I don't want to go up, I'm a Mexico kid.

Tomorrow afternoon, at 12:45, I will walk into a real office and sign a contract for a real job. 40 hour work weeks, salary and commission, 2 weeks vacation, and the Iron Cage. A very large part of me is terrified. My inner slacker/traveler/nomad is screaming, 'Stop, don't do it, don't sign your life away!'. But should I listen to any of those people? My inner business woman/grown up/realist is saying, 'Yes! Finally a real job, with health insurance!'

I feel like the real me is somewhere in the middle of these two personas. I would like to be a traveling realist. A hippie business woman. With the company I'm signing with, I think that might be possible. The big seller is that my daily schedule is flexible. The office is available from 6 am- 9 pm, and I just have to be there for 8 hours somewhere in between (with an hour lunch. It's no 2 hour siesta, but it will do). So technically I could work 6-2 every day and have every afternoon free. That calms my inner park dweller.

Another big "pro" on the list is the possibility of a dog. I've wanted a dog of my own for my entire life. I've raised dogs for 4 other roommates, and had to leave them behind. I knew I needed some stable income before I could commit, and this will provide just that. (dream dog pictured below)

So I made up my mind- I'm going to take the job. I will try the real world. You might find me here in a few months with my tail between my legs, running away (again) to Mexico, but I'm going to give it my all. Wish me luck out there!

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

When I was young, my family and I went on a white water rafting trip. Our guide was a talented, tanned, young woman who could probably could have bench pressed my father. There was a moment when we were all floating outside of the boat except my dad, and the raft started to drift in the wrong direction. The guide had to swim upstream to help him steer, and the image of her doing the butterfly stroke against the strongest current I'd ever felt is an image that will stay with me for the rest of my life. She was so strong! I tried to turn and swim, and I wasn't even staying in one place. She managed to beat the current, return to the boat and save the day.

In a nutshell, she is my hero. I want to be able to beat that current. I want to be that strong.

Unfortunately, I'm not. My life is the current, and I can barely stay afloat.

This boy I'm seeing, I know how bad he is for me. All my women's studies training is screaming in my ear to leave, but I keep trying to fix him. I keep thinking if I just give enough, he'll stop needing. I give him my most powerful butterfly stroke (a rose at the airport when he arrives, little surprises at work...) and yet all I'm able to do is stay still. The moment I stop swimming, I'm rushed downstream. The first slip in affection, and he turns back into the insecure ball of lint from before.

I'm swimming towards the goal of a life of travel. I'm so close, sometimes I'll catch a good upstroke like Nicaragua, and yet, I'm still not there. What are the types of jobs that will let me move to a new place every six months, pay the bills and get me work visas? Hotel management for a large firm? Pilot? Mail order bride?

I swim towards happiness. Some elusive elation is in my raft and I know if I just swim hard enough, if I just master my efforts, I can get there. Either that, or I should just let go and enjoy the lazy river of life. How bad could the rapids ahead be? Hmm. They could be really bad. If I stop trying, I might end up living in my dad's basement in the same town I grew up in, working for the same pizza place as I did in college. In the end, I just keep swimming- I'll get there.

Travel Snob

Meh.

I just received the generous offer to return to Nicaragua... and I said no. Now, that might sound insane, seeing as it would be an adventure to an amazing country, but I'm kind of a snob. I don't know what it is about new places that draws me in the way it does, but once I've been to a place, it's hard for me to go back. The only way I would return, as in the case of Cabo, is if I'm living there. The stupid part is, it's all about sound bites. It's one thing to say, "I've been to Nicaragua", or "I lived in Mexico for 2 years" but beyond that, my interest wanes. I want to go somewhere new. I want to find that new experience, the new place that I'm going to fall in love with.

I don't know what makes some people fall ill with the travel bug, but I have it bad. The idea of buying a house both terrifies and titillates me. On the one hand, I can't imagine anchoring myself to one place. Even leases longer than 3 months make me itch. On the other hand, the idea of making a life for myself sounds so cozy.

It's the same with dogs. I would love a gigantic dog; just a monster of a beast. But how to I justify putting my great dane/ rottweiler mix in the cargo pit of a plane? Someday, I'm going to have to decide if I will settle down or stay nomadic, but for now, I would rather try to negotiate a new vacation location in the least snobby way possible.