Four half-written posts sit anxiously on my desktop. Bags and boxes of stuff from my office line the stairs and hallway up to my room.
I allowed a week to pass since I left my job — the first week of my new creative life — and have little to show for it.
My mind and my heart, still stinging from last week’s sharp break from my work family, are not quite ready for the full creative life I planned.
“See you later,” I told everyone, motivated by one part confidence and one part hope. I believed more in our social future the more they said they’d miss me, the more they said why, the more I could tell they like me.
Better than being coworkers is knowing we are friends. I wrote something like that in my thank-you to the team. Sounds pretty good, I thought. But this week was more like what I wrote them when announcing my resignation: I expect we’ll socialize, but I’m a bit afraid to be without you everyday.
I’m not second guessing my decision to take this leap. I think I just need more space between what was and what is.