Massachusetts 20, or In Which We Witness A Blathering of Insecurity

Let us ignore for the moment that the aforeposted trip is primarily about poetry, and getting to experience poetry scenes across the US. Instead, let us peruse past the bullshit, and get to the heart of what I'm really doing: running away, as fast and as far as I can.

By all logic, I shouldn't be doing the ridiculously ambitious trip I outlined in my last post. I should be using my freshly minted Bachelor's to pursue something noble, profitable, or at least something I'm interested in like being a youth advocate or writing poems. In fact, choosing to travel for two months solid is an absolutely terrifying venture that promises to be full of boredom, discomfort and little incidents I will probably later refer to as "learning experiences."

I do not travel well, as evidenced by my accounts of my time in Europe. I'm not quite a souffle, per say, but I'm at least a hot blueberry pie or basket of fresh strawberries, guaranteed to arrive moldy and grumpy. I do not look forward to traveling. I don't even like sightseeing. I like eating, and seeing people I know that I don't get to otherwise, and maybe experiencing a different climate than the one I'm used to. But a traveler, I am not.

But why does traveling around the country while searching for a place to live sound so much less scary than applying for real jobs?

And why do the casual words of one of my relatives keep echoing uncomfortably in my head? She said, "We are of the 'options' class - we can do these kinds of things!" She's right. I have enough money to be able to do this kind of trip without worrying about running out, and probably still enough to move to a new place at the end of it.

I think these two thoughts are inextricably linked. Part of the reason I've balked at applying for jobs (not job searching, mind you - I haven't stopped looking for jobs that sound good) is because I realized just how little experience I have with actually working . Sure, I've done internships and worked at summer camps. I can write, do research and run a meeting. But these are things I've mostly done for free, and the quality of my work hasn't been measured in such a way that seems provable.

Let me explain: in the summer of 2006, I did an internship at a queer youth center for which my college gave me a stipend. I have outstanding recommendation letters from both my supervisors. They say that I organized and edited a self-published magazine and threw a poetry slam, and helped the day-to-day operations of the center. Not bad, right? Except that the majority of the difficult legwork and red tape was not my job - it was my boss's job. I was the "unpaid" intern who was supposed to be learning, but also having fun.

I've never worked in a grocery store, never been a lifeguard, never poured coffee or painted houses or potted plants for a living. I have no particular skills like that, except cooking, and even that wasn't in a restaurant. How do I tell a restaurant, "Well, no, I've never worked in a restaurant, but I can cook a vegetarian kosher dinner for 80 college students as long as I have one other person to help?"

It's all this "unofficial" work, the internships and the volunteering and the community-based stipend-driven work. It feels like trying to convince someone you'd be a great preschool teacher because you have a toddler. The skill set could work, but there's some big pieces missing.

But I still have this option to run, to get on the road and see if a bus or a train or a plane can leave me a few miles ahead of all this. Maybe I can develop some skills en route to Denver. Or Minneapolis. Or, you know, wherever.