The Dog Days Are Over

I looked at the time on my cell phone; it was 4:50pm. I did one last double check that my files had transferred to my flash drive, and shut down my computer. I realized I still had my personal mouse hooked up to the computer, so I wrapped it up and threw it in the big blue plastic bin on my side table. I put the lid on the bin, finally satisfied that I had in fact, gotten everything from office.

I made four trips to the car: two blue storage bins, and my bag of books. The last trip was for the paper sorter I had bought from IKEA. I stood there in my office and looked around at the light teal walls, still vibrant from being repainted just that summer. I smiled at the hot pink post-it notes stuck to two walls that read simply “ART”.

I was overcome in the moment, this precipice of ending – saying goodbye to not only a job with a stable salary and benefits, but to the longest job I’d had – and the promise of beginning with my new business. A feeling of opportunity like I’ve never felt washed over me and in that moment, I was humbled.

Instinctually, I recited the Shehecheyanu: Baruch ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam
shehecḥeyanu v’kiy’manu v’higiy’anu laz’man hazeh.

Blessed are You, Lord Our G-d, Ruler of the Universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.

I flicked off the light switch, the street lamp outside illuminating the room in a soft, muddled orange. I shut my office door, the familiar sound of the latch catching rather loud in the otherwise quite office. I didn’t turn around to give everything one last look.

I walked outside, the November air brisk and sharp as I inhaled, the cool night breeze filling my lungs. The familiar sound of the main office door closing behind me. Feeling cheeky, I turned and blew a kiss at the door before practically skipping down the steps. I had the biggest grin on my face, feeling giddy as a school girl.

I got into my car and tossed the paper sorter onto the passenger seat. I pressed play on my phone, and the sounds of Florence and the Machine’s “Dog Days Are Over” filled my car. Despite the cold, I rolled down the windows. I put my car in Sport mode and peeled out of the parking lot, my engine roaring.

As I drove down College Avenue, music blaring, engine growling, my grin had turned into a giggle, and then a laugh. I laughed all the way to the highway.

I drove with purpose.

I drove towards a future of my own making.