Country roads, take me home
A long, long time ago, I left my full-time HR job for a part-time adoption counseling position at a local animal shelter. I’d been feeling unfulfilled in my current job, and an existential crisis at a huge HR conference (combined with the fact that my boss was a total nightmare) convinced me that I needed to make a change. “I have at least 30 more years of working left,” I told myself. “I don’t want to spend it being completely miserable.”
So, despite the fact that my family thought I was insane, I took the job and didn’t look back. I’m so glad that I did. I love working in animal welfare. I’ve met so many wonderful people (and do you even know how many dogs and cats I’ve gotten to pet?) and I’ve had experiences I never could have imagined. I love that I had the opportunity to do so many different things in my time at various organizations (including ones where I volunteered!), I love knowing that I got to help so many animals, and I love that, after years of being a Volunteer Manager, I got to help other people learn how they could help, as well. Which makes what I’m about to say seem unbelievable to even myself. Who even knows how Past!Jennie would have taken it.
I turned in my resignation to PAWS last week.
To be honest, this has probably been a long time coming, ever since I was diagnosed with cancer back in August of 2020, and certainly since the recurrence this past April. It was likely only a matter of time, but because one of my main personality traits is STUBBORN, I didn’t want to admit it. I was incredibly lucky that I could take a long leave back when I had surgery, and I’ve been working limited hours for the past few months, but after starting this new chemo regimen, even I could ALMOST admit it was time.
Still. The thing that really pushed it over the edge is this: we’re moving back to Ohio.
When we moved to Washington five years ago, I always assumed we’d move back at some point. The majority of our family is in Ohio and it just felt like we wouldn’t be able to stay away forever. But the longer we lived here, the more I fell in love with the PNW. And right after we moved across the country, I thought…if we did it once, why couldn’t we do it again? We could move anywhere now.
But we’re not moving anywhere now. We’re moving to Ohio. And like almost everything else in my life these days, I’m feeling conflicted about it. Of course, I’ll be happy to be closer to our family and Ohio friends. After everything with COVID and cancer, how could I not be? But, if I’m honest, that’s about all I’m happy about. I’m pretty salty about having to move, honestly, PERIOD END OF SENTENCE. The thought of leaving makes my heart physically ache. I love it here. I’m comfortable here. And if it weren’t for cancer, I’d be staying here.
The idea to move back to Ohio came up after my recurrence, when it seemed like I was being handed a death sentence and everything felt dire enough to warrant a quick move to be with family. But once things calmed down a bit and we had a treatment plan, we decided to stay and see how things panned out. (See also, above re: STUBBORN. I didn’t want to go.)
“I’ll tell you when it’s time to go back,” Dr. R told us. “There’s no need to run to Ohio yet.”
She still hasn’t given us that warning, but once I started on chemo, we decided we should probably get to Ohio before things got really bad again. I don’t know if you’ve ever gotten devastating, world-topsy-turvying news, but the last thing you feel like doing at that time is coordinating a cross country move.
Still. We’ve been putting it off. Well. I’ve been putting it off. “After this next scan,” I’d think. “We’ll know more.” But there’s always a next scan and, so far, none of them have led to “Congrats, your cancer is gone forever and you can do whatever you want!” We’ve slowly been coming to terms with the fact that, at some point, the treatment I’m on will likely stop working and we want to be settled somewhere before that shakes everything up. Again.
I don’t remember if I’ve talked about this much, but I have a hard time feeling excited for things anymore. I know when I should feel excited, but I just don’t feel it. So I don’t really feel excited to be moving back to Ohio. Honestly, aside from the whole family/friend angle, I’m dreading it. I’m dreading the moving process. I’m dreading the Ohio winters. I’m dreading the Ohio summers. I’m dreading not having a job, because what do I do with myself without a job? Who am I if I don’t work in animal welfare? What should I do next? (Related: if you know of any part-time work that doesn’t require me to speak at all and that is incredibly flexible, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.)
Mostly I hate that these decisions to move home and leave my job don’t really feel like mine. It’s just another thing that cancer decided for me. And there’s a part of me that feels defeated by the move back. Like it’s only happening because my cancer = very bad, and I might die, so I should go home to be around family while I can. Which is probably why I’ve been putting it off. Who wouldn’t?
We’ll be around through at least the beginning of 2022. Hopefully it’ll be enough time to make it to all of the places on my ever-growing list that I want to see again before we leave, and enough time to say good-bye to people. I’m trying to use this in-between time to hype myself up for the move. Maybe we’ll make the journey back a fun road trip, just Joe and I. I’m joining Ohio birding groups on Facebook to remind myself that wildlife exists in other places (even if it doesn’t include orcas and seals and sea otters and shit, I made myself sad again). I’m trying to remind myself that the traffic, the cost of living, the number of people on hikes (even the popular ones!) will be much better. And I’m sure once we’re in Ohio, around so many people we love, some of whom I haven’t seen in LITERAL YEARS, things will feel much different.
But until then, I’ll just be over here, pouting in the corner. You can ignore me. I’ve gotten good at getting over things, I’m sure this will be no different.
