Tomorrow is my last day at work. My friend Michelle is taking me out for a celebratory dinner somewhere, then Thursday I fly to Marrakesh (we're staying here - how cool is that?!) to meet my friend Brad for a few days R&R, and next Tuesday the job search begins en force. I'm terrified, but I'm also very excited. VERY excited.
It's so odd to be leaving a job with nothing firm to move to. I've done it before. Heck, I've done it several times. And though it's a little easier each time, it's still somewhere between exhilarating and exhausting and bowel-spasmingly frightening. I don't know why - each time I do this I end up better off.
The first time I ditched a go-nowhere slacker life in MSP and followed the scent of El Ben to Seattle, which led me to my playgroup and an exciting job at a start-up working for a good-natured lunatic and I got to go to Hawaii several times a year and visit CP for the weekend on the commuter flight to LA. (I had a few bitchin' apartments there too, FYI, not to mention a fabulous unemployed summer sitting in the garden drinking coffee until 10 AM every day.)
The second time I followed CP to DC, and though I hated the city I had a few spectacular months where I could see him all the time, not just when I could afford the airfare. Every day if I wanted. Sometimes twice. (In case you didn't realise, CP+Mindy=MEGAFUN, a sure recipe for happiness.)
The third time I stopped in MSP again for a few years, which gave me time to reconnect with my old friends and a few new ones, and led me to my current employer, which has sent me travelling around the globe and moved me to the UK and paid for my MBA.
With a track record like this, how can I worry?
So even though I'm a bit panicky, I'm ready for a change and I'm confident that I'll be dancing a jig of success soon.