I took the leap.
I quit my job. I made a bold move. I made a brave decision. I was proud of myself.
Two months later, I’m still here. At home. Maybe more relaxed. Maybe less stressed. Maybe with a lot of time in my hands.
Or maybe, with too much.
Two months ago, when I come home from work, I’m tired. After I eat dinner, I lay in bed and surf the internet. By midnight, I’m most likely already asleep.
I wake up at 7, snooze the alarm, get up 30 minutes later. Queue for the ride to work, get to work, work, work, work. Until I feel like I have done enough for the day, it was time to go home.
Two months ago, I had routine. I had schedule. I had to-do lists. I knew exactly what to do next.
Without having to think, without flexing mental muscles, without needing to take a deep breath… I knew what I had to do.
Well, maybe with taking deep breaths from time to time to force myself to do the things I didn’t want to.
Two months later, I come home from dinner with friends or shopping, I’m not a bit tired. I lay in bed, surf the internet, contemplate on life, reminisce on good times, review lessons from the bad, cringe at the embarrassing, imagine the future. By 2AM, I’m most likely still awake. By 4AM, I’m lucky if I get to sleep.
I wake up at different times of the day. Sometimes at 7, sometimes at 10:30, sometimes almost at lunchtime.
And when I wake, I stay in bed for maybe 30 minutes or more. I try to think about what I’d want to do or what I’d have to do for the day. I have no answer for both.
The problem when I took the leap is that I didn’t have a plan on what to do afterwards. I keep saying things will fall into place; I keep saying, now that I have more time, I’m going to do what I failed to do when I had none.
But I never really did anything fruitful after I quit my job.
I failed to remember that after you jump a waterfall, you have to swim to get to land.
I seem to have chosen to remain afloat. To stay looking at the sky, seemingly lost in a trance, not knowing where the current is headed. Having no idea how long til my feet touches soil again.
I miss walking. I miss chasing the ride home. I miss strolling the artsy walkway from work. I miss preparing for the day. I miss being sure of what to do next.
With too much time in my hands, I realize the importance of having an occupation. I used to say, I’m not the type of person who gets bored because I’m always doing or thinking about something. But lately, life became boring.
Work was something I constantly did every day. I may not have loved what I did before, but it gave me purpose. It was a waste spending time and energy not doing what is personally meaningful. But work gave my everyday effort and consciousness, purpose.
And now I’m back to realizing why I quit my job in the first place.