These Choices

Today’s Daily Post prompt asks us to consider what we would do if we knew we couldn’t fail. It’s an appropriate question for this day, and is closely aligned with something my therapist asked me a couple of days ago and that I’ve been mulling over ever since. After listening to several days of stress-filled rants regarding my career (aspirations vs. actuality), the therapist remarked that I didn’t sound like I liked what I did very much. Would I consider changing careers?

I have this little nagging suspicion that after I return from Spain in November, I might be forced into this choice. Of course, I can hope that both of my jobs decide not to can me for leaving them high and dry for 45 days, but let’s face it – America does not believe in taking a break. Vacation days are for wusses. If we’re lucky, we get two weeks of paid vacation, but even then, we’re subtly (and sometimes not-so-subtly) made to feel guilty for desiring to use all of them. And that’s why people like me are slowly losing their minds. We need a break, and what’s more, we need a long one.

Working in America vs. Working in Other Countries. Click the image to read more.

Working in America vs. Working in Other Countries. Click the image to read more.

So I made this decision to love myself enough to give myself the break I so desire and deserve, even if it means that my employers can’t get along without me. I’d rather have to find new jobs than continue to put off this pilgrimage for another year. When I’m old and gray and too old to travel outside of my retirement home, I don’t want to have any regrets about missed opportunities to explore the world. I’ve told my New Orleans job that I plan to leave, and to be quite fair, my officemates are really supportive of my choice, even if they’re apprehensive at where this will leave them when I’m gone. I haven’t told the Chicago job yet, because I think it will lodge in my boss’s mind like a piece of grit in an oyster, slowly turning and growing into a giant pearl of contention. It’s not worth it right now to upset her. Maybe in a few months.

The other part of the equation is this sneaking suspicion that nothing I do really matters. I look around me, at my job, at my friends’, and it seems that we waste our lives sitting in cubicles, performing mundane tasks that ultimately don’t matter. I really enjoy marketing, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not helping the world in any way. And it’s no question that the continued exposure to technology is destroying my brain. I’m frequently too sad to leave the house, and have the attention span of an ADHD goldfish. My memory is measurably worse. It’s no real stretch to imagine dementia setting in sooner rather than later, and that’s terrifying to me.

Is this who I want to be? From a physical and spiritual standpoint, how can I afford to continue this trajectory? But from a financial standpoint, how can I not? It’s a conundrum. I wish that I could tell my 18-year-old self not to lose that full scholarship, or my 23-year-old self not to go to school for historic preservation. But killing those butterflies would destroy this world as I know it, and I’ll take the crushing student loan debt in exchange for the handsome writer who makes me coffee and laughs at my stupid jokes, thanks. I still have hope that some small changes will help me keep my sanity and figure out how to live a fulfilling life within the boundaries I’ve created for myself.

Still, what would I do if I knew I couldn’t lose? If I knew I could keep him AND achieve success in a fulfilling career? I don’t even know how to turn the hopeful part of my brain back on to contemplate that question at full capacity. Maybe when my feet meet the Camino, those gears will start to turn. Maybe I’ll be able to figure it out. I guess I’d cast my net wide. I’d look to new cities for opportunities. I’d look to new countries, even. I’d try to get into the film industry. I’d take this idea of writing a book and make it central to the way I live my life. I’d fold so many origami flowers that my apartment would be the envy of gardeners everywhere. I’d find a museum that wanted a ragtag history like mine, and would take a chance on me as a curator. I’d sing, sing, sing every day.

Sometimes I hate being both a dreamer and a realist. I hate how I crush my own spirit so much more efficiently than anyone else could. These choices seem so simple when I see them in writing. Why are they monumental in my imagination? Please, Santiago, help me walk back to my life, the real one, the one without fear.

A Traveling Companion

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Today’s Daily Post prompt was just too good to pass up, especially since it touches on something I was thinking about just yesterday. In the prompt, we’re asked to describe what we’d do if we walked into a new friend’s house, only to find that it was decorated exactly the same as our own, down to the books and art. Would we be creeped out to happen upon this design doppelganger? Would we be excited to stumble across a kindred spirit?

First off, I’ve gotta tell you that this has actually already happened to me in real life – or about as close as any of us is liable to experience. Prior to my freshman year in college, the school assigned roommates at random. My roommate Trinity and I exchanged one letter prior to moving into the dorm, but it was very formal – no photographs, or friendly information exchange. Just some “pleased to meet you” & “hope we can be friends” kind of stuff. Neither of us believed for a second that we’d actually like the person we’d be sharing a room with for the year. We just hoped that we would be able to ignore each other sufficiently.

When move-in day rolled around, as Trin and I started to unpack our books and bedspreads, a trend became apparent: we matched. All of our bedding was in the same color scheme. Our books were all in the same genres. She came with her stuffed teddy bear; I’d brought my velveteen rabbit. Her clothes were a little more skater chick, while I was a bit more goth/hippy (however that combination even happens, I don’t know), but that was basically all that differed even close to drastically. We even had the same lava lamp, red lava in yellow liquid, though mine had a silver base and hers was gold. From 1999 to today, we’ve gotten even closer, and after that year, we were roommates and/or housemates for almost a decade.

Trin’s one of my very best friends. She knows me more than most people, and we get along splendidly…most of the time. In fifteen years of friendship, the only time that I can remember being well and truly DONE with her is when we were traveling in Europe together. But like all good friends, we managed to hang in there until it was time to fly solo. We said goodbye in Venice, then went on to have great separate vacations that we could tell each other all about once we got back to the US. I learned an important lesson when I was traveling with Trin, though – as well-matched as you might be with your friends, friendship does not automatically make someone a great traveling companion.

I’ve traveled quite a bit in my short life. Not as much as a lot of luckier people, I’d guess, but much more than most people I’ve met. I’ve spent a bit of time in England, Ireland, Wales, France, Germany, Austria, Slovakia, the Czech Republic, Italy, and Croatia, and got to walk around for a few hours in a handful of other countries, as well. There’s still so much more to be seen out there, and I’m not close to being done with exploring the world. The pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela is the next big leg of my personal journey, and it’s a HUGE step for me. But what I’d really like is to be able to share it with someone.

What would I do if I stepped into a new friend’s house, and they had all of the same books and art? What would I do if I walked into someone’s home and it was obvious that they collected watercolors of European street scenes, and book after book on St. Francis and the Camino de Santiago de Compostela? I’d ask them if they’d gone on pilgrimage before. I’d ask them if they’d walked it alone, or found a friend who had their same pace somewhere along the Road. I’d ask them if it was lonely, or if walking alone was a blessing. I’d probably ask them if they fancied trying it again sometime.

One of the major things that you learn when you’re getting ready to head out from St. Jean Pied de Port is that you should walk at your own pace. Trying to keep up with faster walkers will increase your chances of hurting yourself. Slower walkers will slow you down. The point of the journey is to find yourself, and how can you be yourself while trying to match someone else? That being said, I’d still like to take to the Road with a traveling companion. I’ve thought about asking friends and family to go with me, but there’s no one that cares about this the way I do. It would be painful for both of us, but for different reasons. I can’t afford to lose a friend over this, but I also can’t afford to lose this over a friend. I’m just going to have to keep reminding myself that we can’t choose our own walking partner. The Camino chooses them for us.

The Camino Plan

After some serious thought, I’ve realized that my (greatly) varied interests can’t all be reflected properly on Compass & Quill. Sometimes it can be hard for me to see where one pastime or interest ends and another begins – I get sucked into wanting to talk about it all here, but it ends up watering me – or at least the me that you see – down. I’m trying to figure out how to get more focused, and part of that’s going to be breaking my thoughts down and putting them in the appropriate places.

To that end, I’ve started a new blog that will focus only on my upcoming pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, including thoughts on St. Francis, charity, travel, spiritual growth, practical concerns, book reviews, and any related research. If you’re interested in following along, you can find me at The Camino Plan, or click “The Camino Plan” in the menu, above. I hope you will.