Burned Out Before 30, Reborn in the Wild

One of my favorite things about sharing my work is hearing from others who’ve made similar leaps—people who’ve walked away from the known to follow something deeper, more honest, and more aligned with who they really are. That’s what Reader Stories is all about.

This week’s story comes from a former oilsands worker who traded six-figure paychecks for a simpler life in the mountains of British Columbia. It’s a raw and honest look at what it means to burn out, break free, and begin again.

What I love about this story is that it doesn’t sugarcoat the struggle. The decision to walk away from comfort isn’t easy—but when you read this, you’ll see why it was worth it. There's wisdom here. Humility. And a quiet kind of courage that feels familiar to many of us who’ve chosen the untamed path.

I’m honored to share this story with you.

—Scott Stillman

Burned Out Before 30, Reborn in the Wild—by Amy Jay

For 10 years, I worked in the oilsands. In the mines, I was surrounded by heavy haulers, steel-toed boots, and reeked of bitumen. It was a six-figure job at a Fortune 500 company—the whole package. For years, I worked without much of a goal, until I went to trade school in Edmonton and realized there’s more to life than working and paying off a mortgage.

While in Edmonton, I reconnected with the part of myself that loves being out in nature. My artistic, creative side returned after years of being buried beneath the drive to “succeed.” I came back changed, and returning to work felt harder than ever.

When I got back, I took a closer look at my mortgage. Even though rates weren’t bad, the interest I was paying was astronomical. I decided I needed a goal. I worked as much overtime as I could and eventually paid off the condo.

I worked such crazy long hours that I burned out before I turned 30. I became unable to work, got laid off, sold the condo, and moved to British Columbia. It was a dramatic change, and for a while, I felt like I’d lost a big part of my identity. My condo had dropped 30% in value since I bought it, but the change was worth the loss.

That was eight years ago, and I haven’t looked back.

My partner and I moved to a property in the mountains without a clear plan. Wild and untamed, it’s surrounded by crown land. The first year was tough—more like camping. We lived out of a small utility trailer while building a shipping container house that got us through a surprisingly intense winter. Showers were scarce, but the days were incredibly rewarding.

Things are more established now, but not by much. I live without a well or typical running water, using rain and snow catchment and spring water instead. My solar-powered system is minimal enough that I don’t use a blow dryer. Life is more complicated in some ways, simpler in others, and far more fulfilling than it ever was when I had a steady salary and a fat bank account.

Now, I know almost every plant on the property—and whether I can eat it. I learn something new every day. As I write this, a bird I don’t recognize is singing a unique song from somewhere in the quaking aspens, and I can’t wait to figure out who it is. I’ve learned to live with the seasons instead of resisting them, choosing to move with change rather than fight it.

The property is gradually becoming a permaculture-inspired farm, with a long-term goal of being fully self-sustaining. My shift from six-figure oil worker to mountain hippie wasn’t easy. It came with plenty of loss, but just as much growth. I made a lot of mistakes and I hope I’ve learned from them.

For anyone thinking of making the leap—do it.

🌲🌲🌲

If Amy’s story speaks to something in you, feel free to leave a comment below. She’d be happy to answer any questions or share more about her journey.

If you’ve taken a leap of your own—whether it’s leaving a career, following your intuition, or simply choosing a life that feels more aligned—I’d love to hear about it. Reader Stories is a space for voices like yours. Real, raw, and rooted in the courage to live differently. You can share your story using the link below.

I read every submission, and I’m always honored to hold space for fellow travelers on the path.

—Scott Stillman