Loverfriend and I trudged through the wet warm of the Southern summer night. Well, morning, really–it was 3 AM by that point, but darkness still dampened our tightly clasped hands. I wore a goofy-ass headlight because I’m still reveling in the joys of head accessories now that my hair is short. I downloaded a compass app like we were going on some tortuous journey. We were actually just headed into a local forest to check out the Perseids, and to ask the stars a question. Reaching our destination, a little platform sparsely furnished with a single steel folding chair, we spread a worn comforter, lay down, and looked up.
This Is the Part Where I Try Not to Freak Out
I quit my job two Fridays ago. Amicably, of course; I know how not to burn bridges, and I have the good fortune of a reasonable supervisor. Additionally, this ain’t my first rodeo with leaving a job I dislike, so I put in the requisite two weeks minimum and had a private chat with my boss to let her know my intentions. I suppose the difference is that last time, I had a plan to run to the other side of the world for a year, and this time, I’ve got…no plan. No sure thing lined up. As my stepdad would say, “Nothing here but air and opportunity.”