Today’s the day I put in two weeks’ notice. Ye olde daye jobe will soon be defunct, and I will be working for the worst boss of all: meownself.
People at work keep asking me if I’m sure. As if trading stability for risk is ever something you can be sure of.
Of course I’m not sure. I’m not sure my books will sell. I’m not sure the merchandise I’ve got planned will move (although I have a feeling you guys are going to love the stuff based on geology puns!). I’m not sure the economy won’t tank and flush me just as things begin to take off. Can’t be sure of anything.
I’m sure I can’t play it safe anymore.
I’m sure I want to step off that mountain, even though there’s no way of knowing if I’ll fall or fly.
I’m sure there’s a lot I want to do that I haven’t got time for now: so many books to write, and fun things to design, and adventures to go on.
I’m sure I’ve got the world’s best cheering section (that would be you, my darlings!).
And I’m sure the time is now. Because if not now, it’ll be never.
So I’m all in.
Two weeks, and the badge gets discarded forever. I kiss the sweet union-bargained benefits goodbye. I say sayonara to the steady paycheck. And probably panic a bit before I get my footing. Shit’s a little scary, y’know. But I’m ready to take the plunge, because even if I fall, I can manage to land somewhere soft enough. And who knows – maybe this is the day that I fly.
Wish me luck.