There's nothing worse than waking up with your bank statement staring you down, challenging you to make a move. I turn on the coffee pot and think. Half of my savings are invested in a volunteer trip to Kenya and I have no real job prospects in sight. Convinced that my Wells Fargo account is making mocking its mission in these early hours, I wait for the pot to fill. I've been home for a week now, and the essence of reality has revealed to be a harsh and persistent beast.
It was only a short six months ago that my life was stable and established. I was living in the heart of Baltimore, a city whose identity was juxtaposed by quaint cobble-stoned neighborhoods and reoccurring drug crimes, by incredible wealth and harsh racial inequalities. Yet everyone was so proud of their city. It was a place where people wore their high school class rings as a symbol of identity. Baltimore meant something. Between the music and the food and the sub-cultures, everyone seemed to find their perfect niche. Mine was in the cultural district of Mt. Vernon where ethnic cuisine met raging gay clubs, where microbreweries met perpetually unimpressed art students, where historic landmarks met urban life. It was a beautifully odd city and my new home.
I had moved to Baltimore on a whim after college. Three years later I had an established career as a teacher and program supervisor at a prestigious independent school. A job with benefits, faculty meetings and happy hours. I had the option of earning my Master's, applying for grants that would send me around the world, upgrading to an adult apartment with Ikea furniture! It all sounded so ideal.
But it wasn't. So just like that, my internal clock ticked down to zero ringing, "time's up!" I gave my notice, alerted my friends, and fled.
So now I'm back at home. I am living with my parents and praying that this doesn't backfire. I never meant to settle in Baltimore. I never even meant to become a teacher. It was all just a filler until I could figure out a way to do what I really wanted: to work in Africa. I can see my former coworkers watch me as I ignorantly skip off into the mirage of an African sunset. They are waving to my back, stealing sideways glances at each other, forcing on encouraging smiles. But really they're thinking...this girl is a fucking moron.
The coffee brews and I stew in my financial slump.
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