It’s been years since I dusted off my resume, or interviewed for a new job. I love where I am and I love what I do, and there was just no reason to change it. But then suddenly, there was.
Suddenly, there were too many schedule conflicts with family events and work. There were weeks I didn’t see my kids for three days straight. There were nights I’d kiss a head in the dark and hear, “Are you gonna be here when I wake up Momma? I just like to know.”
Suddenly, this idea of online life as a hobby flew out of the window. Being online is literally a job for me now, one that is life-giving and hopefully very permanent. There were weeks I stayed up too far past my bedtime, trying to beat deadlines and answer emails before my alarm went off for work. There were nights leading up to the conference where I looked at my husband and shook my head from behind my computer screen, as he got up to make me another pot of coffee.
Suddenly, there were aches and pains. There were weeks I worked three in a row and wondered how on earth I’d done it until now. There were nights I’d limp in from work and collapse on the couch, unable to muster enough energy for so much as a conversation. My days off became a blurry blend of recovery and productivity, and I couldn’t seem to nail down a rhythm anymore like I’d done so easily in years past.
But I fought it all off, for what seemed like months. I love where I am. I love what I do. I love my patients. I love my surgeons. I love my team. I love my facility. I love my company. I am good at this. This is what I do. This is where I work. This is who I am. There was just no reason to change it. But there was.
As the school year swung in, I couldn’t ignore that voice any longer – the one that said, It’s not about you and what you love. It was time to explore other options, options that would give me a slower pace, a more structured routine, and more time at home with my family and other responsibilities.
So I dusted off the resume, and I interviewed for a new job. And I got it. I’ll be managing a patient caseload for a hospice agency here in town, doing weekly home visits and coordinating services for families in my county. I know that working with dying people is something that’s made me come alive in the past (a little ironic, I guess), so I’m trusting it will be a good fit for this next season.
Crying as I write this, I’m headed into my last week of work at the hospital. It feels weird to even type it out clearly. I’m leaving my job. I’d be lying if I said I felt great about it. I’m worried about what people will think. I’m worried about not mattering anymore, about starting over in a new environment where I’m new and unsure. I’m worried about losing touch with what has become a second family to me.
But I literally don’t have room for the worry. Not a spare inch. So I’m going to fill that space with lovely things instead, things that are pure. I am excited about being obedient. I feel great about listening to the still, small voice. I look forward to learning something new, and of course… being home for dinner every night. This new chapter feels brave, so I’m going with that.