Because it probably can never be "goodbye," at least in my mind. But, for now, it's, "see you another time." Maybe when this Patch totally dries up, if I totally burn out, as long as the radiation doesn't drive everyone out. But, no, it probably can never be "goodbye," at least not yet.
See you another time.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
What Did You Leave By Going to Korea?
In November 2005, when I went for the first time to South Korea, I was 26 years old. For many people, this is adulthood. They may be married by 26. Have a stable job. Have a community. Have roots planted.
I was working my first professional newspaper job in 2005. It was a weekly newspaper. I covered two towns about 45 minutes from my office, and about 45 minutes from my home, the one I had grown up in. I made about $20,000 a year. I also had a girlfriend whom, at the time, I felt prepared to leave as going to South Korea had been a dream I had for several years. Also, we had only been dating for a few months; I didn't think it would have an affect on my experience.
It did have an affect, perhaps in conjunction with a sense of culture shock, of unpreparedness, of immaturity. See, while some are in their adulthoods by 26, I was still very much in my youth. Besides two years away for college, I had never lived anywhere but at home. Even at college, my mailing address had never changed. I had not had a relationship longer than the one I was leaving, which may have added to the weight it carried upon it being ended by way of 7,000 miles and at least one year apart.
Time passed. Jobs changed. Relationships came and went, and came again.
In February 2010, when I went for the second time to South Korea, I was about to turn 31 years old. It had been over a year since my second professional newspaper job had laid me off. Since then, I had collected unemployment, worked various odds and ends jobs at a deli and farm store, as well as a two-month temp. stint copyediting letters for a medical insurance company. Since the first time I had been to South Korea, I had moved out of my childhood home, to Princeton, where I had met folks who would ultimately become some of my best friends. Since 2005, I had been in a relationship that lasted almost one-and-a-half years. I had moved in with her, only to have us break up four months later, wherein I moved into the guest bedroom of my father's girlfriend.
One day in 2009, upon coming home from the job at the deli in the supermarket for rich "progressives" in Princeton, I sat at my computer feeling dejected. Here I was, college educated, a person I believed (and still believe) to be a very capable writer, very capable of doing many great things, and more. And, I was making $10 an hour working at a deli, with no plan about what to do next. So, I went onto Dave's ESL Cafe, applied for the first job I saw, and was hired quickly. Those familiar with this story know what happened next (be sure to go to koreachronicles.blogspot.com to see the links I have sprinkled throughout this post), but that ultimately did not deter me from applying again later in 2009, as by this point I was at the farm store, cleaning eggs, helping customers, enjoying the work but still only making $10 an hour. While money is by far not everything, I felt like this was not what I should be doing in the longrun. But, I didn't have a plan for what to do next. So, South Korea. I had an unfortunate experience the first time I had gone there, nearly five years before. But, I thought, this time would be different. I had lived away from home, I had changed my mailing address several times. I was ready.
Or, so I thought. Whether the gallbladder was the ultimate killer of my contract in Busan, or just a very painful excuse, I can side on one side of the argument or not with each passing thought. The fact was, I had left again early.
In the late fall of 2010, when I officially decided to go to South Korea for a third time, I was still 31 years old. But, since coming home in April, I had been hired by a company that was willing to pay me $40,000 a year to write, from home, from coffeeshops, from anywhere with a working wifi connection. I moved to Morristown, NJ, about an hour from where I grew up.
By the time I had submitted my application for EPIK, in March 2011, I was still 31 but less than a month away from turning 32. My site, online since Aug. 17, had grown steadily into one of the better-trafficked Patch sites in New Jersey, beating out some older sites. It appeared that, given time, it could eventually be one of the top sites in the state. And, beyond that, Morristown had always been considered a plumb beat. Where others had disconnected suburbs offering not much beyond Town Council and Board of Education meetings, I had a three-square-mile town with over 100 restaurants, an active arts scene, and a lot of other news to keep the site constantly full, and me constantly writing. While it was often a pain, and often I felt like I was always working, it wasn't like it was grueling work. Sometimes, I worked in my pajamas. Sometimes, I worked in my bed. Sometimes, I worked in coffee houses, sipping drinks paid for by my company-issued credit card. While the future remained uncertain as to whether Patch's "hyperlocal" experiment would be viable in the long run, in the short run I had enough money to pay my bills on time, eat out much of the time, and help friends out financially some of the time.
So, why was I planning on giving that up to go back to South Korea? What did you leave behind when you went? Were you unemployed? Were you underemployed? Were you gainfully employed but hated your job? Were you making six figures?
These thoughts have taken more solid shape over the past two days. As I type this, it is nearly 4 a.m. and I am in the conscious space aided partly by my increasingly familiar friend Adderall, and by having slept 17 hours on Monday into Tuesday. That need for sleep came after a long weekend, which followed an unspeakable tragedy that affected a dear friend of mine and her family. By extension, it also affected me.
That friend was Amanda, the girl who has been planning to join me on this latest trip to South Korea. And, this tragedy, coupled with her own recent return to solid employment, has begun to put our lives, and how we spend them, into perspective. What condition will her family, or even herself, be come August following what has happened? Is she ready to leave for at least a year when they are still healing? Is she ready to leave for at least a year when she is still healing? Should she leave for at least a year when a job, which to this point is still under a temporary basis, has been said to possibly lead to a full-time position making at least $45,000 a year? Is that smart? Or, is that immature, and potentially life-damaging?
I know I have much more invested into this than she does. Mentally, at least. I called my constant writing, and journeys, to South Korea "chasing the dragon," though she said that may be a phrase used to describe heroin addiction.
What am I expecting to find in Korea a third time around? Do the current circumstances change the story a little? A lot? It's one thing to go when you're still "in your youth," working a lousy paying job, with no strong ties to keep you grounded at home. It's another when you have a job that at the moment is the highest-paying job you have ever had, doing (basically) what you love, with the potential for it to become even greater. It's another when you have loved several times, have moved several times, have uprooted yourself so many times, only to find yourself arriving at what could potentially, finally, be something steady. It's another when something so unbelievably horrific happens that it forces you to take stock of what you have in your own life, and what you should give reverence to every single day you have left. Because, we never know how many of those there are.
It puts you on a fence, teetering to one side one minute, the another the next. It's precarious up here.
It makes you think.
It makes you think.
I was working my first professional newspaper job in 2005. It was a weekly newspaper. I covered two towns about 45 minutes from my office, and about 45 minutes from my home, the one I had grown up in. I made about $20,000 a year. I also had a girlfriend whom, at the time, I felt prepared to leave as going to South Korea had been a dream I had for several years. Also, we had only been dating for a few months; I didn't think it would have an affect on my experience.
It did have an affect, perhaps in conjunction with a sense of culture shock, of unpreparedness, of immaturity. See, while some are in their adulthoods by 26, I was still very much in my youth. Besides two years away for college, I had never lived anywhere but at home. Even at college, my mailing address had never changed. I had not had a relationship longer than the one I was leaving, which may have added to the weight it carried upon it being ended by way of 7,000 miles and at least one year apart.
Time passed. Jobs changed. Relationships came and went, and came again.
In February 2010, when I went for the second time to South Korea, I was about to turn 31 years old. It had been over a year since my second professional newspaper job had laid me off. Since then, I had collected unemployment, worked various odds and ends jobs at a deli and farm store, as well as a two-month temp. stint copyediting letters for a medical insurance company. Since the first time I had been to South Korea, I had moved out of my childhood home, to Princeton, where I had met folks who would ultimately become some of my best friends. Since 2005, I had been in a relationship that lasted almost one-and-a-half years. I had moved in with her, only to have us break up four months later, wherein I moved into the guest bedroom of my father's girlfriend.
One day in 2009, upon coming home from the job at the deli in the supermarket for rich "progressives" in Princeton, I sat at my computer feeling dejected. Here I was, college educated, a person I believed (and still believe) to be a very capable writer, very capable of doing many great things, and more. And, I was making $10 an hour working at a deli, with no plan about what to do next. So, I went onto Dave's ESL Cafe, applied for the first job I saw, and was hired quickly. Those familiar with this story know what happened next (be sure to go to koreachronicles.blogspot.com to see the links I have sprinkled throughout this post), but that ultimately did not deter me from applying again later in 2009, as by this point I was at the farm store, cleaning eggs, helping customers, enjoying the work but still only making $10 an hour. While money is by far not everything, I felt like this was not what I should be doing in the longrun. But, I didn't have a plan for what to do next. So, South Korea. I had an unfortunate experience the first time I had gone there, nearly five years before. But, I thought, this time would be different. I had lived away from home, I had changed my mailing address several times. I was ready.
Or, so I thought. Whether the gallbladder was the ultimate killer of my contract in Busan, or just a very painful excuse, I can side on one side of the argument or not with each passing thought. The fact was, I had left again early.
In the late fall of 2010, when I officially decided to go to South Korea for a third time, I was still 31 years old. But, since coming home in April, I had been hired by a company that was willing to pay me $40,000 a year to write, from home, from coffeeshops, from anywhere with a working wifi connection. I moved to Morristown, NJ, about an hour from where I grew up.
By the time I had submitted my application for EPIK, in March 2011, I was still 31 but less than a month away from turning 32. My site, online since Aug. 17, had grown steadily into one of the better-trafficked Patch sites in New Jersey, beating out some older sites. It appeared that, given time, it could eventually be one of the top sites in the state. And, beyond that, Morristown had always been considered a plumb beat. Where others had disconnected suburbs offering not much beyond Town Council and Board of Education meetings, I had a three-square-mile town with over 100 restaurants, an active arts scene, and a lot of other news to keep the site constantly full, and me constantly writing. While it was often a pain, and often I felt like I was always working, it wasn't like it was grueling work. Sometimes, I worked in my pajamas. Sometimes, I worked in my bed. Sometimes, I worked in coffee houses, sipping drinks paid for by my company-issued credit card. While the future remained uncertain as to whether Patch's "hyperlocal" experiment would be viable in the long run, in the short run I had enough money to pay my bills on time, eat out much of the time, and help friends out financially some of the time.
So, why was I planning on giving that up to go back to South Korea? What did you leave behind when you went? Were you unemployed? Were you underemployed? Were you gainfully employed but hated your job? Were you making six figures?
These thoughts have taken more solid shape over the past two days. As I type this, it is nearly 4 a.m. and I am in the conscious space aided partly by my increasingly familiar friend Adderall, and by having slept 17 hours on Monday into Tuesday. That need for sleep came after a long weekend, which followed an unspeakable tragedy that affected a dear friend of mine and her family. By extension, it also affected me.
That friend was Amanda, the girl who has been planning to join me on this latest trip to South Korea. And, this tragedy, coupled with her own recent return to solid employment, has begun to put our lives, and how we spend them, into perspective. What condition will her family, or even herself, be come August following what has happened? Is she ready to leave for at least a year when they are still healing? Is she ready to leave for at least a year when she is still healing? Should she leave for at least a year when a job, which to this point is still under a temporary basis, has been said to possibly lead to a full-time position making at least $45,000 a year? Is that smart? Or, is that immature, and potentially life-damaging?
I know I have much more invested into this than she does. Mentally, at least. I called my constant writing, and journeys, to South Korea "chasing the dragon," though she said that may be a phrase used to describe heroin addiction.
What am I expecting to find in Korea a third time around? Do the current circumstances change the story a little? A lot? It's one thing to go when you're still "in your youth," working a lousy paying job, with no strong ties to keep you grounded at home. It's another when you have a job that at the moment is the highest-paying job you have ever had, doing (basically) what you love, with the potential for it to become even greater. It's another when you have loved several times, have moved several times, have uprooted yourself so many times, only to find yourself arriving at what could potentially, finally, be something steady. It's another when something so unbelievably horrific happens that it forces you to take stock of what you have in your own life, and what you should give reverence to every single day you have left. Because, we never know how many of those there are.
It puts you on a fence, teetering to one side one minute, the another the next. It's precarious up here.
It makes you think.
It makes you think.
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