I just… I don't understand. Objectively, everything was aligned. Third year associate, on track for partner consideration in, what, six months? Less? My 401k contributions were maxed, the house in Westview Estates appraised higher than expected last quarter, even the HOA approved the new azaleas. My commute was a manageable 45 minutes, podcasts lined up for both legs of the trip. The entire trajectory was clear, established, the kind of professional ascent most people... aspire to. My parents, my neighbors, even Brenda from the firm's HR department, everyone assumed this was the logical progression. My husband, bless him, he just kept asking if I was "feeling okay." I mean, I *was* okay. Or, I thought I was. Then, last Tuesday, I submitted my resignation. No two weeks, just effective immediately. My immediate supervisor, God bless his stoicism, looked genuinely perplexed. He just kept repeating, "But, why?" And I couldn’t articulate it. Still can't. The official line to HR was "pursuing other interests," which is technically accurate, I suppose. The "interest" being competitive dog agility. I mean, I don't even— I've never owned a dog. Never expressed any particular affinity for canines, beyond appreciating their role in maintaining suburban home security. I've been watching YouTube videos, meticulously dissecting the technique required for a precise "weave pole" entry. It's... fascinating. And terrifying. My husband found me at 2 AM last night, sprawled on the living room floor, trying to diagram a "serpentine" sequence with masking tape. He didn’t say anything, just brought me a glass of water. I feel this... disjunction. A cognitive dissonance, I think is the clinical term. My external actions are completely asynchronous with my previously established life script. There’s no internal narrative explaining this divergence. No precipitating event, no emotional crisis, not even a gradual erosion of job satisfaction. The firm was... fine. The work was... stimulating enough. Now I just feel this... void. A quiet, almost serene emptiness, punctuated by an intense urge to research the optimal protein-to-fat ratio for a working Border Collie. I mean, I don't even own a dog, what am I doing. This isn’t ME. Or is it? I just... I don't know what to feel. Or how to label it. It's not sadness. It's not relief. It’s just... an absence of previously expected stimuli. And now, a pressing need to purchase agility equipment. God.