We’re moving back to England. There, I said it. It’s out in the universe now, beyond my control. I take no responsibility for any repercussions or hurt feelings.
Okay, it’s not that easy, but I wish it were. If only this move was beyond my control instead of within it. People are far more understanding when you have a relative on a death bed or the job of a lifetime overseas. This is more of a throw caution to the wind and make your momma cry sort of thing.
Paul and I both put in our 30 day notice at work. My official last day will be October 17th. Paul will be lucky if he gets out by December. I’m feeling more relived now that I’ve told my big secret, but it also leaves me open for comments like “with Sherrie’s impending departure our September meeting will be cancelled.” And I feel guilty for stressing out two super nice boss ladies.
But the prevailing feelings are fear and excitement. Fear that I’m doing the wrong thing by quiting a stress free, well paid job I love. Fear that we won’t be able survive without an income. But so excited to not have to wake up to an alarm clock at 5:45am every morning. Excited to spend time with my family and friends, enjoy Portland uninhibited, read all the books I’ve checked out from the library and work on overcoming my trepidation and anxiety about the move.
I think once my 30 days are up I won’t be looking back, only forward. I mean let’s face it, life is just too short to spend 9 hours on your butt in an office every day.
