As it’s so many days into the new year, I feel compelled to collect some thoughts in this space, something I used to do much more. If there’s a reason, perhaps it’ll reveal itself at some point. And, if not, that’s okay, too.
I left my job of three or so years just over a month ago, so I’ve a little more time on my hands than I once did. It’s funny, though: I left a job where I wrote for a living and, in the space of time since, I’ve done relatively little of the sort. It’s been several weeks well spent visiting family, reconnecting with faces and friends I’ve not seen in years and seeing my world cast in an altogether new light and hue. And, in my quieter moments, it must be said, I’ve wondered at what my future might bring, too.
I can’t help but expect good, fulfilling, exciting things to happen this year. I left my job, not because I was entirely unhappy, but because I was in a stagnant place; I didn’t feel like I’d any other choice but to do so. When your gut acts up and says it’s time to push on, you can’t really argue—you feel any kind of fear in the decision and push onward, believing in what’s next. The funny thing is, I felt no fear. I’ve sort of made a life out of not worrying and not fearing and this followed that pattern. Three years is a long time to give yourself to anyone or anything. When the growth has stopped, when there is no longer progress, when you’ve no real goals to aspire towards, you go about finding that new path. That’s where I am, walking to wherever it leads. I see it as a new adventure. I’ve real hope in what’s next.
There are no limits. There’s no reason not to think big, shooting clean past the possible as well as the supposed impossible. At this point, I could spend a year writing a book with someone who commissions me to do so. I could sell most of my belongings, packing what's left into a bag and move to Thailand to teach English. I could grab a friend and make a beeline for Spain and never return. And I could fill my working hours as a cupcake maker, opting for the steady and slower life of learning a new trade and skill.
(If you’ve suggestions, too, throw them my way, as I’m perhaps more open to receiving them than I ever have been.)
As I eke forward and discover along the way, let it be known that, yes, I am listening to more scratchy records than I once did. I’m going on more walks and considering the sights and sounds of what surrounds me as more precious than I once did. I'm writing more letters and reading books in my spare time. In other words, I'm carrying on with my life, as I should. Am I wondering what’s next? In a sense. But I do so by walking towards it, believing it will formulate. The destination is still undecided, but there’s a destination all the same.
I’ll get there when I get there, and not a moment too soon.