It felt a little weird. The floral wallpaper and Hello Kitty posters still adorned the walls, but all the furniture was different. The room felt crowded with the three dressers and 42-inch plasma tv that had fit so nicely in my apartment San Francisco. It was the first time I had moved back home since I moved out to go to college.
I should be grateful.
My New Zealand adventure was over, and I was back in the Bay Area. Despite the risky move of putting my job search on hold to travel halfway across the world, I received a job offer for a part-time summer internship. Things ended up working out. And fortunately, unlike many of my classmates who also graduated without a job, my parents lived within commutable distance of the job. Free housing. I really lucked out.
But this was far from a permanent solution. The internship was for ten weeks. I’d still have to find full-time work. And I also wanted to make sense of the mismatch that my mentor pointed out between what I thought I wanted to do, and what really excited me.
I can’t stay here. Continue reading