I quit my job. After 19 years at the same place, on a drive to a potentially serious doctor's appointment, I had an epiphany. Time to go. I pulled the trigger and yesterday, after four weeks' notice, I turned in my key and walked right out the back door. When it's right it's right.
I'd like to take a stab at describing how Saturday morning felt, but I know I can't find the words. Pressure to cross items off my list was gone, just like that. Saturdays won't be doing all the things difficult to accomplish during the week, at least for a while. My plan is to take some time off before looking for the next thing. And my goal is to remember the lesson I thought I learned when I lived in Chicago . . . you don't have to be miserable going to work.
My first order of business is to head to Salt Lake to pick up my cute pregnant daughter and then head off to Boise. Ruby needs some attention, specifically people to teach her all the music (and dance moves) to White Christmas. It was a collective decision that it really isn't a Christmas movie until the last scene. Can I find some feathers or a feather boa for the girls to use to sing the beloved Sisters? I shall try.
Short terms goals are many, things like reading all 83 Conference talks and taking notes, organizing my spices to avoid buying cloves when I already have two bottles of them, reading all my back issues of Vanity Fair and Esquire, and releasing all those titles sitting in my queue at the public library. Farmers' Market? Yes. Sitting in my yard in the morning sounds heavenly, too. Time will tell.
For right now, right this minute . . . I'm basking in the warmth I feel knowing I'm about to spend a week with my girls. I am a very "lucky" girl, but not. It's so much more than that.