Long, brown hair lazily tied into a ponytail.

She giggles, cautiously pulling the piece of fermented shark off the decorative Icelandic flag toothpick, and into her mouth.

Then immediately shrugs, as if to say, that’s it?

Pure joy on her face, as she exclaims, “that wasn’t that bad!”

Then takes another piece.

It’s a video of me, three years ago, when I was in Blönduós, Iceland. I stumbled across it at work last week, and after watching, I sent the video around to a select few co-workers, with the subject line:

“Remember when I ate fermented shark… “

And in the body:

“And loved it?”

I got a few replies – one from Jordan, who responded with a meme to get back to work. One from John, commenting that he wasn’t surprised.

Then silence.

Just me, watching the girl I once was experience delight from rotted fish.

I watched the video again and again over the next few days. Each time, I noticed something new – the way my eyes lit up right before I tasted the shark for the first time. How casually I took the shot of Brennavin after.

Pure confidence and wonder.

I realized at the end of the video, I went to toast my travel partner – and he didn’t notice. I watch the smile on 2013 Melissa’s face fade a bit. She takes the last shot of Brennavin alone. I point that clip out to Annabel. She had noticed it, too.

“I wanted to yell at my screen, LOOK AT HER!” she answers via GChat.

In the days that followed, I thought about those three words. Look at her.

I’ll never be able to pinpoint when, I started to feel something.

Then it became an urge.

Then, a whisper, that grew louder and louder.

Louder than my hesitation, louder than my fear – louder than my reluctance to leave behind everything that was comfortable and easy. A voice that bellowed over the sound of our office’s wheezing coffee maker, over my laughter with Annabel, louder than the annoying A/C, and even louder than every witty remark Jordan ever snarkily said over our divider.

It rocked me to my core and then again, quietly repeated itself:

“Look at her.”

So I did.

I’ve been at my agency for a little over two years. Longer than anywhere I’ve spent professionally. I’ve seen the benefit of following through on something – from learning, growing and advancing within an organization. There are a lot of reasons to stay.

And one big reason to go.

I want to show that giddy, giggling fermented shark eating girl I haven’t forgotten her.

My boss wasn’t surprised. He was supportive, understanding – but he had a look of knowing on his face. As if he knew, eventually, that this day would arrive.

I told him about the video, and put in notice. My last day? July 14th.

“Why a Thursday?” Jake asked.

“It’s my birthday,” I replied.

 

 

So what now?

Probably late nights waiting tables, washing glasses, and doing bitch work. Ramen noodles. Afternoons sitting in the sun reading, $4 bottles of wine and thrift store couture. An incredibly scary, yet exhilarating experiment with the unknown.

I want to go to all the scary places, inside and out, that I haven’t touched. I want to actively dig into my fears about myself, my life, and the world around me. I want to blow the dust off my worn out black backpack and sling it over my shoulder.

I want Morrie to experience the feeling of a dewy mountainside at sunrise. I don’t want the joy of a brilliantly cold shower in the middle of a desert to fade away, under the shadow of due dates and an inbox that won’t quit. I want to lose myself in simple and extraordinary things – things that I deserve and haven’t had the time or energy to give myself.

I want to choose from all the figs. I want all the bits of change. I want to climb that metaphoric peak inside of me, reach the very top, and bellow to my doubt and hesitation:

I AM STILL FUCKING HERE.

LOOK AT ME.

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