Under-qualified Traveler

Fresh out of undergraduate school, I was given a job that I am totally under qualified for. It involves travelling, pretty much, all over our (great) nation. It is an additional position to the research assistant position I already have for a federally funded research project. I have my B.A. in psychology. The project I am working on involves preventing suicide on railways across the county. That is right; I am striving to stop people from intentionally throwing themselves in front of trains.

Morbid? Depressing? Awkward to talk about? Yes, to say the least. When I was looking for housing, a tenant became suddenly disinterested as soon as I told him I worked in suicide prevention. His phone “died.” I didn’t even get into the whole train thing.

Don’t get me wrong, it is a rewarding job. And it sure does put things into perspective.

I am totally unqualified for the traveling position, however. And it’s not just in education, it is in life-experience. Until the end of high school, I had refused traveling because I was terrified of planes. I would only travel with the same couple of friends and would need to sit between them, to hold their hands. (I know, lame and pathetic. I try to give off a tough persona but when it comes to heights, I am a huge baby. Except for roller-coasters.) Since the end of September, I have been on at least 8 different planes. I have travelled to Minnesota, Kansas, and Arizona. I have survived each flight without having a panick attack. To tell the truth, lately, there is something comforting and relieving about lift-off and something morbidly depressing about landing. Maybe because I am less than happy with my life on the ground.

In each of the different states I have visited, I have also managed the task of getting myself from point A to B to C (and all points in between) using a rental car. Me. Driving. And not getting lost. If you know me well, you know this is quite a feat. I still get lost in my hometown and I lived there for 18 years. I once went north to go south, and didn’t realize it until I was nearly an hour out of my way. Yikes.

When I got hired for a job that involved being responsible for my own travel, everyone was shocked and slightly mortified. With my sense of direction, I am the last person to ever be qualified for such a position. I think, however, everyone has been more shocked (including myself) that I was and am able to handle such a position. I did not end up lost in Narnia in Kansas, Minnesota, or Arizona. (Well, it was a close call in Minnesota).

Currently, my travels have taken me to the West coast, to Arizona. Arizona is a strange place. I never knew a land where you could see cacti, palm trees, and mountains out of the car window, on the same drive. An obsession with with Mexican food seems to be an intrinsic part of the Arizona culture. The people I have encountered are nice, normal, (nothing unusual or too different than what I am used to). The drivers are impatient (normal). I saw someone walking through the airport carrying a cardboard box that said "live cactus" (unusual).

Now I find myself sitting in a bar in the Tucson Airport. I am eating wings and drinking beer. I feel buzzed and I know as soon as I stand up, I’m fucked. And, on the flight, I’m really going to need to pee. But, at least that is what I am most worried about.

Introduction: Edit

Upon reflection, my introduction was lengthy and just, too much.

I am always doing this; I am always giving too much of an explanation. In school, I was always the student getting points deducted for writing too much, for not staying within the maximum page limit. And for this, I would be called an overachiever by peers. I’ll admit, in many ways, I am an overachiever. But would an overachiever really want to get a 10 point deduction for writing 2 too many pages? I think not. And see, I’ve done it again. I have over-explained my compulsion to over- explain.

So, to correct/shorten my introduction (not delete, mind you, I never seem to permanently delete anything from my life and am finding that as I age, I may be developing a hoarding compulsion) here is my second blog entry, the way my first one should have been written. Short and to the point.

I am lost. I want to find my way, like Tom Petty in his song, “Square One.” This song inspired my blog and gives me the hope that I can find my way too, from square one. Listen to it.


The end.

Introduction

My blog is called "Square One" because that is exactly where I feel I am in my life, square one. A recent college grad, I am living in squalor, working at a job that's existence depends entirely upon unreliable funding. My relationship ended, abruptly, and many friends have gone their separate ways. I chose to remain in the city because I honestly believed I was doing the best thing for future I wanted. Three months after graduation, however, it turned out that it didn't really matter what I had wanted. My decision to stay for my job and my boyfriend did not ensure stable work hours or a successful relationship. I am left feeling helpless- powerless over my own life and my own future. I am questioning everything I thought I wanted (a relief, after years of questions and doubts). And nobody really understands. Not exactly. At the moment, I feel wholly "unwhole" and completely lost.

There is a Tom Petty song, featured in my favorite movie, (though it is not a favorite among many), "Elizabethtown." The song is called "Squre One." It is the inspiration for the idea behind my blog. In the song, Mr. Petty looks back on his life of trouble and fear. He had to endure all of the trouble and all of the fear in order to "get back here," to square one. Mr. Petty sings with a sense of relief and contentment, having finally arrived, after a "long time," at square one. His "slate is clear." Finally. But, I am not content or relieved to be at square one. I am not okay and my slate is not clear, I carry heavy baggage everywhere I go. And everywhere I go, I am lost.

Perhaps I needed to get lost to find anything real. Perhaps I needed things not to work out so that the right things could. And perhaps I need to work hard to be okay with all of my loss and the resulting, overwhelming, dissapointment I have experienced. "Yeah my way was hard to find, Can't sell youself a piece of mind."

This song brings me hope and new perspective. Maybe I am not so lost- maybe I am just at square one. Maybe my slate can one day be clear. It is not going to be easy, it is going to take "a world of trouble and world of fear... a long time..." When that day comes, I will sing along with Mr. Petty (though unbearably out of key), knowing that I have endured loss and managed to find my way. And the people and things that are important and meaningful in my life, will still be right here, with me.