I have always had a job. I have always had a purpose. I have always wanted a career. I have always been responsible. I never thought I would be someone who watched the ALL fours of the Today show. I never thought I would be someone who bakes in the middle of the week. I never thought I would be someone who mops everyday. I never thought I would someone who was unemployed, but I am that someone.
A month ago tomorrow, I quit my well paying, steady, full time job without telling anyone in my life. I didn't tell my husband, my best friend, my sister, or even my mom, because I knew that they would all tell me suck it up and be a grown up. So without letting myself be talked out of it, I gave notice. I wish that I could say that everything was horrible and it was toxic environment, but I can't. It was just okay. The work was okay, the people were okay, my boss was okay; the job was okay. I just woke up one day and realized that I was almost 26 and couldn't waste another minute on okay.
For that first week, I woke up everyday with a smile on face. I could finally pursue my passion. I could finally have a clean house. I could finally write the book I always wanted to. I could finally breathe.
That was three weeks ago. I am starting to realize that talking about pursuing something and actually pursuing it are two very different things.
I know that I made the right choice to quit my job, but I am starting to realize that I need to push myself to really try and make my life happen. The problem is figuring out my life is supposed to be.
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