The Fires Burn Low

Mood: Crouching
Drinking: Pop, Fizz

I’m leaping into a change of scenery. Inhale and hold.

Change equally inflames and frightens me, and at the moment I’m teetering on the fence, right foot in front of left, arms flung out like airplane wings, trying to maintain my ambivalence.

Tomorrow is my last day at a job that has been good to me for the past two years. Next week I start a new gig with a lot of risks and a lot of perks.

I came back from Chicago with a midwestern head cold and in between sneezes I am trying to remind myself that comfort isn’t a good enough reason to stay put. I know all the routines of my current job. I have a color-coded calendar and a carefully labeled file drawer. I know where the landmines are and how to tiptoe around them. I have an assortment of fancy ink pens and an Aeron chair. For two years, I’ve had it made. And now I’m movin’ on.

I’ve got new names to learn and new routines to establish. I’ve got to shape a new voice for a whole new generation and start a discussion about serial commas. And just in time (with all the earthquake rumblings of late), I can finally abandon my Bay Bridge commute to the east side. I’ll be stayin’ in the city every day, all day from here on out. (That’s reason enough to quit a comfortable job.)

I’ll exhale on the other side.

-Lo, slightly delerious with a head full of medicine.

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