The GeekHiker

So.

I passed the test.  Bravo to me.

And now I’ve reached the division line.  The point where I can see, potentially, two paths to take.

On the one hand, I can go back and try to take the test I failed last November.  There’s a part of me that really feels I should do this, both for my resume and so that the time then wasn’t wasted.

I pulled my study guide off the shelf, started looking over the materials.  Again, for that test, and that test in particular, I’m overwhelmed by the sheer amount of stuff they want you to know.  That alone makes the idea of torturing myself through another one overwhelming, despite the rounding out it will add to the resume.

The other path is to put the plan in motion.  Quit the job.  Put everything in storage.  Hit the road.

[Damn, it sounds so easy when you write it.  Little harder than that, as it turns out.]

The thing about the second option is, the timing is better.  Summer is here.  The economy is starting to pick up.  But, more appealing than anything else, I have to get out of this job.  Work has gotten worse.  People want out.  Morale is low.  The couple of co-workers I am friends with descend into long bitch-sessions on a daily basis now, so ugly (and so ugly that it makes me feel), that I have to step out of the room.

[Yet I felt guilty leaving them behind.  It’s like coming home from war, but leaving your buddies in the foxhole behind and feeling guilty about it.]

I’ve been able to mentally distance myself from it, for the most part.  I’m helped by the fact that I don’t really care about the place; it’s driven the pride and work-ethic I usually maintain right out of me, hopefully a change that’s limited only to this place of employment.  I’ve stopped doing anything more than what’s expected of me, stopped contributing, stopped making suggestions or giving opinions unless asked.

Despite this, I know it’s affecting me, making me someone I don’t want to be.  My temper is short, my patience in traffic little, my patience with people in general even less.

I have to get out.

* * *

Yet, I am held back.

Held back by my own indecisiveness.  Which, really, means being held back by my own fears.

I still have a difficult time with the idea of traveling alone.  I don’t know why.  You’d think after seeking, but not finding, someone special for twenty years I’d be more comfortable with the concept.

So I put up an online dating profile the other day.  I realized, though, that once I’d put it up, I wasn’t sure it was what I wanted.  There’s a part of me that wants to get out of L.A. so badly, yet another part that wants to settle down.  In my dreams I’d meet someone who felt the same, but those are dreams.

Deep down, though, I keep having the feeling I need to travel first, find myself back to center.  Figure out what I want to do.  Shake off the baggage of this job.

Now if I could just shake the feeling, as I approach 40, that change is not already too late.

[Had a long rant here.  Think I’ll save it for a post…]