The Messy Middle

It’s been a hard few days.

I’m looking forward to the weekend - when I pretend every day is the weekend. I miss my productive self. I don’t understand downtime. I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m not working. I hate how quickly I burn out.

Ugh. Why is this so hard?

I’ve been passing on opportunities that come my way. And at least once a week, I question myself.

Am I doing the right thing?

Leaving behind a successful career as a professional calligraphy artist to begin again as a fine artist - is this brave or just reckless?

My gut says yes. For many reasons.

But the anxiety doesn’t leave. It’s like an uninvited guest, constantly whispering in my ear.

I’ve thought about going back to corporate life. But to what? And could I even do it now? Probably not.

I’ve even thought about working in a café. Just temporarily. I think it would make me happy. I want to feel alive in a simple way again.

I’ve worked alone for so long. And while I work best alone, it still gets to me sometimes. I miss small interactions. Passing conversations. The quiet comfort of being around people.

And yes - I miss the salary.

Watching your bank account drain faster than you can refill it is a different kind of anxiety. The practical kind. The loud kind.

I hate this in-between space I’ve placed myself in. Right now, I don’t know what to do with myself. Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve just stayed with the herd. Not scratched this itch to be different.

But maybe what I’m grieving isn’t the old career.

Maybe I’m grieving the some what certainty of it.

Because embracing everything that comes with wanting and choosing to be different, that’s the hardest part of being different.