I went into his office, scared to offend and hurt him after all the kindness he showed me these past months. After I sat down and discussed some business, I said, “(Insert name), I’m going to quit my job on September 26th.” Yup. On Tuesday, I finally told my boss what I’ve been meaning to say since this entire nightmare began. I am leaving my job. September 26th will be the last day of my regular hours, and I will be helping the transition until the end of the year.
It was not a decision based on emotion, not really, okay maybe it was, but it was not the never-ending emotion of sadness Widowhood brings. No, this decision was based on the never-ending emotion of following my dream. This emotion has been in me since college and happily did not leave once grief overpowered so much in me.
See, I’ve wanted to write forever. And I have. I do. However, it’s not enough for me to be a five-in-the-morning-writer or a weekend-writer. No, I want to write all day as in make writing my full-time job. And make no mistake, as so many often do, writing is a job. It takes some talent, sure, but it also takes dedication, hard work, staying focused, meeting deadlines and resilence. Writing is with me 24/7. I write, think and plan characters, plots, settings, and what-am-I-going-to-write-next, all the time. All. The. Time. Since Peter’s death, my love of writing has not died. It’s just switched focus. Sometimes, I mourn the other focus.
Obviously, I am still writing, but not the comedic romances I normally write. I wrote those when I was happy and great with life. When Peter died, my life became the opposite, full of misery. My muse for romance and my happiness died along with Peter. Writing like I once did, has disappeared. I will find it again as I journey through my reluctant stage of life, but for now, that part of my writing is gone. Now, like always, I write what I know. Now, I know death. Now, I know widowhood. Now, I know a different, sucky life. Now, I write this blog.
I’m not sure how my writing will look once I am dedicated to it full-time. And yes, it scares me. Yet, Peter’s death has taught me futures are not guaranteed. I can’t keep pushing off what I want to do because I’m scared. Really, what I live now, in my every day of Widowhood, is scary. And you know, fright is a great motivator. I can’t say, “oh, I’ll wait a few years” because I may not have a next hour, let alone another year. As I keep asking everyone, if not now, when?
I’ve told a few people in my life when I was leaning toward this decision. As I said in my last blog, not everyone was like “oh, you get ’em, girly”. In fact, just the opposite. I understand and appreciate their concerns since it comes from a place of love. With every fear from them about me becoming a recluse, I counter with, never been one so I don’t think it’ll happen. With a vocal concern of wasting my time putzing around, I say, a).putzing may be a way to think about writing b). writing is work, people, and/or c). putzing may be an okay part of my healing process. With their worry about my absence around people, I am, right now, around people and all I want to do is cry, really cry; holding it all in sometimes is not the greatest for a person like me…a heart-on-my-sleeve person. Finally, when they question my financial stability, I answer with a I’ll make it work. (Psst, my part-time job will not get me into the millionaire’s club. Just saying…)
I know it seems like I am defending myself, and I don’t owe an explanation, yet I want to…explain, not defend. It may also seem like I am trying to convince myself, and maybe there’s a bit of that. Yet, the light bulb above my head keeps blinking this is a decision I have wanted to make most of my life. Now, as I have to redefine myself, find parts of me hidden somewhere, and emerge in strength toward things I never had to face before, I want to make this step forward. I want to live in the now and not in the future. I don’t want my dream to go unfulfilled. I need this.
When I gave notice to my boss on Tuesday, he told me he was expecting it. Perhaps he sees how widowhood changed me, perhaps he knew I needed to leave in order to continue on this reluctant journey. It doesn’t really matter his thoughts or those of others. What matters is I am good with my decision. Sure, there’s a little trepidation. I suppose that’s always there when anyone takes a leap of faith, a leap into her/his dream. To the core of me, I am good. I don’t know what I don’t know until I know. I can’t keep wanting or guessing on the unknown, waiting for tomorrow. I could. But I won’t. I mean, didn’t Peter’s death showed me, show all of us, tomorrow may not be there?