What A Grand... Bait And Switch!

So after I quit my job(s), let go of my apartment, moved out (mostly on my own) in a hurry, shipped my car and blew a ton of money settling into my six-month job, I got a mysterious email.

The mystery wasn't so much in the content, because that was crystal clear, but who decided it and sent it to me without so much as a warning it could happen.

You see, I've been cut from six months to three. The importance of this? I get paid less as a 11-week intern, money I was counting on. It's a difference of over $150 a pay period. Housing for six months would have been nice, as well. I turned down my Dow Jones position because it was only 10 weeks, and this was six months. And who turns down Dow Jones? It's like taking the SATs and getting into Harvard and deciding not to go. Nowhere in the documents I signed was there a notice that the term could change... one week after I began working.

It should be noted though, that it wouldn't be the end of things for me. It's just the end of what I thought would be an amazing adventure. I could always somehow be extended to six months, or be placed in another park. Which, of course, would still require some traveling and cost. Nothing is ever written in stone, which is something I tell myself daily.

I guess this is what I get for trying to make my life an adventure. We always hear stories of how taking risks is the only way to get ahead; what people don't tell you is sometimes the risks don't work out. I find myself wondering more and more lately if I made the right decision in giving up the life I was supposed to have (ie, journalism) for a life of... well, I'm not really sure what this is, exactly.

In all great adventure stories, there comes a point where the hero/heroine faces a complication so great it's doubtful whether or not he/she is going to be able to pull it out in time. Inevitably, they always do. Sometimes I find myself staring up at a cliff face, tired beyond belief, wondering if I'll ever make it to the top again. Literally.

There are things you forget that you need when you find yourself so isolated. I think that because I'm so used to being on my own and doing things by myself it took two weeks to really hit me. Friends, being the first. Don't underestimate the value of just having another body sitting in a room with you watching television. It really can make all the difference. Security, another. In August, I face the greatest adventure to date: putting my life back into my car and.... well, that's about as far as I got in planning.

People keep telling me that life has its own way of working things out. Well, they must not have read my autobiography. You can't keep looking at everything as some sort of lesson or stepping stone to the Next Big Thing, the Real Thing, the Best Thing. Because at some point you'll be sitting alone in an office, staring down 22, and wondering where the hell your life went. Wondering where exactly you're going to pinpoint the best years of your life when someone asks you.

I've been running the race simply because someone told me, once upon a time, that I had to. How does that make sense?