Just over three years ago, I moved almost all the way across the country from Maine to New Mexico. Here's the short version:
I quit my job. I gave up an apartment I loved. I sold most of my belongings. I packed myself, my cat, and my remaining belongings into my little Saturn sedan, and I drove to New Mexico. I had a friend there with whom I planned to stay. I had no job and no real plan.
I called this my leap of faith, and to emphasize the significance of the moment, I jumped out of a plane first. In the DVD of my skydive, I say to the camera, "This is my leap of faith to celebrate my leap of faith."
And I did it, and I survived both. One was much harder and scarier than the other.
I arrived in New Mexico with a vision of creating a new and different life for myself. I didn't want to recreate the safe and secure life I'd had in Maine, but that's pretty much what I did. Security is seductive, especially when you've just landed in a hot, dusty desert surrounded by mountains that can feel like the walls of a fortress.
I got a safe and secure job that I cared about deeply. I had health insurance. I proved to myself that I could be successful here, but three years later, I still want that new and different life for myself. It seems it is time for another leap of faith. So this is where we begin. I'm standing in the open door of a plane, looking down at the earth stretched out forever before me, and I'm about to jump. The thought in my head, just like three years ago, is a clear and simple, "this could be it."
And I'm okay with that. Mostly.
