How I Ruined My Life By Moving To San Francisco
By: F. Drake
Tags: Lessons Learned, Job Hunting, San Francisco, Jobs, Startup

“So we’ve decided to offer you a package of $175,000 with bonus opportunities, in total you could earn about $300,000. Does that sound okay?”

Sitting in my east coast apartment, I nearly fall out of my seat but keep a poker face.

“That sounds fine to me, I’m excited to start.”

“Alright, great! I’ll let the team know. You can talk to the HR team to determine when you can come out to San Francisco.”

I close my laptop, and quietly celebrate with myself. I’m about to be making far more than I thought I was going to be making for quite some time. I had always been ambitious, but had come to terms with patience; it was going to take a few years of real work and dedication, and then maybe in my late thirties I would be making this kind of money.

Now it was suddenly right in front of me.

Turns out, I basically took a pay-cut, brought myself to one of the world’s most expensive cities, and nearly ruined my life in the process. Here’s how I did that.

What I didn’t count on, was that it was, by and large, nepotism that got me to SF. I think when people are really honest with themselves, the city runs on it, the opportunities are too sexy, the salaries too appealing, and the pace too fast for this to be a real meritocracy. Classic cognitive biases let me believe (as I’m sure is the case for everybody) that I was in this new found position due to my undeniable capabilities, reputation, class, and skill. Manifest destiny. At least it may as well have been.

In retrospect, I should have started working on day one to cement equivalent biased and nepotistic opportunities for myself, to ensure that there WAS a ‘next step’ when it was inevitably time to move onwards in the future. I didn’t. I was committed to this place. I was going to build a career here. I was going to make this my life’s work. I was going to stick to this through thick and thin. I was going all in.

Things got started with my relocation package. $8,000 to move across the country and get started. Seemed generous, especially because I was going to be making so much damn money, it started at $5,000, but through my gifted negotiation skills, I got it to $8,000. /s

Flights and a rental apartment to get our bearings for two months immediately came out to $8,071. Throw it on the Amex, that $71 is the cost of doing business.

I didn’t do my homework, and realize only too late, that the good old ReLo is taxable, I’m now ~$3,500 in the hole. Cost of doing business…? So I tell myself.

I knew the taxes were going to be bad, but I’ve underestimated yet again. One way or another, I’m paying 30% to the government. Now I’m at ~$120k. Still a brilliant salary. I’m happy as can be, and I feel like a productive and valuable citizen.

Time to get a new apartment. Downtown SF is the place to be. It’s where my office is. Rent is ~$4k per month, plus utilities, etc.

My coworkers tell me: “Oh, that’s not bad at all!” After taxes and rent, I’m now at ~$74,000. Still pretty great — I keep telling myself that.

Time to sign the lease, and the security deposit plus first month check is ~$12k. This will basically wipe out what I have on hand. I’ll take out a loan to cover this hit, the payment will be ~$500 a month to cover this, but I’ll get this money back, and at least I’ll have my liquidity.

I went to an awesome school, it’s one of the reasons that I got this job (so I like to tell myself…) As always, those good old loans cost me one way or another ~$450 a month. The cost of doing business. All said and done, I’m down to ~$5k a month of income to spend once I’ve covered my rent and loans.

Oh. I almost forgot, I jumped at the opportunity, so I still have my east coast apartment. Laws prevent me from putting it on Airbnb, and I’m stuck in my lease for a little longer. That’s about ~$2,500 a month, for now at least. Cost of doing business — I keep telling myself. Really it’s more like $2,000 a month of income once I’ve factored all this in…

Several months go by, one way or another, whether it’s the deceptively spendy $15 cocktails, $20 Uber rides, etc. I’m saving some money, but not even close to what I thought I should be. No matter. I’m pushing towards stabilization, getting rid of my old apartment soon.

Two days before Christmas I’m called into the conference room. I see HR have been pulled into the room as well. I’m not dumb. I know what’s about to happen. I sit down, and sure enough regardless of the phrasing, the outcome is the same: It’s over.

I get severance, and it’s taxed mercilessly, unsurprisingly. What looks like three months severance is really two. If I’m stretching it.

January is a great time to apply for jobs — that’s what I’m told at least.

Tears are running down my face, I’m so shell-shocked that this almost feels like a hallucination.

If anything, with the severance and a new job, you’ll be better off than you would have been if you HADN’T been laid off. I believe them.

I start applying for jobs. I’m met with an onslaught of automated rejections, it’s clear that my resumé isn’t hitting the right buzz-words. Panic starts to set in. So little time to build a network to contend for the jobs that can allow me to afford this place. Where to even begin? It’s not clear.

I find myself feeling numb. Feeling worthless. Feeling panic.

A year ago, in another city, in another time, an $85k job felt fantastic — now I’m faced with earning $120k+ or I’m not going to make it work. It doesn’t take a calculus professor to recognize that there’s not so many jobs with that salary. Fuck.

“After carefully reviewing your application…”

“We’re lucky to have had so many great candidates…”

“Though your accomplishments are impressive…”

One way or another, they all lead to the same conclusion.

DENIED.

REJECTED.

It’s part of the game. Of course. It doesn’t mean it feels any better.

Each automated rejection feels worse, not easier. You don’t get used to it.

You instead let your mind do the basic statistics. Every “No” means fewer chances of “Yes.”

Now I’m arguing with my spouse, out of stress, out of panic, out of anger. My failure feels more acute knowing it doesn’t just effect me. This is my fault.

Turns out, to make it in San Francisco, you need to win the lottery, twice in a row. At least.

Striking it lucky once is the most unlucky thing that you can do in this city.