It is the end of another school year. My last day of working for the current school year is just weeks away. Have you ever known it was time to leave a job?  I might be at that point.  My husband graduated with his MBA two weeks ago, I am jealous when it comes to the amazing job prospects that are ahead of him.  My prospects, I have a Master’s degree and more than 40 hours past, are dismal at best.  I have a few bright spots.  I found a very interesting part-time job this summer, that has the potential to stretch into the fall.  My proposal for a charter school seems to be a “viable option” for the community.  My winter seasonal affective disorder has lifted, allowing me to begin running again, last year at this time I was at over six miles, now, three is my limit. I press on and am in no way in dire straights.  

So why am I so miserable?  In the past blogs, I attempted to diagnose myself with job burn out, sadness over the death of my brother, longing for an understanding of technical Latin phrases and business jargon.  I think that it is just middle age.  I finally am at the point where I know that I don’t know everything.  I know that I am far from my perfect self. I know that I am lucky in so many ways.  

I struggle with the unknown and taking a leap.  But, with each small step I take, I come one step closer to becoming the courageous person that I want to be.  I persist.  I dig.  My path for the immediate future is known-take care of kids, find painter to fix chipped walls in the house, put cucumbers and zucchini into the garden.  My path for the long term is still unknown.  Maybe it is all the graduation nostalgia and hopeful quotations circulating on Twitter and Facebook about hope for the future, but I continue to saunter down a line where I sway between desperation and almost fanatical optimism.  

Does that make any sense? Maybe, it does not have to.  

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