On the Road: Writer's Retreat
Let's ignore the fact that you'll never work again. Skip over the part where you die alone and penniless on a twice-flipped mattress in some dockside flophouse. Such fates are inevitable if you walk away from your job. Accept it. Move on.
I know that's slightly unfair to say, because I did exactly what you're thinking of doing, and yet here I sit with all my original teeth and a perfectly pleasant relationship with my creditors. Still, it's what folks told me, so I'm riling up your muse with an equal punch of pessimism.
That's right. In 2007, against all warnings, I traded my desk job in Manhattan for the wilds of New Zealand. The plan was to wander a bit, to clear my head so that I may pursue a dream: Writing full time. It was a gamble, but for some reason that didn't worry me. I knew that when I was checked into hereafter and they asked me, "did it all work out?" I could at least shrug my shoulders and say, "I gave it a shot."
Of course, giving it a shot can mean different things to different people. Here's what it meant for me:
Actually writing
At first, I pledged to take time off from pounding the keys. I thought traveling was about unencumbered reflection. I quickly discovered it was also about sitting around, about dead hours in the mornings and evenings, bad weather keeping me hostel-bound in comfy chairs next to fireplaces. There was ample time and inspiration to write. In my office monkey days, staring at a computer was the last thing I wanted to do with my free time. In New Zealand, after a day of driving or exploring, sitting down with a laptop was as welcome as cracking a beer. And since wi-fi was, more often than not, purchased by the minute, I didn't have the funds to be distracted by the latest videos of slow lorises.
Junking things
I did a lot of tramping (learn the local lingo, gang). At one point, I tossed my ragged boots into a rubbish bin (see that?). They had reached their expiration date, but it was also a symbolic gesture. I was saying goodbye to some old writing as well. I had written my first novel three years prior and had tried, unsuccessfully, to find representation for it. If I had stayed home, I might still be tinkering with the thing. Sure, it had gotten me somewhere as a writer, but it was a muddy manuscript, full of un-patchable holes (and footwear metaphors). Junking jobs and boots granted me the courage to junk that first novel and concentrate on something new.
Disabusing myself
I was a traveler, but it didn't mean I was a travel writer. Many fall into the trap of thinking, "I must be the first son-of-a-gun to backpack across New Zealand—I jot it all down, I'll be the next Paul Theroux." Even if travel writing was a vibrant market (it wasn't and it isn't), it didn't mean I had the skills to pen a bestseller. I had to accept this early. Traveling isn't a writing skill. My abilities were more suited to children's fiction, so that's what I concentrated on. I saved the observations and anecdotes for my journal.
Networking out of network
I met two types of people on the road: those taking a break from life and...Germans. Lots of Germans. Many were fresh out of school, but some had well-established careers back home. None could recommend an agent or introduce me to a publisher. That didn't matter. These connections were more important as confirmations that I wasn't some foolhardy dreamer or, if I was, that there were plenty of others like me. We sat around at night talking about the crazy things we'd do upon our return to the "real world." One woman planned to open a cupcake shop. There was a guy determined to swap banking for bicycle repair. The Germans, contrary to their grim reputations, were the freest of spirits, with many simply declaring "I am going to continue traveling," in thick Bavarian accents.
Time-traveling
Publishing is a slow business. Even on the Internet. Would you be surprised to learn that I'm writing this article in January 2008? (And using the cash to apply for my third adjustable rate mortgage!) When I left on my break, I had some pieces on submission and queries out with agents. Normally, that would lead to weeks of refreshing the Inbox every 15 seconds. Hard to do when you're challenging some Dane to a scree-surfing race down a volcano. The rejections came slowly, but they came with little notice. When I'd returned to the U.S., it was like I'd hopped over all that anxiety and into the future. Sure, I was unemployed, with nothing floating out there. But I was unburdened. I had the beginnings of a novel, a nothing-to-lose attitude and the confidence that a clean slate can be a good thing. With nary a flophouse in sight, I'm still confident it can.
Aaron Starmer wrote much of DWEEB (Random House, 2009) in backpacker lodges.
His latest, The Only Ones (Random House, 2011), was written in his new office—a desk in his living room next to pictures of Tahiti, Kenya and, naturally, New Zealand.
Visit him at www.aaronstarmer.com.
Leah on Mon, 6th Jun 2011 8:12 am
I really enjoyed reading your post. I am thirty-two soon and have itchy feet that are ready to try out foreign soils.
It is a fear of leaving the security of the day to day grind of paying the bills and living a safe and non-challenging way of life that has put me on hold for some time.
I hope (as it has I) your post will inspire others to go and follow their bliss – Leah 🙂
Patricia GW on Mon, 6th Jun 2011 8:54 am
Travel and experiencing a new culture really has put it into perspective, and filled that void with purpose (and joy).
In three weeks I’ll be moving to Paris myself for one month. I have the same feeling – the incredible surreal realization that I’m going to be living there…. it’s thrilling!!
Abby on Mon, 6th Jun 2011 2:11 pm
Oh, Jenny! Escargot isn’t palatable — it’s delicious! I love your writing style; it’s so fun and energetic. Can you believe how far we’ve come? Everyone, Jenny and I were in the exact same industry and have known each other online and via work emails for years and years. But we’ve only met once, many, many years ago. And one of those jobs she was sleeping next to her BlackBerry for was one I’d just left. And now she’s 33 and living abroad, just like I was last year. Kindred spirits. Jenny, you’re a true inspiration — I can’t wait to see how your adventure unfolds!
Debbie Beardsley on Mon, 6th Jun 2011 3:22 pm
Your life in Paris sounds ideal. It is nice to read about people who follow their dreams instead of wishing they had! Enjoy the rest of your journey.
Terriaw on Tue, 7th Jun 2011 1:40 pm
Wow, fabulous and well said! I love your new outlook on like. After experiencing career burnout and feeling a little lost and purposeless lately, you have encouraged me. I look forward to seeing Paris someday!
Jenny on Tue, 7th Jun 2011 6:50 pm
merci for all the sweet comments! @abby we are soooo kindred spirits! well except when it comes to our differing feelings on escargot…;) and congrats patricia on the move! thrilling indeed!
shawna on Thu, 9th Jun 2011 1:32 am
you’ve reawakened my travel bug. must. return. to. france. (someday.) eat a croissant for me!
Weekly Travel Blog Links — LandingStanding on Mon, 13th Jun 2011 6:16 am
[…] how badly I want to go to Paris… If only we could afford living there for an extended period of time during our travels! Any […]
G. Michael Schneider on Sun, 19th Jun 2011 3:36 pm
I am a firm believer in living and working overseas, just as you described. However, many of us actually like our jobs and our homes and are simply looking to renew and refresh our lives, not change it. However, you can have the same type of cultural experience without having to reach into your own wallet and without having to quit your day job–by taking what I call a “working vacation.” My wife and I have done this 15 separate times, from Australia to Zimbabwe, Turket to Tibet, Mauritius to Mongolia. I describe how to do it in my blog otherguysdime.wordpress.com and via Twitter at @otherguysdime. Learn how to have fun without having to have burn any of your bridges behind you.