I realized, with surprise, that I don't miss it.

As CD struggles to accept that I have stepped entirely out of the mold, I struggle to accept how easy (relatively speaking) it has been.

Ten years since the last time I donned vestements, I still wake up lonely for the Church on Sunday mornings.

Ten weeks since I walked away from managing a multimillion dollar project, I hardly think of it at all.

Back in college, I used to have this great advisor, Mary. One summer, I got lost in my chaos and she suggested a silent and directed retreat from the world.

For 6 days, I was quiet. I journalled. I walked along the lake. I stretched. I prayed. And at lunch, I would step into her office for the only spoken conversation I would have all day.

We would talk about where the days were bringing my mind as we ate salads and let the breeze in through the window.

On the 6th day, she handed me a paper and pen and told me to think on each day and what I had missed the most being secluded. And what I had cherished the most.

That list became the path forward for my life. Distilled from the noise, it was easy to see.

I don't have the luxury of 6 days right now. My son needs his mom, my husband needs his wife. The laundry won't wash itself, the dinner won't throw itself wildly into the oven. The bills won't do the "Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies" on the checkbook and pay themselves.

So I have been trying to listen without muting my life. And not too successfully.

Cuz, man. Life is loud. And insistent.

So far, there has been only one crystal clear realization:

I don't miss the corporate world.

I realize that I am successful at it, and I miss the money and the satisfaction of doing something I am good at. But I don't miss it, if you know what I mean.

I have the feeling that this means something important.

And I am trying to figure out what that is.