Yesterday I told my boss that I’m not coming back next summer. I told her that I’m starting a business and that I’m going to write. I explained that I didn’t have the discipline or energy to work the 8-5 job and write in the evening. She expressed excitement for me and my next steps and gratitude for my contributions over the past couple of years. I felt so brave saying the hard thing out loud to her.

The moment I left her office, I saw the hallway through heavy, nostalgic eyes. I was still in the building, but already I missed each smiling face, the hallway banter, spending ten hours a day in the same building as my sister, the warmth of the laminator. At night I went to a co-worker’s house and watched a movie with others from the office. The warmth, familiarity, and comfort felt so good. I love these people. I love my work.

Am I making a huge mistake? I’m lucky enough to have found a job that I’m good at and that I believe in. No one finds that. Or at least not many. Why am I messing it up by leaving?

Conversation after the film moved to a work topic that we’ve talked about hundreds of times. One of the most frustrating things about our jobs— entitelement. The other four in the room started to escalate, building off of one another’s irritation.

There’s the reassurance I needed. I didn’t care. Not in a flippant way, but in a time to move on and try something new way.

So here I go. Feeling scared, which means it’s likely the right move.