in search of balance

Last Tuesday, in balmy 94 degree heat, I propped myself up on the inside of a UPS truck, as I passionately hurled packages onto the concrete. "Here, let me help you, jackass," I screamed at the driver, who stood in the street collecting packages from traffic's path.  Diners at a cafe watched, in disbelief, as I lost my cool.

I forgot to tell my boss this anecdote earlier today when I gave her my official notice of resignation.

I told her about the fugue state I had last Thursday, where I walked around the entire city aimlessly after a quarterly leadership meeting, not feeling like I belonged anywhere, least of all my office. How I felt so land locked and craving nature that I went to take a nap under a tree alongside I-95, where actual homeless people sleep, not just "placeless" like myself.

I have tried to go to therapy a few times as an adult in the working world. The reason is usually the same: I am depressed and a job is possibly the cause, or exacerbating the issue, and I want someone wise and logical to help me navigate my feelings and try to help me figure out what I should pursue in life. One said, "But you need your job. You can't quit, you need your insurance and stability." The other therapist offered to sell me coping mechanisms for the stress. For $80/hr, I politely declined.

Therapists are the most chicken-shit people I think I've ever met.

I told my boss  that I have no plan yet, other than to not do this job  anymore. I told her I want to go home, to dip myself into the waters of the Frio river. Then I will come back and do something entirely meaningless. Perhaps a job at a café. I play around with the idea of a job on a canning or bottling line at a brewery. Something mildly mechanical but not too much. I told her I just want to be able to sleep at night, not stare at the ceiling trying to troubleshoot the next day's challenges.

I told her I want to get through planning our wedding and be truly present when I'm at home, when my fiancé is speaking to me. I want to leave work at work and have energy left after for writing and volunteering and applying to grad school.

I don't know how this will turn out. What life will look like in 3 months, a year, and 3 years. But I know that I can't enter marriage as unhappy as I had been, and I can't take my writing life seriously with a job that takes so much out of me.

I feel incredibly fortunate to see other people I respect taking huge risks in pursuit of balance in their lives, too. I feel less alone. And I see indication that those who take risks are rewarded by the universe: they are getting by and shining. Good news just keeps coming their way. 

In 4 weeks, I will say goodbye to this chapter of my life and dip myself into the most healing waters I know. I will emerge with renewed spirit and a clear mind. I will put one foot in front of the other and move forward with the business of being me.