IN TRANSITION #10
An ex told me the other day, ''You have commitment issues with the city of Boston."
''But," I stuttered, ''I love Boston." Then the reality sank in.
I had called soliciting advice. Earlier that day, I had been offered a job -- a salaried position with full benefits, the supposed holy grail of employment. And the timing was right. The pangs of guilt I'd felt all summer about photocopying away my 20s were starting to dissipate as each rent payment loomed. Unless I was ready to switch to a diet of Ramen and rice, this was my chance.
''Take it," one friend advised. ''You're supposed to take any job you're offered. Always. Deal with the consequences later."
But, in truth, the job itself is only a piece of the problem. Any job would ask at least a year from me -- enter my commitment anxiety. It wasn't about the position. It was about cold feet. Literally. It was about Boston.
''Where do you want to go? Where else do you want to be?" My ex was getting agitated.
''Traveling," I muttered.
''Where? Do you have any plans? Any way of paying for it?"
All these months since graduation, stewing and dreaming, finding my bearings in this new postgraduate world, never once had I sat down and sketched any concrete plans. I needed to keep my options open. That's what mattered. I was drifting -- from futon to futon, job to job -- intoxicated by the freedom of remaining perpetually available (to potential employers). And why not? I just graduated college; is there anything wrong with romanticizing life for a while? I like feeling as though I could pack up everything I own in an hour and take off for anywhere in the world at any moment.
Even if there is no destination.
And even if I know I'll never do it. At least not so spontaneously. The truth is I'm a planner. Drifting doesn't suit me. Sure, I'll try it on, see how it fits for a few months; but I need something to work toward.
I need to get out of this city.
I took the No. 1 bus into Boston last weekend. The sailboats were out on the Charles, the water rippling and blue. You could sense the trees poised for their autumn ritual, the air turning crisp. The terror of winter, waiting in the wings.
Boston, I love you, but I think maybe I should see other cities.
In a year's time (with a year's salary), I'll be able to afford it.
Benjamin Toff lives in Somerville and just accepted a yearlong position as an office assistant at Harvard. He plans, at least at this point, to save up his money to travel the world next year. You can seek to persuade or dissuade him at benjamin.toff@gmail.com.
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