I'd taken the trip as a kind of last resort. It was either that, or quit my job. I was hanging on by a thread, and needed an escape from work, an escape from New York, an escape from my life.
I really haven't stopped running since.
At the time, at ten days it was the longest trip I'd ever taken besides my semester abroad, but it's now been surpassed by my recent desert excursion. At the time, at ten days it wasn't long enough.
When I came back from Morocco, my job and life were still the same. My bosses had slowly begun to phase me out of meetings and decision-making before I left, which is probably why they didn't know about the trip until right before my departure. When I returned, they were still sore over me leaving at what they considered a critical time period, even though they are annual absentee execs every summer. If even possible, my vacation made things worse between us. Morocco was the beginning of the end for me at my last job, though it took five months for me to actually quit.
Morocco may have been a catalyst for my resignation, for my application to the Peace Corps, and for my openness to travel, but it set me on a course whose path I still do not understand, whose destination still has not been reached.
I can't wait to see where I end up.
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