So, I officially resigned from my job today.
The details of the story are not important for public blog world, but here's the gist: my position was being phased out by July and I made the really, truly difficult decision to go ahead and resign so I could focus my best time and energy on my job hunt. Raw honesty: I've been emotional all weekend about this decision like I just went through a kick-in-the-shins breakup. Woof, I know.
I can say that resigning (I dislike the word quit) feels better than waiting to be let go. First of all, what does the whole “let go” business even mean? “Let go” is something you accidentally do to balloons and kite strings. Unfortunately, one of those metaphors floats away into death-inducing thin atmosphere, and the other one crashes violently into trees and rooftops. So, that's fun.
Conveniently, I'm moving in with my parents this weekend.
Yes. I am 26 years old, my career is about to have a little...um...hiccup in it, and I’m moving in with my parents this weekend. (I already rambled about a lot of this in this post about humble pie.) Also, yesterday I found a huge jar of change in my closet and I’m seriously considering taking it to one of those machines in a grocery store so I can have cash on hand for if/when I put my entire life in my car or get on a plane and go chase some crazy dreams. I mean, who am I?
This isn’t one of those stories where I’ve already lived the ending.
This is my real life, right now. I haven’t tied up the loose ends and learned to laugh at the embarrassing parts and come to terms with the parts that hurt me, ready to tell you the tidy ending and eye-opening moral of the story. Literally, I am writing this down as it happens.
I really did resign from (...quit...) my job today. And I really am sitting in my plaid pajamas on my bed, with my bangs tickling my eyelashes because of the breeze from the overactive ceiling fan, with only a handful of days left in this upstairs condo bedroom where I've spent the last three years of my life. (I’ve heard that having a nice set of sharp bangs says something about your status as a respectable, grown-up woman. Do you think we can say the same for living off coin jars and moving back in with my parents? Yes? Excellent.) Good thing I'm not afraid to let my life scare me a little.
The point is, if I’m going to live through a highly unpredictable (this is certain) and wildly intriguing (we can hope) life phase, I may as well write it down in the process. I am a writer, after all. An unemployed one at this point, but hooverdamitall, just try and stop me and my words.
So here we are. Day one. Welcome to my unexpected little journey.