Almost no one has asked me that question. They may have asked why this country in particular, but strangely, few need me to justify going across the world to a remote tropical village to teach young people who may barely speak my language. This fact is reassuring. It means it’s almost obvious that this is an experience worth having. In fact, I’m not even sure what I’d tell people if they did ask why I’m doing this. But I’ll try.
Briefly, I’m running short on life lessons to learn in Westchester, New York. I think I’m approaching the upper limit of types of people and experiences I can encounter in this small and privileged corner of the world. Teaching 6th graders engineering in the Bronx ensures that at least during the school year I am busy, fulfilled, and exhausted. But I quickly discovered last summer, the first in many during which I was not working, travelling, or studying, that my tolerance for uneventfulness is low. I told my mom earnestly that another comfortable, quiet, and dreadful summer at home would be my undoing. Repulsed by that prospect, I signed up to work and live in the most novel context possible.
But like I said, I usually don’t have to explain my motives. People seem to understand the value of an adventure, and encourage me with statements like “that sounds awesome!” or “you’re going to have a great time!” The positive reactions, encouraging and welcome as they are, make me wonder why more people aren’t doing the same. Even people my age with similar degrees of freedom don’t seem all too curious – the Pinterest pins, background images, and Instagram drone shots are adventure enough. We’ll make it there someday, we tell ourselves.
Perhaps we just have responsibility thrust upon us, and I’m naïve to think everyone can figure out a way to explore. We have jobs, bills, significant others, and responsibilities we can’t just up and leave. I just happen to enjoy the circumstances that allow me this freedom, right? Partially. It’s not a coincidence I only have to work 180 days a year, it’s no accident I picked an occupation that transcends borders, and it wasn’t just my shamelessness that kept me home long enough to save enough money. If you asked me two years ago whether I was making these decisions deliberately in anticipation of a specific trip, I would have said no. I’m not claiming prescience. What I did have were some principles that told me it wouldn’t be necessary to jump into a company that doesn’t care, an apartment I can’t afford, or a relationship I can’t escape. But thanks to those decisions, I can be where I am now.
Which is in a strange hotel in a foreign country with zero human contact for 14 days. So much for freedom, Jared. You can’t even leave your room right now because of quarantine.
But you can.
So what’s your excuse for staying where you are?
The job, significant other, bills, and belongings are valid excuses. But they won’t magically disappear. Do we think that as our work responsibilities grow greater, our lifestyles correspondingly more expensive, and our relationships more binding, an opportunity for adventure will somehow make itself obvious? Likely not. If it seems too late now, imagine how we’ll feel in 5 years. As inertia builds, changing course becomes more difficult. As scary as that seems, all it means is that today is the easiest it will ever be to make a change. So here's my attempt to inspire us to make it.
As a thought exercise, let’s recall a regret, no matter how trivial. We should have told that girl how we felt, but we chickened out. We didn’t like our major in college, but were reluctant to switch. The job prospect didn’t interest us, but we had to make some money. In these cases, we tell our past selves that they should have acted more decisively. They should have prioritized that moment, because now present you is paying the price.
Now let's consider the choices we’re making today. What makes us think our future selves will be any more forgiving?
Delusion, probably. Hindsight is always 20/20, though. How do we know if where we’re at now is where we should be? I’m not claiming to know. But we can usually tell when we’re not. If you don’t believe me, read this on a Monday morning headed to a job you’re less than thrilled about after a weekend bender and tell me there’s nowhere you’d rather be.
Despite the obvious, we delude ourselves. We make strange excuses to rationalize our suffering, as if we can defer our happiness to the weekends and the future, only to arrive there and still fail to feel content. As if we can be happy at any time but now.
What should we do then, Mr. Self-Righteous Blog Writer?
I haven’t the slightest clue. What we shouldn’t do is that which prolongs our suffering or no longer fulfills us. Let’s use our misery as a sign it’s time to shake things up. Your idea of what that means is likely different from mine – I don’t expect everyone to move across the world for months at a time. Adventure can be found anywhere.
But let's at least be honest about the changes that are going to get the job done. Switching from one marketing firm to another is not what we need. A better “work culture” is still a “work” culture. Moving from the East Village to Tribeca won’t cure any woes. The “vibe” was not the problem. Settling for an intolerable partner before we’re happy on our own won’t do the trick. Now we’re just responsible for twice as much misery. Too often, we string together these band-aid solutions end to end so that when combined, they allow us to delude ourselves long enough until we retire.
If these aren’t the changes, though, how do we know which ones to make?
Sorry if you came here for answers, because you guessed it, I don’t know. My philosophy is this, though - anything worth doing should make us nervous. (Disclaimer: not everything that makes us nervous is worth doing). If your past self had asked that girl out, switched majors, or turned down that ugly job, it probably wouldn’t have been easy. So use your nerves as a proxy. As scary as that is, the scarier prospect should be to sit idly by while our lives gain inertia, only to finally face the music and realize it’s too late to create the life we wish we had.
I’m not claiming to have reached Nirvana-levels of satisfaction. Life isn’t perfect. We don’t have to love where we’re at or who we’re with, but we also don’t have to linger there. The moment our lifestyle ceases to serve us, we should change it. At first, that’s probably hard. But I’m imagining that each leap gets easier. If we still don’t find what we’re looking for, then it’s on to the next adventure. By that point, we’ve probably made a habit of staying on the move. Which is the kind of life that I want to live.
Who knows if I’ll be successful. But at least if I turn bitter and resentful, I can come back and read my cynical blog posts. Then not only will I be miserable, but a hypocrite too. I don’t want to be that, so I wrote this to hold myself accountable. Sorry for dragging you along.
No need to apologize; honest introspection is a good gift