Plan B(e)

Living in the moment, while still living in a dream...

When 'I Quit' Becomes 'I Begin'

I've had this ache in my heart since summer of last year. I tried ignoring it, burying it under self-doubt, writing it but never finishing the story, leaving it to simmer not knowing which of us would drown—me the creator ignoring it, or the feeling of never attending to it. I sometimes listened to its whispers when I wrote poems on the page or performed them on a stage. I knew that this feeling wasn't just something I could wish away. It was deeper than that, deeper than me, something I couldn't explain, not even to myself.

I've always had a plan for my backup plan. It's something you learn to do when you're in survival mode. And I like to say that my Gemini characteristics are sometimes more on point than ever. There isn't a time where I felt I didn't "have a plan" for how things were going to unfold in my life. Some may say I'm completely obsessed with needing to plan because the unknown, the not knowing—well, let's just say that can make a girl spiral out of control.

Not knowing wasn't an option I gave myself. Stability, consistency, knowing something from nothing was my way of keeping little ol' me safe. I know many of you can relate. Many of you may be telling yourselves, "Well, you never really know if you will be here tomorrow." And it's true, we don't. But pretending you do, planning a day that hasn't existed yet, is the only way I could live this one. I NEEDED to know I was going to be okay. If not, I couldn't function.

That all changed when in February I lost someone super close, and in a matter of seconds, I saw how life can break its promises. I saw how one minute you can be here, fully present, eyes open, mouth talking, and in one second—one literal second—be gone. I've experienced grieving myself and all I've ever outgrown. I've experienced loss and was aware that death exists. But it never sank into me like that very moment did.

Nothing in the absolute world mattered anymore—not the money, not the career, not my carefully written calendar, not the crossed-out dates, accomplishments, awards, bank account, or opportunities. NOTHING mattered anymore. Nothing at all.

Following My Heart's GPS

Imagine for a second that you believe in destiny, in aching feelings that make you question your entire existence. This isn't just a story. It's an ongoing one, still being written as you read these lines right now. Imagine you were born with this compass, moved by the pull of pure feeling. This compass only gives you vague directions: move forward, turn around, stay on this route for the next 2 years.

It doesn't speak, but speaks to you. It doesn't tell you "wrong way," just pulls on your heartstrings. It doesn't tell you what's next, when you'll stop moving, if there's something on the other side. It doesn't even tell you the next destination—it just beats, and pulls, and aches, until you give it what it's asking for.

Many times I thought I was one step ahead of it. Silly me for thinking I could beat a feeling. Many times it showed me how I couldn't outsmart it. Many times it let me think I had some sense of control over it just for it to laugh in my face and change direction last minute.

I don't think I hate this compass, or remember when it was gifted to me. I don't recall the first time it ached and pulled on my heart. I don't remember ever grasping it, how it reached me while I just minded my business and lived a "normal" life.

I want to say grief handed me this compass. It told me to move, now. And although I've never met her or faced her face to face, she knew me. It's like she was waiting, somewhere down the route to nowhere. She was there, next exit to the right, watching me, knowing exactly the moment to pass this "feeling compass" to me. And she did more than just that—she lit the fire. She pulled all the heartstrings at once. She told me, in feeling, that I needed to go. Now. Before this dream escaped me.

I Quit My Job With Nothing But a Dollar and a Dream

I can't tell you why the words "I Quit" escaped my lips before my mind could connect the dots. I can't even tell you the plan now. All I know is that last September, I quit my teaching job with no plans—just a passion and a compass, or like J Cole says, with just "a dollar and a dream."

Ever since that moment of loss, I decided I wouldn't be working for anything that didn't bring me purpose. I quit my 9-5 not because I hated it (although shout outs to you teachers) but for the simple fact that if I were to die tomorrow, what would I take with me? Would this all be worth something? What currency does the afterlife use? And can I live in that world, with all I've done in this one?

Quitting wasn't just about a girl chasing a dream. It is me leaving everything behind. EVERYTHING. The fears, the need to know, the planning, the constant prepping just because I simply couldn't accept the fact that not knowing is part of this life. We don't know anything. We can plan and plan and plan, and still be heading down the wrong path. There is no "knowing," there is no "readiness." There is just breath, life, and feeling.

I write this not to say that quitting was my best option, but also not to say it wasn't. I write this to say that this ache in my heart, the waves that overflow, this feeling was put in me for a reason. It will stay until I learn to swim. And even if I never do, I've always learned to float.

Quitting my job with no plan. Just passion, a dream, $100 to my name, but a fucking magical compass leading me in the right direction.

Here's what I've learned since then: the universe doesn't reward those who have it all figured out—it rewards those brave enough to listen when their soul speaks. That compass isn't punishment; it's the greatest gift I've ever received. It's the voice of my authentic self that was always there, waiting for me to be quiet enough, brave enough, or maybe desperate enough to finally listen.

Some days I wake up terrified, questioning everything. Other days I feel more alive than I have in years. Both are necessary. Both are real. Both are part of this journey of following your heart instead of a roadmap someone else designed.

So if you feel that ache, that pull, that compass spinning wildly in your chest—maybe it's time to listen. Maybe your soul is trying to tell you something that your mind isn't ready to hear. Maybe the most responsible thing you can do isn't to stay safe, but to be true to who you really are.

I don't know where this compass is taking me. I only know that for the first time, I'm actually living instead of just planning to live. And that, my friends, is worth every penny I don't have.