I quit my day job one year ago today.

I quit my day job one year ago today.

I backed out twice before.  I had known it was right to quit for about two years, but I just couldn't do it. The security, the health insurance, the retirement benefits, the emotional assurance that I would know how to pay my mortgage every month is just, um, very appealing. I worked as a Certified Therapeutic Recreation Therapist at the Salt Lake City Veterans Medical Center for 7 1/2 years. My job was to facilitate therapeutic recreational experiences for veterans struggling with physical and emotional challenges. During my time at the VA, I organized programs in kayaking, rafting, guitar lessons, judo, painting and much more... I absolutely loved my job.

I informed my supervisor in September 2014 that I was quitting.  Then several weeks later, I pretty much said, "Yeah, just kidding..."  Then I tried again to quit in January 2015.  Except then he rightly asked for a definite date of termination, which I skirted around and avoided for weeks.

Finally, it became too uncomfortable to live inside my skin.  I woke up one morning, drove to work and sat in my office chair.  

"Today's the day," I heard myself say.  I looked at the clock on the wall.  Noon.  I still had five hours to either gain confidence or avoid looking at myself in the rear view mirror on the drive home.  

I looked at the calendar.  April 17 jumped off the page like a three dimensional Pixar film.  

I thought back two weeks before.  After expressing to my friend all my fears around quitting my job, she had me stand in my living room on one side of a lit candle she centered in the middle of the rug.

"When you're ready to see what is on the other side of your fear," she smiled, "take a step over the flame."  I gave myself a good few minutes.  Then I stepped forward. 

"This one step is a symbol of your leap of faith," she spoke quietly, "Now you are on the other side.  Feel the ground below your feet.  Did the ground fall out from below you?  Did you stop breathing?"

No. 

I pressed my toes onto the steady ground. 

"You just walked one step closer to claiming what life has in store for you on the other side of your fear."

At 4:30 p.m., I walked to my supervisor's office, my letter of termination in hand.  I remember feeling the ground strong and secure under my feet in every step of the hallway. My last day will be April 17, 2015, I said, almost choking on the words.  We made a few arrangements, spoke about a couple logistics and details, and he told me how missed I would be.  I thanked him, allowing tears. I gave my heart and soul to this job. I wasn't leaving because I was miserable.  On the contrary.  I was very happy, I loved my co-workers and my veterans. I was leaving because I had to walk my talk. I was constantly encouraging my groups to be authentic, follow your heart, and.... overcome your fears. 

I walked the short distance back to my office and closed the door.

For what seemed to be an hour, I fell to the ground and hyper-ventilated.  I knew it was the right choice, but there was still room for me to be so, (so) scared. I looked at the clock on the wall once more.  4:59 p.m., just a minute away from missing this very important day to accept my heart's calling. 

It could have waited until the next day.  Or the next season.  Or after I had more of a plan, or more security.  When it's time for that leap of faith, then it's time, not a minute sooner or later. I know now that the other two attempts to quit my job were practice runs for me, absolutely necessary to prepare for spreading my wings and taking flight, one ordinary afternoon, one year ago today. 

I'm with you when it's time for you to do the same.  I'm with you when you're hyperventilating and stifling the rapid inhale/exhale sounds so no one in the hallway hears you. I'm with you when you're ready to say "just kidding" to your boss, and I'm with you when you just can't do it. I'm with you when two years goes by and you just can't do it. I'm with you when instead of being brave, you drive home over and over, unable to look yourself in the rearview mirror. (You're ok.)

It just means you're preparing for the big leap.  (Be kind to yourself that day. Celebrate each preparation step in being brave.) And then I'm with you when it's time for the big leap. You'll be on the other side, you did it.  You're still breathing.   

I look around me today as I write to you from a provincial home in the countryside of Portugal.  The room is warmed by a wood burning stove.  I will be here for a few weeks before flying to Romania. I have many questions, many unknowns, many fears, many tears.  Looking back as I celebrate my one year anniversary, I realize my reward for being brave and leaping that day is quite an ironic one.  It led me here, in this moment one year later with new scenery.  But still the call is exactly the same. I have a thousand more leaps of faith to take, stepping over the candle flame one step at a time.    

(This was taken today at the cliffs near Lagoa, Portugal, where I celebrated this significant day.)