I have a guilty conscience. I hold my parents responsible, for baptizing me Catholic; there is always something for me to feel guilty about. I once felt guilty because I came in third at a race and won a raffle at the same event. I won two prizes while others won nothing. I was guilty of being fast and lucky.
I also experience anticipatory guilt. I already feel guilty for quitting my job, and I haven’t even submitted my notice of resignation. Scott thinks this is ridiculous. He, however, does not share the same enthusiasm for his work as I do.
I love my job. I enjoy what I do. I have great co-workers, many of whom I call my friends. I work at a prestigious institution in one of the largest medical centers in the world where the air buzzes from the collective genius. It’s an exciting place to be. I am paid fairly. I have an office with a door and a window and a Keurig coffeemaker. I have a good gig going here. What more could I want? Will they understand that my leaving has nothing to do with them? Really, it’s not you, it’s me. Classic break-up line.
Normal people don’t ride their bikes to South America. If I was a normal person, maybe I would stay and work here forever. But I have to go. Because as much as I love my job, I love traveling more.