The Day I Jumped
I thought it would feel like freedom. Or maybe panic. Or at least something more dramatic.
But on May 28th, my last official day of work, I just felt… quiet.
I’d been planning it for weeks. Maybe years, if I’m honest. The idea that I’d leave my stable, grown-up job—my carefully built career in IT and Business Intelligence—for a blinking cursor and a story about teen geniuses and emotionally unstable machines… well, let’s just say it wasn’t an obvious move.
When I finally told people—friends, colleagues, family—I got the whole range of reactions:
“That’s amazing!”
“Wow, that’s brave…”
“Are you okay?”
“Wait, like... full-time?”
“Do you have a backup plan?”
“You mean like a blog or a book book?”
And I get it. I really do. Because this is the kind of jump you don’t always see people take. Not when the ground under you is solid. Not when your kids need you. Not when quitting means losing the predictable rhythm of safety and Monday meetings and a salary that comes on time.
But May 28th came. And I shut down my laptop for work. And I opened the other one—the one with 300 pages of fictional heartbreak and hope—and I sat there, staring at it.
And I thought:
This is it.
You’re really doing it.
Not the easy way. Not the guaranteed way.
But the way that won’t leave you wondering ten years from now if you should’ve done it.
This blog has been a way to mark that leap. A way to remind myself that writing isn’t something I do instead of real life—it’s part of it. It's messy. Risky. Some days it feels amazing. Some days I question everything.
But I keep writing. Because this story won’t let me go.
So if you’re reading this wondering if you should take your own version of the leap—whatever that looks like—I won’t tell you what to do. But I will say this:
Jumping is terrifying.
Standing still was worst.
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