I quit my job. In this economy, I quit my job. I have no idea what comes next, but I knew I was done. I don't recommend this course of action to everyone (although, seriously, it might be kinda cool to see what would happen if EVERYONE quit their jobs!), but when you know, you know. Many years ago, I fell in love with the idea of creating my own little homestead with backyard chickens, a giant garden, and hopefully someday, some goats, pigs, you name it. At the time that I became fascinated with this idea, I was married to my ex-husband and lived in an apartment, so many of those enterprises were not an option for exploration. That didn't stop me, however, from growing tomatoes on the balcony and experimenting with fermentation. About eight years ago, I very suddenly found myself to be a single parent, and with the help of my parents, found a beautiful old house to call my own. It didn't take long before the chicken coop was built and the garden was growing, and I found that these projects brought me so much joy. They made me feel like I could take care of myself and my daughter. Every time I picked a tomato or cracked a fresh egg that I walked twenty feet to retrieve, I felt a surge of pride and the warmth of security. These were labors of love and I wanted to learn them all. Now let's be real, hyperfixation is a thing and I am guilty of it often, but over the years, I have continued to find pleasure and solace in these activities. But something has been off.
Almost three years ago, I decided to make a change in my career in the interest of serving a more vulnerable population of people with my work. I went from a job that I was really good at, but wasn't quite challenging enough, to a job that had my head spinning and my heart breaking. A job that promised autonomy and flexibility, which ultimately translated to constantly changing hours and a side of vicarious trauma. And of course, I hyperfixated on this job, and it eventually took over my life. I had no time or energy to dedicate to the things that filled my cup and brought me peace. I abandoned plans to can and preserve food, turned down invitations to visit farmer's markets, and even took a break from my chickens for a year. My garden was overtaken by weeds by the end of July two years in a row, and last year I didn't even get a single tomato for my favorite summer snack (caprese salad). In the midst of my burnout, I lost many of the things that brought joy and balance to my life.
So you know what? I'm done chasing the life I want on the weekends. I'm done saving recipes I know I'll never have the time or energy to make. I'm done wishing that I could be the kind of parent, the kind of spouse, the kind of person that I dream to be, if only I had the time. Remember lockdown? When we got to glimpse a simpler life, only to realize that we could have taken better advantage of the time before the rat race started up again, with a vengeance? Maybe this is my chance to reclaim my simpler life, and I'm going to take that chance. The world's on fire and life is short. Do what you want. And who knows? Maybe the world will be better for it.