Write on.

the edge of crazy.

Alright.

Now that I actually have something to write about, I’ve been putting it off.

I’ve been preparing myself for this; it’s a vulnerable topic.  Not for you, as the reader, but for me; a people-pleaser.

You see, I left my job last Tuesday.  Not like, hey I’m going home for the day . . . or for the week.  More like, hey I’m going home for the, uh…well for the rest of my life…

Permanent.

I don’t know what I was thinking . . . or rather, I know what I was thinking, but I don’t know why I chose that particular time to think it out loud. I was thinking I’m ready to do my own thing.  I’m ready to do what I really love.  And so without too much of a hesitation, I left my day job.

I cried a lot that day.  I wasn’t prepared.  I really enjoyed the girls that I worked with.  They had become my friends, and I looked forward to seeing them every day.  I felt like a total jerk; I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to any of them.  But as a drove home that Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of bawling my eyes out, I felt this sense of relief.  That proverbial weight of “the wrong job” was lifted off my shoulders.  The whole world was right in front of me…if I wasn’t married, I might have driven to California, just because I could.

And that’s when it really hit me.  Ohhhhhhh my goodness, I’m married.  And I just left my job and my husband doesn’t know.  We are a one income family now, and he has no idea.

Talk about a long drive home.

Let me just tell you.  I have an incredible husband.  When I bore the bad news, he wasn’t angry.  He wasn’t disappointed.  He supported me, told me he loved me, and that was it.  And this has been the turning point for me.

I avoided writing all of this for over a week because I was afraid of what people might think.  Who leaves their job without a real plan?  Certainly not a responsible adult.  Definitely not a responsible wife.

But I did it.  And I do have a reason.

I went to school to be creative.  I went to school to learn about photography and writing and art.  (And to get married, let’s just be honest.)  When I graduated, I was still trying to figure out where my passions lay.

Photography.

I kept hearing it in my head.

You could do this, if you really wanted to.

Except that everyone and their mother is a photographer now.

But you could do it.

Maybe later.  For now, I’ll work a really great job that I don’t love, but it keeps me happy enough and helps pay off all that insane college debt.

Photography, Emily. God gave you a passion for it.  Go.

And so I left.

I’m going against every logical bone in my body that tells me to avoid taking risks.  I’m ignoring every part of me that says I shouldn’t try to work from home until I decide I want kids.  So I’m going to pursue photography full time.  Who knows if I’ll actually succeed, but I believe this is the direction God has placed before me and I don’t want to live my life knowing I didn’t take any risks.  I would rather fail knowing that I tried than never try and fail regardless.   As long as I’m giving God the glory, what does it matter where I work or how much money I’m making?

So, here’s to the biggest risk I’ve ever taken.

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