That blind jump

There really is no easy way when it comes to major changes in your daily routine.

Like resigning from the company where you spent more than ten years of your life.

After all those speeches you gave to yourself about “getting out of your comfort zone” to get things moving, the possibility of navigating an entirely new terrain looks very promising and terrifying at the same time.

There’s always that part of your mind that prides itself in being rational and pragmatic beating you over the unnecessary risk and potential disaster the course of action you took as the biggest mistake of your life.  Never understanding why you have made the dunderheaded decision of trading a perfectly comfortable and secure setup over something that would probably be the beginning of the end in terms of the many trials and tribulations you encounter; that it would be the start of an epic catalyst that will doom you forever.

leap

Melodramatic but that’s about the closest description that comes to mind when thinking of something like that.

Now I perfectly understand and feel for Uncle Owen’s headstrong insistence on just being a farmer and not allowing his step son to follow a radical (crazy, for all he knew) revolutionary recluse like Old Ben. Safe and boring maybe, but at least no imperial Storm Trooper’s making a target practice out of you. It really is not an easy decision, especially if you have people—like kids—to think about.

But then there’s also the ever-present nagging voice that’s just as loud saying you should act and do things now while you still can or live the rest of your life torturing yourself with a million “what ifs” and what-could-have-beens until you die. So you jump with little or no information on what lies ahead. Just pure instinct and the overwhelming need to do something—anything—to affect change and dynamic movement to one’s existence, hopefully for the better.

Constant movement  defines life according to some pop philosophers as well as real ones like Bruce Lee. The idea is to be like flowing water—always in motion and never stagnant. Hopefully this “movement” I just executed—not without the least amount of caution and planning—will define something alive rather than an utmost disaster.

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