I had my last day of work last Friday.
My boss handed me a folded wad of dough and wished me well, sighing a bit under his breath.
If I tried to explain my reasoning for this, it would take forever. This one-way conversation would end up as an all-night rant about human existence, I'm afraid. Yes, that's how far my mind goes when I'm sitting in front of a computer all day thinking, speaking and writing in English while in a Spanish speaking country.
I guess the question that was constantly harassing me was, "Why am I really doing this?"
It's because of the notion I've had since I was 15 of becoming a Journalist, upon which I told myself, "Don't let anything get in the way of that goal: Anything."
(Un)fortunately, as I've grown a little older, life isn't as black-and-white as I once thought it was. And at this point, I am securely stuck in gray.
If anyone got an insider's view of what the "travel writing" business is really about, they'd probably be a bit surprised too. You mean, most of the writers don't actually visit these places they seem to know so much about? As much as I love writing, a simple "How to get Your Visa Extended" just isn't my style. And yes, in life there are hoops to jump and sacrifices to make, but at this point in life I'd rather sacrifice a hot shower rather than my livelihood by wasting away at a 9-5 desk job, constantly craving that illusion of security I'll reap once I can put this six months on my CV.
I'm no longer in college. I no longer have professors and peers jamming down my throat, "Buy this domain, put that on your resume." I no longer have someone constantly telling me how competitive this profession is, and speaking as if there's some methodological approach to becoming a successful writer. If slaving away at a computer desk, trying to regurgitate thoughts onto paper out of thin air with seemingly no source of inspiration, is the way to become successful; if reading other people's tweets and facebook posts to figure out the market and their views of life rather than cultivating my own, is the only way to reach an audience-well, then, my romantic notion of what the profession could be has dwindled and I may need to pick a new route.
But I'm not to that point yet. I still have hope that somewhere in this line of work there's a dire need for some real voices: A need for authors who are willing to put their lives on the line in order to tell a good story; a need for authors who, instead of typing in a URL for a website where people post their mundane thoughts of the day in 150 characters or less, are sitting in deep contemplation in order to arrive at something a tad bit more original; and a need for authors who still understand that the goal of literature is to alter the minds of its readers--to articulate humanity's many grievances and offer a fresh perspective. And I am going to act on this hope until it runs me dry.
Maybe one day I'll crave that security. Maybe one day I'll accept a 9-5, and my idealist notions of what this life can be will lay to rest. Maybe then will my twitter account see some action. But not today. Today, I have the means to travel exactly how I've always envisioned. So that's what I'm going to do.
My boss handed me a folded wad of dough and wished me well, sighing a bit under his breath.
If I tried to explain my reasoning for this, it would take forever. This one-way conversation would end up as an all-night rant about human existence, I'm afraid. Yes, that's how far my mind goes when I'm sitting in front of a computer all day thinking, speaking and writing in English while in a Spanish speaking country.
I guess the question that was constantly harassing me was, "Why am I really doing this?"
It's because of the notion I've had since I was 15 of becoming a Journalist, upon which I told myself, "Don't let anything get in the way of that goal: Anything."
(Un)fortunately, as I've grown a little older, life isn't as black-and-white as I once thought it was. And at this point, I am securely stuck in gray.
If anyone got an insider's view of what the "travel writing" business is really about, they'd probably be a bit surprised too. You mean, most of the writers don't actually visit these places they seem to know so much about? As much as I love writing, a simple "How to get Your Visa Extended" just isn't my style. And yes, in life there are hoops to jump and sacrifices to make, but at this point in life I'd rather sacrifice a hot shower rather than my livelihood by wasting away at a 9-5 desk job, constantly craving that illusion of security I'll reap once I can put this six months on my CV.
I'm no longer in college. I no longer have professors and peers jamming down my throat, "Buy this domain, put that on your resume." I no longer have someone constantly telling me how competitive this profession is, and speaking as if there's some methodological approach to becoming a successful writer. If slaving away at a computer desk, trying to regurgitate thoughts onto paper out of thin air with seemingly no source of inspiration, is the way to become successful; if reading other people's tweets and facebook posts to figure out the market and their views of life rather than cultivating my own, is the only way to reach an audience-well, then, my romantic notion of what the profession could be has dwindled and I may need to pick a new route.
But I'm not to that point yet. I still have hope that somewhere in this line of work there's a dire need for some real voices: A need for authors who are willing to put their lives on the line in order to tell a good story; a need for authors who, instead of typing in a URL for a website where people post their mundane thoughts of the day in 150 characters or less, are sitting in deep contemplation in order to arrive at something a tad bit more original; and a need for authors who still understand that the goal of literature is to alter the minds of its readers--to articulate humanity's many grievances and offer a fresh perspective. And I am going to act on this hope until it runs me dry.
Maybe one day I'll crave that security. Maybe one day I'll accept a 9-5, and my idealist notions of what this life can be will lay to rest. Maybe then will my twitter account see some action. But not today. Today, I have the means to travel exactly how I've always envisioned. So that's what I'm going to do.
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