I feel like I’m seeing too much for one man. My brain is so constantly stimulated with newness that I’m nervous back home I’ll go through withdrawal and just curl up in my dad’s basement. Unfortunately it flooded after I left so I may have to deal with some mold smell.
I’ve realized that my ambition, as judged by an American woman lawyer, is zero. Which means I will never experience amazing sex with a lawyer. I thought after some time I’d get an itch for the lifestyle back home but I still have no interest in having a “real” job, and the only itch I get is from bed bug bites. If I can live comfortably out of a 45-pound backpack for four months, only buying things that need replacing like socks and toothpaste, then there is no other possession I need in life. Things are so simple now—I just worry about my health, people I care about, and how I’m going to challenge and entertain myself. Until the money runs out, anyway.
There is an American I met here that stayed for only two weeks and everyone was shocked his trip was so short. “Typical American vacation,” I thought, “I had to do that.” We’re the greatest empire in the world, albeit a struggling one, but from my sample size we travel less than every other Western European country except Italy. We are looked upon by others as working too much and not getting out of the country, and it’s true because our idea of a vacation is usually the beach for the weekend. For the population we have in the U.S., there should be twenty times more of you down here travelling with me, but money and status are so ingrained in our culture that taking time off from making money to travel with few possessions in basic accommodations and challenging environments just doesn’t make sense. Plus that gap in your resume would ruin your carefully planned career path.
It looks like I will have more money leftover than I thought so when I return home I can continue the bum / slacker / coffeeshop lifestyle I left behind. It was the best time of my life, without a job, without a car, having deep conversations with my dad, eating Persian food everyday, watching my little brothers grow up, getting more action than I’ve ever gotten, waking up at 11am, thinking writing reading, swimming laps in the neighborhood pool. I can’t tell you how this compares until I’m done, until the parasites or whatever in my stomach passes through my system, and even then I’m not sure if you can compare a life that was stable with one that is constantly changing and over-stimulating with roller-coaster ups and down like a manic depressive. One day I’m in the gutter fantasizing about my airplane landing in Dulles, the next I’m researching how much apartments here cost.