Part of the excitement of jumping off a cliff without a net is the intensity of the free fall. What will I learn about myself? What is the limit of my comfort? What do I really need to be happy and what if I took that away, who would I be then? Those kinds of questions make themselves known when you decide to leave one situation and don't know what you're going to do next. It is scary and the fear itself has a fascination as you look at it closely -- I'm only scared this much about this, but I'm scared a lot about this, I wonder why? In any case I think it is the mysterious and rare untetheredness, and the richness of possibility (including the possibility for colossal failure) during this time that explains the unexpected enthusiasm of people's admiration and support. I've been frankly surprised more people haven't chimed up and said, "I think you're a truly foolish kook for quitting your job without another one lined up."
Anyway, so this morning someone basically ran out of the woodwork with a big plush mattress hollering "You can land right here, it's nice and soft." Which is nice and all, and there's a piece of me sighing this great sigh of relief. But, you know, I don't know if that's where I want to land. I'm hardly ready to think about that. Somehow just the fact of it appearing makes me feel less brave for jumping in the first place. And suddenly it gives my questions a different form -- 'is that what I want and when do I have to decide?' rather than 'what do I want and how will I know and what am I willing to accept or give up to get it?'
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