When I graduated from high school I didn't know squat about a "gap year." Four years later I graduated from college and cared less for taking a year off to explore--I was far more concerned with probing the gaping void that hoovered up my career prospects ... and with deriving a non-sarcastic response to everyone's "So whatcha gonna do now?" Like many of us, I reckon I've spent more time in my life doing what was expected or what I was supposed to do rather than doing whatever I wanted on my own time: Being seen and not heard; doing as I was told as opposed to what I'd seen; learning instruments and sports; becoming a "well-rounded" liberal artisan; voting; drinking responsibly-ish; showing up for class and graduating; using my checkbook register; getting a job.
Admittedly meeting and, in some rare cases, exceeding expectations hasn't failed me. I've turned out well enough morally, socially, psychologically and comically speaking. And I'mma be real--I'm far too practical and cautious even to say anarchy much less perpetrate it. But I have come to understand my need to develop and abide by my own expectations in my own time.
Thirteen years ago I heard a recording of Robert Frost reciting "The Road Less Traveled." At the time I was more focused on the fact that his voice sounded like he was reading from his crypt than I was on the two roads that were diverging. Yet throughout the years I've often wondered if I was amblin' along through dirt and dust while everyone else sped by on expressways. (Where everyone is headed I haven't quite determined just yet.)
Now, here I am thoroughly enjoying my stint of unemployment. In theory, the unemployment path is like the road less traveled (for those of us steering towards and through Adulthood); however, given today's job market, I think the avenue of gainful employment could withstand a generous population boost. Nevertheless, I'm having fun cleaning, organizing, crafting and lunching. Plenty of people told me I'd be okay "making do" and it turns out they were right. It obviously ain't my heart's desire to collect unemployment, but it is my money and I'm pretty damn sure there ain't gonna be none left by the time I'm 65 so I'm fine with pocketing as much of it as possible right now.
Besides, there are plenty of neighborhoods hidin' treasured shops and eateries and quirky people that I otherwise never would've discovered. And my bucket list is at least one item shorter since I now know what it feels like to be one of those folks straight strollin' along the Schuylkill River in the middle of the morning lookin' all content and such.
So in addition to fielding questions about my sensationally single status and uterine vacancies, I'm now back to brainstorming age-appropriate responses to "Whatcha gonna do now?" The truth is that I ain't too worried about any of these things, but that's probably just a manifestation of my Daddy's Girl syndrome a.k.a. The Crazy. Any and every time I showed any signs of stress about grades, missed free throws, or whatever my mama was insisting I do with my hair my dad's baritone would croon, "Never hurry, never worry."
(It explains a lot about me and my CP time tendencies doesn't it? However, in my defense, I'm pretty dang prompt these days! Hanson and Hopkins, you two can attest to this astounding development.)
Anyhow, only God--and some awfully selective hiring managers--know what's next for me, and that's zip-a-dee-doo-dah satisfactual enough. In the meantime, I'll continue "working" to:
- Exceed my quarterly/annual quota for South Cackalack visits (I'm already at two and it ain't even summer!)
- Find inexpensive, creative ways to juj up my apartment--
- Diversify my cookin' portfolio--
Finally, by the grace of the Good Lord, it is Spring and--this week at least--it's always sunny here in Philadelphia. And as the trees and flowers and loud-ass-before-the-sun-even-rises baby birds blossom and bloom I am reminded that so too shall I.