A Second Job

Getting ready to goof off for a year is really a lot of work. Nobody told me I’d be working 10 hour days and still feel a bit overwhelmed. Now I know you can just get up and go. Plenty of plucky adventurers just buy a ticket and hit the road. I even did it once when I was 22. Threw some old clothes in a secondhand backpack, got a passport, and jumped on a plane a few weeks later.

But a decade later it’s a little harder to just up and leave. Things need to be organized, somewhat. Loose ends tied up, if not in a boyscout knot at least in a scissor-curled bow. I do hold out on the hope that once every kitty is nestled in its fuzzy catbed and everything else is nestled in its storage cube that I can let go a little more. Not have to have it all figured out. Not have a 12 tab excel spreadsheet of stuff to categorize, calculate, and remember to do. Not live by a list to check off.


And just float for awhile. Somewhere in the Aegean sea perhaps...