I am, by nature, a very cautious person. Always have been. I need to have contingency plans. I need Plans A through Z, even if I never use them, I need them. If I look at an opportunity, weigh the risks and find the risks too great, I can’t do it.
And now, for more than one reason, I’m contemplating a job change and a move, knowing full well it won’t be easy. I have no doubt that it will be tough, that I will find myself alone more often than not. I know that it will be a while before I have any type of life outside of my children in a new town with no friends. I won’t know where anything is, and I’ll have to teach myself, figure it out myself, struggle myself. I’ll spend a lot of time and energy making sure my children are adjusting and taken care of, and I know I’ll forget myself in the process – it’s a parent thing.
I’m looking at two possible positions that I know, in theory, that I can do, but there will still be a learning curve. I will no longer be the expert that I’m perceived to be at my current job, I will no longer be the go-to woman. I am willingly walking into a possible situation where I will be the outsider – I won’t know who to trust, I won’t know who’s friend or foe. I won’t anything or anyone.
I’m preparing to leap into a vast unknown. Part of me is scared – I’d be stupid not to be. Part of me is excited – the idea of starting over fresh somewhere, doing new things, learning new things, meeting new people, doing it completely on my own, it’s exhilarating.
I can foresee all of the negative – being alone, struggling to get the childcare thing right, proving myself to a new set of people, making friends (not something I do easily). But none of that deters me. When it comes to my mind, I acknowledge it as fact and tell myself that I will figure it out.
Who am I? When did I become bold? When did I become brave?
I’m the overthinker. I’m the one who paralyzes myself with too many what-if’s. I’m the one who often has to be cajoled and led into new situations. I have to be forced out of my shell. Aren’t I? I don’t know who I am anymore.
I’m baffled by my own daring, but I’m not slowing down. I’m not looking back. I’m not worrying. Of course, I wish I wasn’t doing it alone, but the thought of being able to look back one day and say, “Look what I did!” makes it bearable.
Is this my way of handling my grief? Bold, decisive, complete change? Have I simply had too much stress, too much sadness in this place? Am I running away from something or running to something? Does it matter?
I’m leaping – with my eyes and arms wide open.