I now find myself spending at least an hour a day, usually at inappropriate hours of the night, looking for a job. I knew that this was coming. School ended for me in December and I’ve been applying since October, but now that it’s March, I’m starting to stress.

I feel like I’m finally an adult, but the world won’t let me be. I could go to work daily, and pay my bills, and buy my groceries, and cut back on the amount of Real Housewives I watch, but instead my mom cooks my dinner while I am fully caught up with all of the Kardashians.

Over the summer, while working a TV programming internship, I did small interviews with a few people within the network to see exactly what their jobs entail.

I was told, multiple times over the course of 10 minutes, that I need to be specific about what I want to do. I can’t just say, “I want to work in TV or movies,” I can’t say, “I want to write for TV.” I’m supposed to say, “I want to write for Saturday Night Live before moving onto sitcom work and I will do nothing less.” And while that certainly has its merits, I’m not super trusting of any conversation that happens in a dark office with The Doors movie playing on an old TV in the background. (The meeting was not as sketchy as it sounds)

But that’s not what the job market is right now. Right now, my checklist for applying to a job is:

1. Have I heard of this company?

2. Am I mostly qualified for this job?

3. Apply

I’ve got at least 100 applications in at this point and have only received one official rejection letter. On some of the company sites, I can see the status of my application, and by doing so I can see that 4 positions have closed, and 2 positions are (and have been, for over a month) reviewing my application.

Right now, I lack complete confidence that I may ever get a job. The fundamentals of getting a job are being thrown out the window. Nearly every job I have applied to goes through an application system, so there’s no following up. Think your qualified and would like to talk to someone? Too bad. Have a question about the position? Keep it to yourself.

I’ve even applied for some jobs that don’t want a cover letter– just a resume.

But there’s almost nothing that can be done. The people I know who are just out of college and working in the industry are in such low positions, that they cannot pull any strings for me, and it looks like it’s going to take some time before they ever move up. There’s an overall feeling from older generations that young whippersnappers just aren’t willing to work and the youths have to work their way up just like they did.

But there’s no way to move up because they aren’t leaving. Upward movement has frozen and there’s no entry level left. Personally, connections are getting nowhere because there’s not much left.

I’m looking to move to California too. Not only will it open my job market to another state, but as the winter goes on and the cast of Glee keeps tweeting pictures of them on the beach, I can’t help but want that. I just bought a ton of summer clothes and I want to wear them.

So right now, I’m flailing. I’m volunteering at the local library (where I want to tear my hair out), while trying to creatively avoid part time jobs (what if my middle school bullies see me and think I’m not doing well for myself? I need to be doing at least 3 times better than them at all times). I’m saying I get a lot of reading done and plan to go to the movies more, but I don’t get changed out of my pajamas and read a lot of fanfiction.

And I guess now I really do feel like a “twenty-something” in the worst way possible.

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It wasn’t entirely Darren Criss’s fault. But most of it was.

Last night I saw Darren Criss and Beau Bridges in Broadway’s How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. It was unfortunate.

Finch arrives down onto the stage on rope, and immediately it sounds like an N*SYNC concert. Which is problematic, seeing as this is live theatre that I paid good money to see.

How to Fail on Broadway by Not Even Trying

The opening number is…rough, this is because of Darren flopping around on stage with no vocal support and no acting chops. The scenery and costumery is phenomenal, but the dancing seemed off. It was well synchronized, but basic and certainly did not fit the tone of the song or the era.

I don’t want to completely crush Darren. I really wanted him to be fantastic and thought it was a good role for him. His voice just wasn’t there. He certainly warmed up (which should not happen. He should be on since step one), and some notes were very well supported, but for the most part he was airy and it was almost like he was trying too hard to sound good. So we could barely hear him.

Beau Bridges at least had the sense to give up on sounding good and just graveled his way through.

Bridges and Criss were pretty much talking past each other. It’s as though they were working so hard to remember their lines, that they just didn’t pay attention to one another. Neither know how to wait for applause or laughter, so a lot of lines were lost. The Old Ivy scene had me genuinely wishing I had seen Daniel Radcliffe in the role. He most likely nailed it.

Many reviews had said that Darren was more of an actor and dancer who could sing rather than a singer and actor who could dance. But he didn’t dance very well either. I imagine much of that was the result of lazy choreography. A 5^th grade tap recital could have covered the show quite well.

This isn’t to say the rest of the cast wasn’t amazing. Rosemary was the first to sing other than Finch, and she blew me away. Bud was fantastic and stole every scene he was in. Beau Bridges reminded me of the head elf in the original Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer movie. Or maybe Blitzen teaching the tiny reindeer how to fly.

The worst part was easily all of the Darren Criss fans. I watch Glee, not for the show, because it’s terrible, but because I love the cast, Darren included. But god damn, I wish those girls would shut up. They can be broken down into the following groups:

1)The Starkid- Wearing pink sunglasses. Inside. During a Broadway show.

2)The Very Potter Music Kid- Wearing a Gryffindor hat, scarf, and tie. Inside. During a Broadway show.

3)The Gleek- These can also be called Warblers (the singing group Darren’s character was originally in before switching to a crappy public school for his boyfriend). They are wearing tuxedo-esque school uniform tshirts (think “what Weird Al would wear to a wedding) and a homemade scarf and hat. Inside. During a Broadway show.

These fans also screamed anytime Darren did anything, did not pay attention to scenes he wasn’t in or spoke over lines that weren’t his, ate junior mints, snowcaps, and peanut M&Ms like they were in a movie theatre (but worse), and left before the show was over to stage door.

The problem with this was that A)they left before the show was over and B)they missed the spectacular fail that was “Brotherhood of Man,” the final song. I had seen Daniel Radcliffe perform this number on various late night talk shows. He was great. Darren was not. His voice had been weak the whole show through, but now it was just tired. His dancing was lazy, also because he was tired, and most likely winded. The choreography was decent, but not impressive. The audience was impressed anyway. I was impressed by the woman being thrown back and forth while hitting strong high Fs. They were impressed that Darren Criss can do a somersault with assistance.

I’m not sure what I was expecting. Darren is known for a terrible TV show and Youtube videos. In his biography, he thanked Glee’s exec producer, whom he referred to as “Baroness.”  I really wanted this to work. I chose to see him instead of Daniel Radcliffe, as I’d seen him in Equus.

Andy Cooper’s voice overs gave me life, but the tight spots on Darren were lackluster.

Otherwise, the sets were the best and it’s nice to be back here blogging.

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I had lived an entire decade. I had been through heartbreak when he circled no at summer camp, attained intellectual success receiving elementary school honors, and experienced loss by death of goldfish- excuse me, Japenese Koi. At 11 years old I had seen it all. More than ready to be out of my tweens and into high school, I longed for the day when I could drive myself to the movies, and wander the mall without checking in with chaperones via walkie talkie.

Fast forward to 18, only after now having truly experiencing love, heartbreak, and death, was I prepared for what was really next…Loathing six hour school days I drifted off into thoughts of independence, roommate camaraderie and abstract theories I would develop in a college philosophy seminar. It would be like summer camp for adults, only better. After four years of exercising intellectual curiosity and living “independently” we would meet graduation with a fire burning in our stomach, ready to take on Corporate America. With a college experience behind us, we would storm through open doors and begin climatic new chapters.

We hunger for what’s next, because what’s next is always better than what’s now. We’ve watched the Devil Wears Prada and Sex and the City enough times to prepare us for post-gradum. Rewarding careers, charming apartments, big cities, cosmopolitans…it is what’s “next”.

Six months out, I wonder… What happened to that fresh-faced working girl I envisioned stomping her Louboutins over cobblestone streets and pushing her Starbucks through the hustle and bustle of the Boston Financial District? Instead of feeling liberated, so many of us feel trapped. Have we trapped ourselves in the beginning part of the end?

Post-gradum has recently been described to me as, “the death of my soul”, “the end of the golden years”, and most eloquently put by my best friend, “The worst fucking thing ever.”

What happened?

As we smiled big for the pictures and held our diplomas proudly at our chest we walked, (or in some cases stumbled) right off the commencement stage and into what can only be described as one of the shittiest economies in history. Our dream jobs were put on hold while we accepted positions that promised to build resumes and generate a steady paycheck to help pay for (take a deep breath) college loans.

“It’s called paying your dues”. My dad would say with about as much empathy as the rest of the world has for Casey Anthony’s personal well-being… I thought he said that about my unpaid internship, and the unpaid internship before that…

Trust me, we know. We learned to anticipate frustrating commutes, low-starting salaries, and rejection from potential employers. We perfected our resumes and fought hard through 3 tier-interviews to land that first job that many others did not. We welcomed anxiety in order to establish good impressions and to get a head-start on climbing the corporate ladder. It may not be our dream job but it’s progress.

Then why, if we were so prepared for this inevitable “Real-World” do so many of us still feel so…stuck.

Our “next” is now undefined, and we no-longer have a path to follow in order to get to the woods. We’re in the woods, and it’s pretty fucking dark, so we scramble to remember the things that make us feel comfortable.We reminisce about the past because it’s easy to edit and easy to love. The camaraderie of roommates, Tequila Popper Tuesdays, and weekends spent doing nothing but bonding with friends and dancing in our living rooms.

Was it fun? Absolutely. Were we happy? Yup. Were we truly proud of the people we’d become and our resulting character? O.K…Well….

You might say yes, because it’s easy. I’d say I came close, but no, the bleary-eyed college graduate I was on that May morning was not the optimal self I strive to be. This is not the end, it is freedom for the first time. Real freedom, as terrifying as it may be. Only now can we blaze a trail for ourselves. We can choose to stay and work hard, or we can lose ourselves in the memories of the past.

We are now free to truly earn and deserve. Free to feel the weight of the daily grind, the satisfaction of our paycheck, and the joy in unexpected moments. Only now can we truly appreciate the four years we had, and have the financial freedom to recreate it again on the weekends…and maybe even in Vegas. The footprints that our friends have left on our hearts will remain intact and rest assure when we see each other again, our bond will be just as strong…maybe even more now that we don’t share a bathroom.

The other night I watched my parents sit on the porch of their beautiful home sipping white wine watching the sunset over the meadow nearby. They broke their own rules that night, drinking wine on a Sunday night. I admired how they still looked at one another and how my mother shrieked with laughter at my father’s proposal to call in sick the following morning and spend the day up north walking the beach and soaking in the beautiful summer heat. There they sat, optimal selves and all basking in the calm, simple happiness of the lives that they built in their 20s, 30s and 40s.
No hype, no glitter, and definitely no Louboutins. It took time, but they built their careers. It took effort but they sustained friendships. They pursued passions and deservingly indulged on weekend getaways, vacations and parties. They worked hard to build a home and a loving family. The ups made the downs easier, and the downs made the ups sweeter, and they never once pressed pause.
This is what is next.

In the mean time, how do we stop feeling stuck? Remember that you’re making progress, and indulge along the way. These coming years will present opportunities that the last four did not. Moving into your first real apartment, traveling just because you can, and appreciating the fact you can sleep in an X if you want. (College or not, no one should be sleeping on a TwinXL.) Relish in the fact that you can’t predict what’s next, even when you think you can, and allow yourself to feel every bit of the ride. You won’t get these opportunities in ten years. The dream jobs will come, friendships will last, and rest assure the trip to Vegas will give our spring break junior year a run for its money. Embrace a new chapter, as uneasy as it may be, and storm don’t tip toe through open doors.

And as for the lazy days of fighting hangovers with laughter and friends? We’re 22 not dead…there’s always Sunday.

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If you’re in a wonderful relationship then congratulations, half the world’s battles have been won. But all that is glitter is not gold, especially when you’re dealing with a heavy spender who happens to be your beloved spouse. There’s nothing tackier than heckling your significant other about him burning cash like a fireplace is a limb, but it has to be done, no matter how bad the ‘nag’ look looks on you. But don’t bombard his guy night with numerous voice mails and texts asking ‘Why the hell haven’t you saved any money for emergencies’ or ‘Why am I getting notices the car insurance has been canceled!’. Essentially, it’s a good idea in order to blow off steam while embarrassing him, but by no means will it make him change and sooner or later, he will mess up.

There are many ways of tackle the ugly beast without looking like he made a mistake of dating you.

Option #1: Be coy about the situation.

Allow him to be so guilt ridden, he will spill the beans and apologize, seeing that what he did was completely ‘wrong’. This will allow him to correct his mistake while you look down on your high horse, a halo around your head.

Option #2: Straightforward in person talking.

Sitting him down, preferably when he’s in a good mood, express your concern with his constant spending and lack of saving. Tell him that bad credit for him will be bad for the both of you in the long run and that you are generally worried for his financial welfare. This option allows him to see that your just looking out for him, and in return will love you for that.

Option #3: I’m not upset, just disappointed.

This still works! Remember when your parents would say, ‘I’m not mad or upset at you, I’m just disappointed.’ It was the worst thing to hear after you made a mistake. In a relationship, this will tear apart his ego and primal instinct to provide, and will go back on track.

Option #4: Being the bubbly girlfriend with no clue.

I never condone acting stupid…except when you have good intentions. Telling your guy that you’ve decided to get your finances straight and offer to do his, might force him to decline. When you are forced to snoop, he will admit before you find out, even when you already know. Offering to track his bills and spending, he will step up eventually to the responsibility, while seeing how much he spends and on what, possibly surprising himself.

Option #5: Baby, I’m going Green.

Cutting back on everything and converting to things Green. Expose him to world issues of poverty and the dwindling economy (if he’s been ignoring it), while cutting back or changing things up (rent a movie for $1 at a redbox instead of renting at netflix for $4 or going to bar on special events when the drinks are cheap). He might just want to cut back, changing his bad spending ways for good.

So don’t flip out, have the upper hand while saving you and your boo in an economy worst like no other.

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Let’s face it, we are all pretty much broke. No matter how you accept it, it’s the truth, so deal with it! But there’s a problem because unlike everything else, us gals still need to look good without taking out a loan to pay for it. Seriously, have you seen some of the prices at Nordstrom? $100 falling apart jeans can stay on their racks any day. Since money doesn’t grow on trees (well, if you want to get technical…then they sort of do), there needs to be the medium of looking good and being thrifty. The biggest money saver is turning back to basics and putting on those old thinking caps by follow these steps.

Step One: Break Up With Your High-end Retail Stores. They are trying to destroy you!

This step should be obvious, but look at the logic. They sell things that cost little to make, causing your bank account to catch cobwebs. They don’t care about you, and too many times is that ‘perfect’ shirt stay hanging in the closet, because the event to wear it to never seems to come. Their not worth your money woes so kick ‘em to the curb girl!

Step Two: Create your own style.

Pricy sandals? Buy cheap ones and create your own vintage or glamorous version. It will make you look fashionable, as well as being God to create whatever you want! Muhahahaha! Rip up some fabric, braiding it and sew them into the sandals or add charms. If they’re leather you can dye them, add designs and claim to have spent a fortune!

Step Three: Back to Basics.

Buy plain and make your accessories extravagant. Don’t worry about wearing real jewelry, no one cares unless your royalty. It says ‘Hey, what a good idea- she’s so creative and a fashionista!’ White blouse with a long and beautiful necklace or wild earrings with an amazing but simple up-do will be a hell of a lot cheaper than trying to take on the high end. Take a cheap pair of jeans at the Salvation Army (you’d be surprised the good stuff in there), and destroy them yourself, saving yourself about $90.

Step Four: Lower that Nose, Snob!

Boutiques have the most interesting clothing for cheap prices, and places like Marshalls and T.J.Maxx can give you that designer fix your feening. But so can second hand stores. Most people sell their pricey clothes to them, giving you the deal. At this point too, handbags are overrated but knock-offs are on the rise and even I can’t tell which one is real or fake anymore. The beauty of these stores is it create an entirely new wardrobe in your house, and sets you apart from the mob of women at Nordstrom.

Take pride in buying cheap but still being able to execute the perfect look. It’s easy when your fashion savvy and economically logical, because I’m not talking about lowering your standards, but expanding your thinking.

That’s something we all can afford.

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I recently challenged myself to participate in a Story Slam. It’s a competition where I had five minutes on stage in front of an audience to tell a true story about my life. As I prepared for this event, I focused on how I would feel telling my story, what this experience would do for me. I didn’t think about what it would give to my audience. I wanted to feel a catharsis, or at least an adrenaline rush.

However, I was so distracted trying not to say “um” and remembering my story and figuring out what in the world to do with my hands that I didn’t really notice anything else. Could the audience see the sweat pooling at my armpits? Could they tell I had secretly memorized the entire five minutes? Could they hear my voice crack in the microphone? When I was done, I just felt relieved to be off the stage.

However, at the intermission I had a few people tell me that they enjoyed my story, that they thought I was funny. They were surprised to hear I’d been nervous. (Thank goodness for black shirts.)

As I relaxed and listened to the other stories, I began focusing on what the storyteller was giving to the audience. The best stories were the ones I found myself in.  I could tell everyone else did too by the feel of the room—the genuine laughter, the shared glances, the deeper silences.

“What makes your story different?”

“Nothing.” That’s why I need to tell it.

(Photo courtesy of thetellingroom via Flickr)

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Guatemala. Another trip, another life, another set of people. I had left my stressful previous job, trapped as I was in an economically ruined UK with few options for change. I came here to look for work, improve my Spanish, gain some experience in the international development sector. But most of all, I came to escape from a land of diminishing opportunity.

I came to search for a freer life. But I had forgotten, though, in that search for freedom, the dangers and temptations of that sweetest of drugs.

As I left Antigua for the shores of Lago de Atitlan, the familiar buzz of excitement rose in my stomach, plastered all over my face in a foolish grin as I chatted animatedly to the driver about nothing in particular. He was reserved, had heard it all before no doubt, these excitable (and likely interchangeable) gringas who drift through his daily work.

Once again the beauty of the soaring green  peaks beggared belief as we drove past. I thought of the people I had met in Antigua, the places I’d seen. The ugly and the beautiful. Those I had admired and despised. All to be left behind for pastures new, starting again. The possibilities once again opened wider than a new horizon. As wide as could be imagined.

When you step onto that bus, that plane, that boat, that donkey, whatever, everything changes. All the scenarios, good and bad, become nothing more than stories to tell. Embellishments on your existence. The good you can cherish, retell again and again, nourished warm in your heart and mind, sustaining you for the future. Keeping you going when times get rough. The bad too become stories, stories to laugh at because they are no longer real and threatening. They no longer hold that very present power over your life as they did when you were still walking past the same streets, catching glimpses of the same people. And if you really want to forget, you can forget. Perhaps not completely, but more so than in ‘normal’ life. There are no physical reminders of unhappy, painful, or shameful events travelling by your side (unless you were unlucky enough to get scars). There are no witnesses to remind you. The story is yours to retell, yours to rewrite. As the stories are retold again and again, sometimes they shift a little in meaning. And what you retell, is what you remember. Even the memory itself can be rewritten, if you retell it enough, subtle tiny changes over time, without even realising. And no one will know, not even you.

It amazes me when I reread my old travel diaries, to see what I have forgotten. The stories that I didn’t tell, or told only to myself, in writing, and quickly forgot. The ones I didn’t repeat to the next batch of new travellers as a way of breaking the ice. So much that I don’t remember, and it’s not a coincidence. Things I didn’t want to remember, or things that didn’t seem worth remembering. Things that didn’t fit my narrative of who I was and where I was going.

Travelling gives you the freedom to forget; the freedom to retell. Reinterpret. Even if we want to be faithful to the truth, our minds will twist it without us even realising. That is what memory does, create a narrative, including some things, excluding others, according to criteria we may not even be conscious of.

You can see why it might be addictive. It’s a dangerous freedom. It’s a freedom from consequences. When you can rewrite or recast your stories, you don’t have to face up to the bad or the ugly in yourself. There is no one around to give the lie to the lies we like to tell to ourselves, about ourselves. About who we are. The countless little hypocrisies that we all indulge in. If it looks like they will, we can just ditch them, move on, new place. New, new, new; forget, forget, forget.

Freedom to make your past. Not wholly, but enough. Enough for it to feel different. Enough for it to make a difference. Enough to not have to think about it too much. When you can just leave, you never have to think too much about that bad taste in your mouth, which quickly fades upon distance. You don’t have to face the person who gave it to you, or what part you played. Just start again.

What does this mean for looking forward?

Every new meeting, every new person, is a chance to be someone else. You become very aware of projecting yourself to others, because you are meeting new people every day. Every day you have to give people a snapshot of yourself, something that will make people ‘get’ who you are. When you start to have to think about that, you become more aware of the person you want to be, the person you want to look like. You don’t have to think about that with your family, your friends, the people you’ve known for years. The people you’ll have to stick with. In this way, it’s almost like living in Facebook, as you cultivate your ‘profile’.

This is addictive too. Encourages us to lie to ourselves, to create an image of ourselves we admire and pretend it is true. When you only stay with people for a few days, it doesn’t matter that it isn’t true. It doesn’t matter, the vulnerabilities and weaknesses that lie underneath your image and theirs. You only know each other long enough to see the best of each other. The bits that you want to see and want them to see. And these become your new reality, the one that travels with you. That reality is golden, that reality is beautiful, as addictive and life-affirming and ultimately destructive as the strongest drug. A reality where you never see the bad side. And usually… you don’t even notice you’re doing it.

These processes are of course linked. You rewrite your history in the image of this ’someone else’, the ‘you’ that you wish you were. Past and present, united and flowing in this half invented narrative, where truth and fiction are never quite distinguishable.

There is a paradox, though. The constant change can be wearing. Everything starts to look the same, everyone starts to look the same and sure as hell those damn traveller conversations always were the same. Change becomes monotony, the conversations meaningless. The disposable intimacy of the traveller flings starts to pall. It’s tempting, to build something a little longer, a little safer, a little closer, in the midst of all those instant moments. Something a little more long term. A connection. Meaning. A relationship, perhaps. Someone to travel with, to stick with, to share your stories with.

What happens?

At first it is perfect, still living in the golden reality. You click and you laugh and you enjoy each other’s company. But soon the edifice starts to crumble.

Now there is someone to give the lie to your lie. And you give the lie to theirs. Whose image will survive? That depends on who is more sure of themselves. Who can either lie harder, or who was more honest in the first place. Who has a stronger grip on their own personality, whatever version of it there may be.

The less aware you are of the edifice which you have built for yourself, the worse it will feel. The harder it is to understand what is happening. Because you didn’t realise you were lying. And now you have to live up to this ‘you’ that you’ve created for yourself, this person, this stylised version that never really existed. You have to try and be them, for real. And it doesn’t work, because real people never look that good. And it hurts. And you don’t know why. And you get confused. Confused about who you are.

This can be a torment. Once you start to get confused, everything starts to break down. Maybe the relationship isn’t going so well. They say things about you. Things you didn’t think were true, but now… how can you tell? You liked them so much at the beginning. You got along so well. What has changed? Was it them or was it you? Reality becomes clouded. You argue. Who backs down? In this powerful, emotional, isolated island of a relationship, where only the two of you exist, moving along in the backpacker slipstream… you have no standard by which to judge. You have no social context to remind you who you are. You do not have your friends, your family, to say, what are you doing? Why are you letting this happen? This isn’t who you are. You only have the word of the person there in front of you, and your own judgment in your own head. Your reality then becomes a product of a battle of wills to define what’s true. Who started the argument. Who is reasonable. Who is being logical, who is making sense, who is telling the truth. Who is crazy and who is sane.

This is a very dangerous place to be. This can drive you insane, destroy your sense of self completely. And once that’s lost, it can be very hard to leave.

This is the paradox of the travellers’ freedom. Though you can reinvent yourself at will, if you do not have a strong grip on who you are, who you really are, inside, you can end up in the opposite of freedom. Living in the tyranny of someone else’s judgment of you, unable to even distinguish for yourself what’s real and what’s true about your own thoughts, your own self. And worst of all, unable to leave, the greatest freedom of the traveller, lost. Because leaving requires faith in your own judgment. And that’s precisely what you lose, in this kind of tyranny.

That was the story of my first trip six years ago, and I’ve seen it play out in other people’s trips, to some degree. Of course, not everyone falls prey to this process when they travel. But it’s hard, hard not to. Because it’s so easy, that freedom, that drug, the rush beckoning like the sweetest high. And like addiction, it’s so dangerously easy to lose yourself. Lose who you are.

I sat on that bus to Panajachel and I felt that rush. The temptation to screw it all, live the backpacker circuit, let it all drift, live for the moment. For the instantaneous hedonism and the sweet rush of that special brand of traveller freedom, where life is just a chain of moments where nothing really matters. Anyone can be interesting for the first hour, or day. Many can be fuckable, for a little while. There are always new people to meet. Some even make it to a week before their gold starts to pall and they are discarded along the road like so many others. Discard without malice; make no mistake, there’s no ill will. But discarding is just what a traveller does when things aren’t golden anymore; it’s the flipside of the traveller’s raison d’etre. To move forward, continue the journey, to seek experience, seek pleasure, you must discard. And as long as you hold on to your power to discard, you’ll stay free.

But it’s an empty freedom, even if we can hold on to it. Even if we don’t lose ourselves in someone else’s power, the someone that the emptiness drives us toward. That emptiness too can be destructive. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that some of the people I’ve met who’ve been on the road for longest have also been the most egocentric. Because you don’t have to learn to see anyone else’s point of view when you travel. You can, but you don’t have to. You can just leave instead. And leaving means no dialogue.

For freedom without consequences is a meaningless freedom. You are free… to achieve nothing. When you travel, life is an etch-a-sketch. A single shake, you rub it all out and start again. But there’s only so much you can draw with an etch-a-sketch. And there’s only so much you can live in a collection of moments. You don’t build, you just collect… stories, experiences, notches on the mobile bedpost.

The most challenging things in life, are the things we can’t rewrite. The truths we have to face and negotiate with. The things we can’t erase. The people who are too important to erase. The relationships it would hurt to erase. The things we have to make work, for better or worse. The things we have to build slowly, day by day, piece by piece. These are the things that make us grow, and ultimately, that give us fulfillment. These are the things which really make us learn, force us to reflect, on ourselves and on other people. The things that are wider than just ourselves and our own experiences.

I sighed as I felt the rush, and smiled to myself as I let it slide past. Smiled at past folly and lost illusions, smiled at the hope for something more. Smiled as I let go of the temptation, smiled at the thought of a struggle to bite on rather than a cloud to drift through. Smiled, as saying no to that addictive freedom felt more like freedom than indulging it ever did.

This is just my story, this is my philosophy. I cannot speak for all. But I know I’m not the only one.

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I recently saw a video of a twenty-something comedian singing about being a health insurance hoe. While the song was rather exaggerated (not to mention R-rated) about a girl going after men for their health insurance, I found it hilarious because the underlying idea was so relatable. While my solution is not to go after men with health insurance, I do understand the feeling of being desperate for it.

For anyone focused on creative endeavors (comedians, writers, musicians, artists) being able to afford health insurance is a real concern.  You may not be interested in working for the man… but the man has the Blue Cross Blue Shield hookup.

So I can’t help but wonder how many people may be limiting their potential because they need health insurance. One of the main reasons I took the job I have now is that the idea of employer-sponsored health insurance was too good to pass up. I’m certainly not complaining about being gainfully employed and don’t believe my 9-5 is the reason I haven’t written the next great American novel, but would I choose administrative assistant over more creative endeavors if the prior didn’t come with full benefits?

I could live without the steady salary or a 401K, but I’m just not sure I can give up my $15 copay for nasal spray. More importantly, even though I am young and healthy, I need to be insured against the day I may become unhealthy. Staying healthy also means being able to afford seeing a doctor and getting my teeth cleaned.

So if the choice is sell out or get married, what is health insurance really costing?

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