Response

A good friend of mine, Dom, has recently embarked on his own overseas adventure. Just before he left, he wrote a blog, which is a very good read, and I am exercising my right - as one of a billion or so voices on the interwebs - of reply.

Dom quit his job three or so weeks before he left, and had a cheeky taste of the reality of unemployment. As someone who has been there, I can attest that it sucks. Especially if you're saving money and all your mates are working. Shit gets pretty boring, fast.
However, as someone who is now employed, yet longs to be free on the road again, I come from a very different position.

Step 1: Employment
Yes, a job gives you a definition. It's an identity, to a point. What freaks me out, more than not having a job (and therefore no identity), is that as we are defined by our jobs, our jobs change who we are.

I've always feared being one of the masses - one of the suit-wearing, well-groomed corporates you find on Collins Street at pretty much any time of day. The people who once were interesting, but now spend their days at work - on the train by 8am, home at 6pm. A person is interesting because they do interesting things. What do you think corporates talk about with their families when they get home? 'Just finished another tax return, love. It was a big one this time.'
As a journalist, this wasn't a problem. It was my business to know the most interesting things in the world, so there was plenty to talk about. But then I jumped ship, went to work in PR for a big company. All of a sudden, when I'm asked 'how was your day?' I'm fucked. My day was boring. It was easy, I got paid well, but it was boring. The most interesting thing I did was read Dom's blog, and then I ran to the loo because of the stomach pains a crippling bout of envy delivers.
Do boring jobs make boring people? Is my contention true? Are we defined by our jobs, and do our jobs change who we are?

Step 2: Remember why you work.
I didn't quite say this in the interview for my current job, but there's two reasons I went for it. The first, and most obvious, was to save money. Money money money. Money so I can go overseas. Money so I can buy a van and travel the world. Money so I can snowboard, money so I can go on ADVENTURES.
The second was to get enough experience that when I inevitably get back from my next trip, I can get a good job quickly. I want to be in a position where I'm not wallowing in the depths of unemployment, the kind of unemployment that drains your soul. The kind of unemployment Dom described.

They're two pretty bloody good reasons to work, but sometimes I need to remind myself of them, when I feel boredom creeping in. When I'm looking out the window, dreaming of the beach, the snow, an aeroplane.

Step 3: Staying
The end result is worth the boredom. When it all comes down to it, that's what sucks. the boredom. When your friends (I'm looking at you, Ciconte) head overseas on trips you can only dream of, it sucks. I could pack up and fuck off now too. Head to Europe, America, South America, wherever I like, and live the dream. But that would be to throw everything I've worked for over the past year down the loo.

There's two types of people in the world - those who talk about doing things, and those who do them. I like to think I talk about doing things, and then go and do them. So I'm talking a big game: June 2012, I'll be on a plane to Europe, and I'll be over there for a while. If I delay it any longer I'm going to go insane. The only possible change to that plan is if I go earlier, and that's a very real prospect.

Holiday Dom is well and truly alive and free. Holiday Stu, well, he's getting restless.