My bag is mostly packed, the dishes are done, the dog’s food is portioned out, and in a few minutes I will take the garbage down before I go to bed. I am nearly ready to head out on my next job interview road trip to yet a new town. I leave first thing in the morning.

I’m entertaining this fantasy right now (I spaced out for a few minutes in between paragraphs) of selling most of my things, packing the rest along with my dog in the car, driving 4 days to my parents’ house, hugging them and my dog goodbye, and hopping a plane to…

New Zealand? Scotland? South Africa?

I lose hold of the fantasy after that.

I have absolutely no idea if the choices I’m making are the right ones and it’s driving me fucking crazy to not know. To not have a sense. It used to be in the idea of staying here that it felt like some part of me would shrivel up and die. It made sense then to go. Now it feels like taking a new job in a new town in the field I’ve been trained in is a death too. Now it feels like I can’t win.

I am riddled with self-doubt. I have become increasingly convinced over the past few days of my own cowardice. I want desperately to be brave. Or, I want the kind of life I imagine a brave person has. (For some reason I just pictured myself tending sheep in the Scottish highlands. I’m probably allergic to sheep.)

I think all I can do is wait for some sense of clarity. Do the things that need doing and wait. And, when the time comes to make a choice, do my best to listen to what my body, heart, and mind are telling me. If I’m still in doubt, I hope to god I’m brave enough to go with my heart.