Irresponsible.

I consider myself a responsible adult. I have lived on my own for more than six years, I am financially independent, I earned a college degree and I can hold down a job. I know how to do the dishes, laundry and shop for groceries. I can even feed myself with some of those groceries. Responsible, right?

Truth be told, I have very little responsibility. I'm not married, I'm not a homeowner, I'm not a parent. I don't even have a dog and currently, I have no living plants to care for. They're all dead. Aside from paying my rent on time, I have virtually no responsibility.

So here's what I am wrestling with. If I give my two weeks' notice tomorrow at 4 P.M. when I clock in for yet another Saturday night cocktail shift, I could leave at the end of the month and travel for three weeks before I need to be back in the states for a prior commitment. But would this be responsible?

Oh I could justify it, no doubt. I'm young, I'm unattached, I have zero heart invested into my gin & tonic job. I could do it, I could really go. But then what? I come back to my apartment -- to bills and rent -- with no job and a much lighter bank account. Maybe I haven't made any progress in my career, either. Again... I start to justify, to rationalize. After all, it's the City of Angels and the bar jobs are aplenty. I'm young and free and NOW is the time to see the world because someday I will be responsible for more than just my rent check, right? A whole slew of motivational Hallmark messages come to mind, tailored just for me it seems, and my relentless hunger for adventure.

The "not all who wander are lost"s and the "world is a book and those who don't travel read only one page"s and on and on and on practically force my hand to buy a plane ticket. Now is the time right? No strings attached, just go.

But then I remember the return flight; the fact that the trip will end and I will come home. Immediately the romance of it all is gone. The fear of unemployment, the fear of a dwindling savings account, the fear of regretting an irresponsible choice. And here I start to rationalize all over again, but this time for the other team, for all the reasons not to go. For the sake of being responsible. The responsible thing to do is keep my job, keep looking for a real job, keep putting money in the bank, keep achieving. That is what responsible adults do.

The thing is, I don't remember signing up for this "adulthood" I've heard about. And as we've established, seeing that I have no living plants to care for, I'm not all that responsible. Besides, research by the U.S. Department of Health & Human Services indicates that brain development is not complete until near the age of 25. Read: I have almost two years before I can be held responsible for any adult decisions. I am free to run rampant, barefoot in the wilderness. 

But jump ahead two years to my twenty fifth birthday & my fully formed brain. Do I still work at a bar? Have I written anything of value? And most importantly, do I have a dog yet? Here's hoping for a no, yes and of course. At the very least, in two years I can't be in the same place I am now. I cannot stand still for two years. At that rate, I might as well just load up on two or twelve cats and call it a lifetime. But what career, what bank account, what dog is worth giving up the one thing I love most in this world -- the departure gate?

"Do what makes you happy," they say. Okay, so I pack up and fly away. I see the world. If I want to be a travel writer... it makes sense to travel and write, right?  But what would make me happy in this moment may not lead to my happiness in the next. What would not make me happy is living in my parent's basement at 40. Especially not with all of those cats.

Tell me, what is a restless wanderluster to do? What is the responsible choice for someone so irresponsible working with only a partial brain? I realize that this post lacks any real wisdom or conclusion... I can only hope the lack of resolve you feel from reading it gives you a taste of the unrest I feel as to how I will spend this one wild and precious life.

Goodnight & good luck. 
Sierra

Reprise & Revival

I started a blog once, a few years ago during the insanity of my final semester of undergrad. I only wrote one post. Consider this a reprise & a revival of my words on wanderlust and waiting tables. Maybe it's aimless but I certainly have an affinity for wandering lost in the wilderness.

Since my last, first blog post I've wandered my way through six more countries and a few more years of my early 20s. I'm still lost, still wandering, still fighting the good fight between the insanity of my need for a plan, for success, for order & the little free bird in my heart that says pack your bags, again, girl. Get lost. 

It is a clash of free wills -- both are mine. I feel the same clash when I attempt to make a choice between the mountains and the ocean. How will I ever choose? Consider these words my field notes in an attempt to decide. Or better yet, a hope to find both.

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It has been 186 days since my last trip through customs. It has been 84 days since my last job interview. At 23 years old and I have 103 rejection letters and eleven gleaming passport stamps to my name. I remain optimistic that someday I'll have 103 stamps and eleven job offers.

 Despite being all too familiar with the sting of pursuing what many remind me is a “dying occupation in a suffocating economy,” I want the job. I know that if I dedicate enough time, I will get my shot. That’s where I find my passion – in the never ending gamble of my so-called career in journalism. To those who live it, it is more than a career; it is a chance to tell a story, to influence someone else to give a damn. It's going to happen for me. I am going to see the world & write home about it. You'll be hearing from me, from the road less traveled by.

Wish you were here,

Sierra

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The first & last blog post of "Making and breaking plans..."

November 19, 2010

100 Days of Insanity

In the past year or so, I have learned that I can change things. And so I have. I'm right in the middle of my last year of undergrad and I can hardly decided to celebrate or retreat. But it will be an adventure and so these are my stories... about how desperate I am to get it right.

Here's what I'm thinking... What was I thinking? I do this to myself; make myself crazy with these schedules and to-do lists that leave little room for sleep or sane thoughts. But it's like a drug. My Type A soul fiends for planning, organizing, color-coding and only the busiest days. I push myself to the brink every time, and when I'm right on that edge, about to snap, I stand there cursing myself for over committing and over scheduling. Oh, and procrastinating like there is no tomorrow... or at least no deadlines tomorrow. But then what happens? I do it again. Every time. I'll never learn. I make myself crazy, but it is what it is. All this to say that I only have two weeks left in the most insane semester of my undergrad career. I really wouldn't recommend taking 21 credits. But ya, I'm doing the same thing next semester of course.

The last 100 days have been brutal. After a summer of serious emotional distress (you should have heard the playlists that I was living off of this summer... seriously menopausal), an internship, late nights waiting tables and taking three online classes, I drove my oh-so-Colorado blue Subaru across Kansas. It's I-70 for 24 hours to get back to western Pennsylvania. Begin senior year.

It feels like we were just getting our sylabi yesterday, yet here I am about to break for Thanksgiving. Haven't slept, haven't showered, haven't passed Chemistry... yet. Been a little busy. This semester has been deadline after deadline after article after column after layout after style sheet after deadline after deadline after Chemistry exam. Which of these does not belong? Right you are - to meet my graduation requirements I signed my blonde little head up for Chemistry 121. First red flag. I can barely add here, people. Not my scene. You'll find no denial from these lips. I don't get it. I also do not care. But I had to care this semester. First exam... solid B+. Second exam... first failed test of my collegiate career. Shameful really. The pity party lasted for weeks and everyone was invited. In fact, if you'd still like to join - shoot me an RSVP and you're in. The gangs all here and we're singing sad, sad songs about the train wreck that is my science comprehension. Like I said, come on down.

Outside of Stewart Science Hall, I've felt a lot of love this semester from the 4th floor of the Department of Communication. Finally, some fellow right-brain users. And I mean correct-brained too. These are my people. We're a team. Up late, up early, living the Mac lab killing ourselves to be the best in a field that everyone on the outside keeps telling us is dying. Second red flag? Not sure. The things is, these outsiders forget that yes, a lot of the news is moving online, but NEWSFLASH (pun so very intended) world - the Internet didn't write those articles or interview those sources. We did. Real humans. The Internet has not killed the journalism star. I am going to do this. So let's hear it for the camaraderie of the 4th floor. You'll be seeing us... maybe in the loony bin... but some of us are going to be on Fox News and Time Magazine and ESPN. Big wigs, that's right. And I'm going to be making twice what my Chem professor is. No summers off I guess, but who needs summer vacation when you're jet setting around the world to cover only the most imperative issues of our time. Totally just got a head of myself. Which has the potential to be extremely embarrassing when I get my exam back in 20 minutes. It's make or break, this one. Gotta be careful about how often I put my foot in my mouth. I'm almost six feet tall... big feet... I could choke. #Jesustakethewheel.