I’m scared. Since Friday I keep talking about this decision of whether or not to accept an unexpected job offer and move to the desert as if I hadn’t already made it. I knew when I was driving out of the town I’d be relocating to on Friday that I was going to accept. That I was going to move. That I was about to start a new chapter of my life. I have been terrified and overwhelmed ever since.
I didn’t see this coming. I don’t feel ready for it. Yet it’s everything I thought I wanted. It’s rural. It’s someplace new. And now that it could actually be real, there’s a part of me that wants to stay no and duck back into my cave. There’s a part of me that would rather be stifled than free.
I’m scared. I’m doing this on my own. I’m doing this alone. It’s going to be me, a stranger in a small town in the middle of desert, and no one else. I don’t think I’m a particularly brave person. I need to do this for myself. I need to know that I can do this. This feels like living. Staying safe in my old apartment–saying no and going back home to wait some more–feels like a stifling kind of stasis. It doesn’t feel like life. I don’t feel alive in it. Taking this leap, it feels like living. And it’s scary. I am scared of living.