Here’s how I knew I’d be okay. When I went to work on Monday, the business manager told me that I didn’t have to come in for the rest of my two weeks, that I could go on home. So I went to the old office to gather the rest of my possessions that hadn’t been moved, drove home, and as I turned onto the street leading into my neigbhorhood, saw flashing lights behind me. A cop pulled me over. He jogged up and, in an upbeat tone, asked if my tags were really out of date. I said, “Yep, I’m afraid so.” He asked for my license and registration and took them back to his truck. And I sat back in my truck and enjoyed the breeze blowing across my face.
Seriously. I enjoyed sitting there, next to a park, watching the trees shimmy in the breeze. I’d just left my job, all my work stuff was piled next to me in the truck, I’d been pulled over for a (probably expensive) ticket, and I was almost ready to whistle.
That’s when I knew I’d be okay.