What do I do now?

Three cups of tea later (Yorkshire Gold with cream, and a really nice milk oolong, in case you are curious, or thirsty-), it's 2:30am and I'm still up. The latest I've been up in a few months, since acclimating to the normal person's 8 to 5 workday; I'm usually knocked out by midnight. For the past two years, I've worn blouses, skirts, and slacks to work- unless it's a Friday, in which case, the jeans (without holes) are pulled out of the dresser and thrown on fifteen minutes before I'm plunking a pod into the coffee machine at the office.

Tonight, I'm up because, a few weeks ago, I quit my two-monitors-three-filing-cabinets desk job, and applied/was accepted for a national nonprofit teaching position. My parents are unhappy that I am considering voluntary poverty. I'm not sure what to think myself; hence, here I am, wide awake at 2:38am. I may be teaching children and adults, full-time, in underserved rural communities, across Eastern Oregon. I may be working on an Indian reservation. I may be living in a town with less than 200 inhabitants. My graduating high school class had 550 students.

I've experienced so many changes and personal discoveries in these past two years. I graduated college and got married. I moved to a new state with my husband. I found work. I found restlessness, fear, loneliness and depression. And then I found a chasm of ugly and beautiful aspects coexisting within myself. I admitted buried truths to the people around me- to my husband, to my friends, and most importantly, to my parents. I thought I would live my entire life lying to them; I spent months agonizing over what they'd think, how they'd reject me. They know the truth now, and they still love me.

So now I find myself wondering what the next step in my life is. Two years ago, I had a trajectory. Now, I have the entire world before me, and it makes me feel small, like I'm being compressed in my bed as I lie awake with my eyes screwed shut. I've considered applying for sustainable MBA programs, a second degree in nursing, a PhD in child development, a job at Google. And now this.

Somehow it feels right, like I've been floating along a current, and am now being turned around and pushed through an eddy (went rafting this afternoon; excuse the random metaphor) back to where I came from; back to where I should be. This is easier than joining the Peace Corps and being sent off to Malawi. It's easier than moving to South Korea to teach English. I've known (for at least the past ten years) that I want to do service work. I buried the feeling, hoping it would go away and absolve me of my duty to others, but the subconscious action continuously made me feel desperate and unfulfilled.

I want to do this so badly, but I'm scared of being alone. I need to do this, I know. And I will do it, after I type out enough words to encourage myself to go forward with this great opportunity. It's only 10 months. I love teaching. I love the flexibility a teaching schedule permits. I enjoy working with nonprofits, and I'm excited about the time I'll have to develop and strengthen my own personality; to work on myself while giving back to my community.

A month ago, I had a moment of total fear and remorse; I'd just given my two weeks' notice to hand back a full-time job, health insurance, 401K, company cell phone, a comfortable existence. Ironically-- and fortuitously-- my boss gave me the strength to move forward when he issued a no-takebacks policy... which was, coincidentally, on the same day that I was called up for another job interview. He encouraged me to go ahead with the opportunity, agreeing-

What good is it when the only happiness you derive from your job is your ability to spend money on weekends?

So... Good for all of us. He will find a satisfied bookkeeper/accountant, and I will find...

A cliche to end: Life is short and it deserves love. I need the next 10-12 months to figure out how to love myself, my friends, my environment, my community. It's subjective and intangible, but you either have it or you don't. I don't, but I will.