Once again, I had the
what are you doing with your life? conversation with my guests.
Oh, joy.
They kept asking me questions between bites (it was somehow less awkward than it sounds, I promise), but unlike any other conversation on this topic that I've ever had with a guest, I never felt judged for my employment choice or demeaned in any way. This middle-aged married couple seemed legitimately interested in getting to know me. It was weird, well, at first, anyways.
We talked about my International Business degree. We talked about my love for traveling the world, acquiring new languages, and building cross-cultural relationships. We talked about my indecisiveness, my uncertainties. But most importantly, we talked about
her life.
The two seated in front of me shared my international interests. The wife especially had vastly out-traveled me, thanks mainly to this story: At age 21, she was a single mother with a one-year-old daughter and an overwhelming urge to travel the world. And what did she do?
She traveled the world.
Yup. With no plans and no goals, a young woman left all friends, family, and familiarity behind to travel extensively throughout Europe and Asia for the first time. For nearly a year. With an infant.
Why can't I find the balls to do that?
I mean, seriously. Why am I still here? I'm 23, educated, single, no kids, relatively little debt, and in a job that I can easily (and most days, gladly) leave. My wanderlust was my main reason for choosing the
International Business major. My only positive academic memories from elementary and middle school are from my Spanish and Latin classes because I loved learning languages so much. My soul's sole craving right now is just to be a traveler.
Not a tourist, mind you. A traveler.
There is a difference.
A traveler. My imagination soars into wild creativity building scenario after fantastic scenario. My gut clenches around what feels like a thousand butterflies. My heart leaps, racing over each Olympic hurdle of a rib.
I become a whole new person when I travel. I become bold, where I am normally cautious. I become an adrenaline junkie, where I am normally apprehensive. I become serene, where I am normally feisty. I become spirited, where I am normally lazy. I become conscientious of my surroundings, where I am normally inattentive. I become the better version of myself.
And yet, I'm still here. I find a way to talk myself out of it, every time --
How will I afford it? What will I do while I'm there -- will I just travel on my own, or will I seek out a job while there, or enroll in a service immersion program? How long would I stay? What would I do when I get back? Where would I even go? Would I be safe? What if I got lonely traveling by myself? What about all the friends I would miss? How would my mother get any sleep at night? blah blah blah... -- And then I take the easy road yet again -- the highway to my hellhole of a restaurant job -- and I am disappointed in myself for talking myself out of going, every time.
Why can't I find the balls to do that?
The question still rings in my head. Every time I look at table 114. Every time someone mentions traveling. Every time a guest/coworker/friend/parent asks me what I want to do next in life.
Why can't I find the balls to do that?
Why am I holding myself back from the one thing I want most?
Maybe one day, I'll just go.
[ degreed waitress ]
