Why I Left Tesla (And Why I Still Love It)
Leaving at the peak of my vesting and finding the courage to break my golden handcuff
In the week leading up to goodbye, nothing felt cinematic. I drafted a quiet farewell email to 144 people I’d worked with—from interns to VPs—then stared at it for days. Hitting send felt like stepping off a ledge. When I finally did, the replies trickled in: kind notes, long reflections, a few hallway goodbyes. Maybe 10% wrote back. It made me wonder why we save our affirmations for the exit interview with life… But with any departure, people wonder why?
In my final week of work, I drove home by the same trees on Highway 280 — feeling numb, grief, relief, fear, sadness, freedom. Not one feeling—all of them, taking turns. Every day was a different emotion, and I sometimes found myself crying driving into work.
And still, beneath it all, a steady truth: I love Tesla. I always will. And that’s what made the decision to leave so hard.
Why I’m writing this
There’s a lot of news right now about directors and VPs leaving. Many of them spent 10, 15, 20 years there and made millions. They deserve far more attention than I do.
I wasn’t a VP. I didn’t stay decades. I didn’t make millions. I was five years in—early/mid in my career—earning more than I ever imagined growing up in a household where the bank account often hit zero after rent. And still, at the peak of my vesting, I chose to leave.
This is my why.
What Tesla gave me
Tesla was my hyperbolic time chamber. You enter one person and leave another.
I learned to ship fast without breaking the mission. To think about the next customer and the loyal one who believed before it was fashionable. To chase root cause under pressure and build systems where there wasn’t a map.
One of the proudest chapters of my career: helping design and launch the 48-volt low-voltage battery that wakes every Cybertruck when you unlock it. Small box, big implications. We pushed architecture, wrote new playbooks, filed new patents. More than a product, it was proof—of what a small team can do against a hard timeline.
If five years at Tesla were a degree, the line would read: B.S., M.Eng., Tesla. Late nights. Real final exams. Scar tissue. Lifelong friends.
Throughout this entire journey of choosing to stay or leave, I learned so much about myself through the power of reflection and creation.
Why I left
I didn’t leave because I hated it. I actually thought I could see a longer future here. I left because I had outgrown my role and the vision I brought didn’t align with the company’s. That isn’t a criticism—just the mathematics of growth. People evolve. Companies evolve. Sometimes vectors diverge.
For more than three months, I sat with the decision. I wrote about decision-making frameworks, ran regret-minimization, interviewed, listened. A line a friend shared wouldn’t leave me:
“Purpose compels. It’s not that you want to—it’s that you have to.”
Another raise wouldn’t change that. Another title wouldn’t change that. I’ve been fortunate enough to buy most of the things I wanted. What I wanted next wasn’t more. It was meaning.
So I stepped away, cold turkey. At the peak. Into the quiet. Without another job lined up. I realized that if I stayed, I’d regret it.
Why I still love Tesla
Because I believe in where it’s going.
We’re entering an age of AI and autonomy where owning a car becomes optional and the hours we spend piloting two tons of metal can be returned to us—hours to create, to connect, to rest, to raise kids, to write music, to build. I’m proud to have played a small part in that trajectory.
That same belief is also what nudged me onward: If autonomy gives people time back, what will we help them do with it? My answer—the one I can’t ignore—is to help people find meaning, then build with it.
The quiet before ignition
Since leaving, I’ve been clearing the mental tabs I’d left open: the home tasks that drain energy by a thousand cuts, the projects I promised myself I’d start “when things slow down.” I’m building something I’m deeply passionate about right now—work aimed at turning human experiences into lifting others to their truest potential. I don’t need attention on it yet; I need it to be good and useful for others.
I hope to share more when the time is right. For now, think of this as countdown—not a reveal. I’m reaching for the stars, but I’m keeping the launch site off camera a little longer.
To the people who made this chapter
To the managers who gave me autonomy, to the teammates who sharpened me, to the late-night problem-solvers and early-morning firefighters: thank you. You shaped my confidence and my voice. You made the work worth the work.
And to everyone reading here on Substack—thank you for being early. You’ve had first access to the unpolished thoughts, the frameworks, the doubts, the wins. This will stay the first place I share what I’m learning next, before it lives anywhere else.
If you’re at your own crossroads
Hard decisions don’t get easier; they just get truer. The newest “hardest decision” almost always tops the last. You won’t have every step mapped. You only need the next honest one. Purpose will pull the rest.
I love Tesla. I still do. It made me. And when the dream stopped being a dream—when it became the reality I had fully lived—it was time for me to start learning again.
See you on the other side.
Additional reads from this Tesla journey to help others:
(No pressure to share. If this helped you, feel free to share it to one person who might be sitting on their own hard decision to find their meaning.)