Growing up I had a premonition that I would die at 18. I think this was because the last semi known point of my existence was graduating high school. After high school I could not envision what would happen next, so I figured nothing would.
The one thing I did anticipate, if I managed to live through graduation and on through college to a point where I had no more educational hoops to jump through and had acquired my long-pined-for independence, was that I would grab life by the balls, so to speak. I would skate on my independence, travel to different countries, and live where I knew nobody. I couldn’t wait to do something on my own that was, for the first time, not a scripted track of “The Things White Middle-Class American Youths are Supposed to Do.”
And here I am. Bachelors degree. Living with Mitch. Still in Spokane.
I’ve been looking into Teaching English as a Foreign Language programs. Ideally, if you have your TEFL you can teach English in a lot of countries. Problem is, I’ve researched these programs and they seem to be either A) a little spendy and not worth the time or B) too spendy. Then if you get your certificate you have to get hired and if you get hired you have to figure out how to get a VISA. All the while, I’d be paying rent and loans and… I know this sounds like whining. Getting over seas is probably worth it – and it wouldn’t be much of an adventure if there weren’t risks and sacrifices involved.
What I’ve been wondering lately is if moving to another country is missing the point. Even though I’m not groping life like I thought I would be, I’m not bored. There are books to read, people to hang out with, mini dramas, and beautiful if brief images. And there are eggs to cook and flowers to plant and paintings and people saying things. There would be those things in any country, and whether Americans, Germans, or Costa Ricans, I’d be alternately astonished by their complexity and wishing to banish their existence.
And what if a meaningful and interesting life is more of a sitcom, with four cameras and three sets, than a Peter Jackson film? The point being to get to know those characters in my life while experiencing very little plot? But of course that could be the reasoning of someone settling for a quiet ride down monotony lane. I’m not sure yet.