The Day I Leaped I thought it would be freeing. Or panic. Or, anyhow, something more dramatic. But on May 28, my last day of work, I just felt... at ease. I had been planning it for weeks. Years, if I'm telling the truth.
Let's just say that giving up my safe, grown-up job—my painstakingly developed career in information technology and business intelligence—for a story about teenage geniuses and emotionally unstable machines wasn't a clear decision.
"That's incredible!" was one of the many reactions I got from friends, family, and coworkers when I finally told them.
"Whoa, that's courageous."
"Are you alright?"
"Hold on, like, full-time?"
“Do you have a backup plan?”
“You mean like a blog or a book book?”
And I understand. I do. Because people don't always jump like this. Not with solid ground beneath you. Not when you're needed by your children. Not when leaving would mean giving up the steady routine of safety, Monday meetings, and a paycheck that arrives on time.
However, May 28th arrived. I also turned off my work laptop. And I sat there, staring at the other one, the one with the 300 pages of fictional hope and heartbreak.
And I had the following thought:
This is it.
You’re really doing it.
Not the basic route, nor the guaranteed way.
However, that will prevent you from questioning whether you should have done it in ten years.
Marking that leap has been accomplished through this blog. A means of reminding myself that writing is an integral part of life, not something I do in place of it. It is disorganized. Dangerous. There are days when it feels fantastic. I doubt everything sometimes.
But I keep writing. Because this story won’t let me go.
So, I won't tell you what to do if you're reading this and wondering if you should make your own leap, whatever that may be. However, let me say this:
Jumping is terrifying.
Regrets could be worse.
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