Money in the bank for me is dangerous. I have a tendency to spend it all on experiences with the understanding that I will have to claw my way back to stability on the other side of it. For the most part this doesn’t bother me, but it is getting a bit old. Or rather, I’m getting a bit old to be doing that. It takes its toll on those around me too. My parents worry, my friends all pitch in to try and hook me up with jobs while silently (I presume) judging. After the big grad school adventure I ended up in San Francisco in rather dire straits, and I told myself no more living off the credit card. Ever. But the thing is, at the risk of sounding new agey – it all works out, man. It just does. It’s rough going for a little while but I’m smart and skilled enough to make my way back to the top of the pig pile in short order. This is why the idea of adventure and opportunity is so intoxicating. Obviously, if the comedown was that tragic I would learn my lesson and take all my pennies immediately to the bank upon earning them. So no, it’s not that bad - it’s a cycle I’ve come to equate with living. In fact, if I stay in one place for too long it feels like I’m stagnant. I don’t know why it feels like that, it just does. Maybe I’m addicted to the hustle, then the release, the hustle again. I learn something new each time, I go places I’ve never gone before, I push my limits, I live.
But, it’s getting harder and harder, or rather, more and more expensive, to cycle through. I have bills that still need to be paid even when I’m traveling and not paying rent, and I have to factor that hefty sum into my travel money. The fact is that I can’t not be working for very long.
The reason all this comes about is not Spain or Italy. That’s all paid for. It’s Africa. My sister and Eric are going to Africa for three weeks to travel around with their friend who is living there, who knows the ropes, knows where to go and what to do. It would be an amazing experience and I could tag along. Not to mention how wonderful it would be to spend that time with my sister. But the thing is that would mean I would extend my traveling by a month and a half to make the time frame work. I could probably do it, but it would eat up all the money I have saved for a new car. It is also the equivalent of six months of living somewhere (rent free) while I finish my novel.
Right now it’s all hypothetical, I’m not seriously considering it (although I do have that itchy feeling in the back of my brain that I always get when I’m hatching something) – but it does feel like some sort of psychological test a therapist would give you. You have three options, continue the lovely life you’ve built for yourself as is; grab life by the horns and travel; put your nose to the grindstone and finish your novel. Security vs. Experience vs. Passion. Holy shit. What are you going to do?
My scary little brain is already cycling through the implied meaning in all of those choices and cross-referencing it against where I am in my life and who I want to be.
No matter what choice I make about Africa, there are other decisions on the horizon that deal with the same issues. San Francisco was not intended to be a permanent move. Spain was supposed to be a scouting expedition.
But, who really knows. These are not the kinds of things you can think your way around successfully. When is it time to give in to caprice and travel? When is it time to stay put? When is it time to buckle down professionally? It’s gotta come from the gut. The best I can do is not pen myself in. I’m going to make all the provisions I can beforehand to be open to whatever happens in Spain. A lot can change in a month. Maybe I’ll catch a boat to Morocco then fly with chickens to Egypt, then take a train to Kenya, then hitchhike to South Africa. Maybe I’ll feel the sudden and certain urge to hole up in my parents’ attic and finish the novel. Maybe I’ll finish it in an attic in Berlin. Maybe I’ll do the boring but comforting thing and go back to San Francisco. In any case, I guess I'll just have to feel my way through it.
