Nobody really talks about the difficulties of giving up one life for another. The decision to do so is hard enough, but I'm talking the minor details that everything glosses over. The things that are never mentioned in the books and movies. The paperwork to take a Leave of Absence. The dealing with shame and excitement, jealousy, envy, pride and disappointment of giving up what you have - from yourself and from others. Dealing with pensions and benefits (of which I am lucky to have, even if they wrongly cancelled my benefits on me and I had to raise hell to get them properly reinstated), dealing with doctors (especially when you don't actually have one and have to go through phone calls and walk-ins), working out a sublet with your landlord (not to mention finding someone safe to take over your place, which I haven't yet), selling your car (never done that before), all the banking changes (new credit cards, moving money, budgeting, etc), insurance ...
I want to fold laundry somewhere else. That wasn't the first thought I'd had about leaving. I'd had plenty. It was just the one that stuck with me a few weeks ago, the one that pushed me to do it all. It was such a small, simple little thought as I shook out a bedsheet and looked out my window at the view I knew so well. I'm tired of my job - even though I love it, and mentally worn out. The last few years, with Covid and inflation and climate disasters, not to mention war and the disintegration of people's rights... I was done. Am done. I live on Vancouver Island, in Canada. Paradise. I see mountains out my windows, the ocean breeze pours in, people are friendly and life is slow. Easy. Boring. I moved out here eight years ago because I was burned out then, too. I built a decent life. I have my family, I made some wonderful friends that helped me find my voice, myself, and I liked go...