Uncertainty. It’s innately uncomfortable. It makes me restless, yet stagnant: a catch 22. And here I am willingly choosing uncertainty—quitting my job without a new job lined up, in the midst of a pandemic, when unemployment is high, and the economy is badly hit—to search for something that brings me joy.

I do take some pride in being brave enough to call it quits so that I can create space for a better thing, but of course it’s not easy. A friend said it like this: it can be scary to give up an okay thing in search of a great thing. And that’s exactly it. It’s hard to leave behind something that’s okay—it’s not terrible enough to storm out of but not great enough to love—for something you’re passionate about, even if you’re not sure what that is yet. And that uncertainty of not yet knowing your niche, the thing that you could do every day and be happy about it, the thing that makes you feel alive, can be quite hard to sit with.

I’m not convinced that I have a calling, and I think most people could say that. Why is it that we (or at least I) envy the people that have always known what they want to do since they were a child, or found a way to make their childhood passions into a living? When I think about what I enjoyed doing as a child, I think of soccer and coloring. And while I did dream that I would become a professional soccer player one day, I have obviously accepted that this kind of dream is only a dream, the kind that you’re okay letting go. Nor will I make a living of coloring, as good as I am at staying in the lines and choosing a good mix of colors (for the record, I still do love a big box of crayons).

I wonder why I’m wishing I had a calling. Why is that preferable over exploring, following a set of leads, finding my joy through a complex web? It’s the uncertainty: not knowing that there is an end to the search, or at least one I feel is my own. Of course, I can make an end for myself and say, “Well, this is good, I think I’ll stay here.” But, being the dreamer I am, a person that is always searching for more (by the way, I think that is an okay thing), I want to find that sweet spot—past the okay thing, past the “this will work” thing, but it doesn’t have to reach the self-actualization thing (yet).

What I read a couple nights ago is that your passion is likely in plain sight, which was heartening to hear because the past few days I’ve felt like I’ve been flailing to conjure up my “passion.” As I went through the checklist designed to help you recognize the thing you want to do, editing/writing checked most, if not all, of those boxes, and it was the only thing that came to mind as I read each statement. Talk about something being in plain sight. I’m already telling myself what I’m waiting to hear, to know. Maybe I’m worried it’s only a passing fancy, that editing/writing is just a burst of passion and not a sustainable one. But the only way to know is to try, to follow the lead, to accept trial and error. Just start somewhere. And keep going.

So here I am, sitting with uncertainty, self-doubt, pride, hope, passion, fear, support, and love (the latter two things being of utmost importance and things I take to heart very consciously). One week until the conventional work structure crumbles and then it’s time to rebuild the structure (pretty sure I can manage a decent lean-to). Time to learn new things (two things on my list: German and how to be a boss lady), show self-compassion, rest and reset, inevitably cry, write more, read more, wonder, question, accept help, and do work. Taken together, these actions and emotions will keep me plenty busy while I learn my new normal and follow my own lead. It’s like I’m dangling a carrot for myself, though since I’m the boss now, the carrot will be quickly replaced by a chocolate peanut butter cup.

Reaching…