I know I am ready to jump into a new adventure. I’m ready to pack up and start over. I always am.
Or am I?
I love my little old home. The way the couch is perfectly situated for afternoon naps in a sun beam, the way the dust motes dance over and above my head when I sit at the dining table. My yard is an absolute paradise, fruit trees and herbs and shade and sun, big deck, a little lawn and a place for me to breathe. So why then? Why do I have the itch to move? To change?
You will notice that I didn’t mention my job.
Sadly, it is the ONE thing that keeps that beautiful little home running. It is not a happening place anymore. Without going into much detail, I will say this. I am NOT advancing in any skills whatsoever except how to fuck the time clock all day long. I’m bored.
I try to work on my own things, personal learning, but its hard. I’m constantly on guard trying not to get caught, with a hovering negative entity constantly swarming around and a very nervous post doc who drives me crazy with all the pacing and worrying (which is the PRIME reason why he does not get a job- zero confidence in himself or his abilities). By this time in July the staff of once a whopping nine will have significantly diminished to just two of us. I will NOT survive. So I have to move on.
Do I want to find a new position and stay in my little home in windy Lethbridge or should I finally get my ass out of town and into the mountains where I belong?
I sat at my kitchen table, morning sun beam in my eyes and my usual happy moment is filled with concern. I want a new step. I want to wake up with trees and mountains and water instead of traffic and sirens and neighbours so close I can smell their laundry detergent every time they do laundry.
And I would like to go for a walk with less wind. Pleeease. No more wind. Just for one day.
So do I leave? Ooooh the what ifs? Have I become that nervous post doc?
I need a very distinct sign. Right now.
Do I go. Do I stay.