28 years ago I was born. At the time, I was presumably lacking in self-awareness, though local lore claims that I didn’t utter a single word until I was two and a half, at which point I woke up one morning and asked what was for breakfast – suggesting that, at the very least, I was smart enough to milk a good situation for some attention and bide my time before absolutely HAVING, at the threat of eating one more sub par bowl of oatmeal, to communicate with the outside world.
Flash forward to senior year of high school. I am smart and lazy. College applications qualify as “paperwork,” which isn’t very high on my to-do list. I decide I can go one of a few ways: I can go to the
2002. I graduate college. Someone older and wiser tells me that the world is my oyster, and I respond that I don’t like oysters. It sounds like some quippy line out of a mediocre indie movie, but it’s the truth: Sushi hasn’t really taken off yet and for the price of three oysters I could get a chicken parmigiana hero. I decide to stay in NY and hone my craft. At this point, my craft includes programming my first generation TiVo, drinking in the afternoon and emailing my friends forty times to discuss the nuances of adulthood, like food shopping and pooping in a communal corporate environment.
2005. Tired of being a cliché, mid-20’s poster-boy for the lost technological generation, I decide to start a blog. Five weeks in, I read an article in the New York Times about how blogging is the wave of the future. This has me ambivalent: On the one hand, I’m so happy to be a part of the future. On the other, if the Times is reporting on it that means it was the future about three years ago. I decide to stay the stale course. I am smart and lazy.
2007. I meet a girl. Not just any girl, but a real girl. One with hair, an education, and a bewitching guile. And what’s more, I meet her through my blog. I consider writing an op-ed for the New York Times entitled “Blogging Is The Wave of My Future (In Bed),” but stress over the stylistic impediments of having to refer to my girlfriend as “Ms. Brooke.” Instead, I start another blog and move to
But wait . . .
January 18th, 2008. I’m at work. I get an email from Brooke with the subject “OMG!”
“Cute,” I think.
I open it up.
“Do you like
Now, I’ve never passed out before. The closest I ever came was in 6th grade when I broke my wrist after falling out of a tree. The doctor had to reset my bone. The nurse held my forearm down, and as the doctor yanked hard on my hand I felt a wave of darkness pass over me – my mind’s way of saying, “Eh, I’ll sit this one out.” That’s pretty much what happened here, except instead of my wrist, it was my whole body. And when I came to, the worst that had happened was that I’d spilled my coffee.
Now, a little back story: We’ve talked about moving for a long time now. I’ve been on the Escape From New York Bandwagon ever since “Lost” premiered and I found myself agreeing with Locke that, sure, while hunting for your food and reusing the same dirty water bottle over and over aren’t exactly the apex of success, it might not be such a bad life to be stuck on that island. Then I went to
This plan, of course, had to be revised once I started researching international immigration laws. More paperwork. No thanks. But I didn’t give up, surprisingly, and my stick-to-itiveness was an indication to me that moving must be something I really wanted. In the past, I solved all my problems by watching TV or starting a blog. Now, I was actually looking outside the TiVo box for solutions.
Back to January 18th.
My first reaction was an audible, “Who?” Words didn’t seem to make sense. Job?
My second reaction, born of my need to rationally understand everything and research endlessly to get the best price, was to Google “
Just then, an email popped up on my screen. It was from an attorney requesting some forms and an edit to a contract. He signed his email, “ASAP, Steve.”
It hit me: I would have to quit my job.
It hit me: I wanted this.
Flash forward to today. The past month has been ridiculous – an amalgamation of every stress I have experienced in my life thus far, condensed in time and complicated by about 1,300 miles. There was an impromptu trip to
So, to recap:
Health insurance? Good fortune and a strong constitution.
Future riddled with uncertainty, insecurity and a dramatic increase in budget allocation for sun block? Bright.