Turns out "finding myself" doesn't always mean yoga retreats in Bali. Sometimes it means standing face-to-face with a wall of flames while wearing 70 pounds of gear in 110-degree heat.

When corporate burnout hit, I didn't buy a sports car—I joined the Forest Service. Turns out swapping Zoom fatigue for actual smoke inhalation was exactly the "career pivot" my therapist didn't recommend.

2023's megafires didn't care about my previous work experience or that I once optimized a PowerPoint presentation so good it made the VP tear up. They just asked: "Can you dig a line until your hands blister, then keep digging?"

The office politics are simpler here. No passive-aggressive emails—just the occasional "MOVE NOW OR DIE" shouted over the radio. Performance reviews come in real-time when your superintendent decides if you're ready to hold the line or need to retreat.

I've never slept better than after 16 hours of firefighting, despite lying on ground harder than my former boss's heart. And I've never felt more alive than watching the sunrise over a landscape we just saved—scorched and smoldering, but still standing.

They say if you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen. I left the kitchen and walked straight into an inferno.