Runaway Future

About a month or so, I was talking with someone about the job with the Anaheim Ducks that I applied for. I don’t think I mentioned it here, but basically the job was doing PR stuff for their website, basically similar to what I do for HF at present. I applied for it back in March and received a bit of a cryptic response, saying thanks for the application and so on and that they’ve decided not to fill the position at that time. Naturally, this set my mind a racing, as the work visa that I would fit under is sometimes capped and full, renewing every year. This was, of course, me assuming I had the position, if only because of my unique experience in covering the Ducks in an online format. To bring this side story to a close, I’ve recently received an update on that position and the posting is back up, stating explicitly that it is for local candidates only and that no relocation plans(and certainly no work visas) would be offered. Crushed dreams.

But back on tangent, after explaining the majority of this hope and dream, I was greeted with a curious response: one of surprise that I’d leave Halifax, leave Nova Scotia and leave Canada.

Let’s be fair, I love Halifax. I have a great job, well two of them actually. This weekend, I could walk and listen to free music, see ships older then my grandparents, walk by a movie set and play soccer, all within reach. I really like this town and it’s beginning to become my own, my home. Which is why I feel like I should soon leave it.

When April was here, we talked about travel. She’s done more then I have, spending a year in Australia and making plans to go back, maybe forever. I merely visited a few spots and took a few pictures. We also talked about anchors, those things that keep us from taking off. I have precious few right now, a lease, a job, friends & family. The lease is gone in a year (just passed in the next round of cheques), maybe less if I had reason to switch to month to month. I’ve always viewed the job as a stepping stone and while it is comfortable, it isn’t the end of the world. Friends and family will understand, or they should.

I just fear that slowly I’m starting to take root. I’ve been at the job for two years, after originally promising myself a year there without second thought and then another year to figure things out and put wheels in motion. That deadline has now passed. My writing is starting to become almost a second job and that’s amazingly cool. But it’s all too safe and I fear that without some sort of action, I’ll be stuck in a rut, complacent in the serenity around me. I don’t want this around me to look the same in 10 years time when I’m settled in my path. I don’t want to give up so easily, to go so quietly into the night.

I’ve never lived outside of Nova Scotia. I’ve never lived on my own outside of Halifax. I’m jealous of those of my friends who have been able to travel and see more then I have. I’m afraid to make that leap, but it’s gnawing at me.

I just finished reading an amazing book, the Dolphin’s Tooth. It’s about a guy who at the age of 22, decides to stop being an engineer and start living a life more desirable to him. So he leaves and bikes through northern Pakistan. Then he becomes a river boat guide, then a mountain climber, then white water rafting, then… It’s an idea that I can’t put away, similar to the effect that Ultramarathon Man had on me, eventually leading to me starting to run and doing the 10k at the Bluenose.

Just like the running was also in part due to a girl I worked with running in a marathon, this is also coupled with the experiences of a friend. More specifically my many conversations with Daniel from Carleton Street. He’s actually leaving soon, to travel across Canada with his girlfriend and then fly to Korea to teach English for a year. There’s also plans for a trip to South America in the fall of 2008, doing odd jobs along the way, taking eight months or so to do the full thing. In the past, he’s done Europe and Asia and so on. It’s inspiring to talk to him about this stuff, as it makes it seem so much more in reach.

I’ve often indulged myself in flights of fancy, both on this blog and elsewhere of leaving things behind and travelling, or outright moving somewhere else. That drum is just getting louder. As someone I work with put it, “If I was your age, I wouldn’t be here.” What if the only thing keeping me here was fear of taking that fateful first step?