Every line of the description sent tingles down my spine, and if that weren’t enough, the employer was an organization to which I already had a strong personal connection. It felt like something tailor-made to fit my personality and my interests. By the end of the morning, I had submitted my application, my imagination running wild about what it would be like to land the gig.

Four months later – and exactly six years to the day after the resignation announcement that turned my world upside-down – I will officially start that job. It’s as surreal as it is exciting. 

After so much time, so much change, so much uncertainty, I can finally say something I never thought I’d be able to say: I am a writer. More specifically, I am the university writer at DePauw University – one of the premier liberal arts schools in the nation, and as it just so happens, my own alma mater.

Not only do I get to realize the dream of making a living with words, but I get to do so while helping a distinguished institution tell the next chapter of its remarkable story. DePauw’s leaders are charting a bold course for the future, and I’ll be joining a team of talented people who are already doing impressive and innovative work. It’s the perfect convergence of creative outlet and organizational fit. If there’s a better role for me at this point in my life, I can’t imagine what it would be. 

In terms of professional trajectory, this is a welcome change, a definitive step toward a career that leverages my past experiences and animates my future ambitions. 

In terms of existential significance, however, this is something far more meaningful. It’s a long-awaited breakthrough, a moment of joyful serendipity that validates a six-year search to find where I belong. In many ways, it feels like coming home.

Although the road to this point may have been longer than expected, the length of the journey has only served to heighten my gratitude for the place to which it has led me. Call it luck, fortune, providence, fate – all I know is that this opportunity is an extraordinary gift, and I’m determined to make the most of it.

I’m a writer.

To many, that may seem trivial. But to me, the magnitude of that little sentence – ironically – is hard to put into words.

Want to support my work? Subscribe to my newsletter so you’ll never miss out on new content! And if you’re feeling extra generous, consider leaving a small tip using the form below.