A Long, Long (Long) Story (Part I)

I’ve always envied the people who knew what they wanted to do with their lives ever since they were old enough to know that they needed to do something with their lives. Me, I’ve never had much direction. I’ve kinda floated around aimlessly hoping something would shake me and one day I’d go “That’s it!” When I was in high school, I thought I wanted to be a teacher. How wonderful to be so influential to children, I thought (some may argue that I shouldn’t be influential to children). Then I became a camp counselor for the YMCA and found that being responsible for more than five children at a time brought me to near insanity. I told my high school English teacher that life was dull to me; nothing inspired me. People said that high school was the best years of your life. I thought, ‘Great, it’s all downhill from here.’ She said that once I start really experiencing life I would become inspired. So, I joined the Navy.

I really don’t know what I was thinking, but for some reason I knew intuitively that it was what I needed to do. Maybe it was those commercials depicting a sea of camoed sailors jumping off a ship into the ocean looking like they were on a very serious mission, not really knowing why they would jump off the ship, but knowing that for whatever reason, they looked like badasses doing it. I wasted one semester at the junior college before enlisting, which really reinforced that this was the right decision as I rarely went to classes and when I did, I’d often sleep through them. I knew I needed discipline, to grow up, to have life experience, to have good work ethic, to know what it was like to struggle, to get in trouble, to suffer the consequences; all that and a little motivation from Demi Moore in G.I. Jane made me do it. Well, I got what I asked for: an ass-kicking, degrading, thank-less, sexist, feel-sorry-for-yourself, low-totem, repetitive, alcohol-induced, hell-of-a-time. And when I say hell of a time, I mean it, because all those shitty days were made up for with some of the best times of my life.

The Navy gave me the discipline I needed, but I still hadn’t found the ultimate purpose for my existence (gosh, can anyone be sure of that?). When I got out of the Navy, I went back to the junior college. I thought, well maybe I’ll never know; maybe I should just pick something. And if I can’t find something I’m passionate about, then I’ll choose something that I can at least make a damn good decent living. My mom had always pushed the medical field; she’d always talk about nursing- what a great job it was, how we really need nurses and we’ll always need nurses, it pays so well, yadda, yadda, yadda. After a while I gave into the thought, why not, and what the hell, if I’m going to do it, I might as well go all the way, right? That’s when I knew… I was going to be a cosmetic dermatologist! I thought, this shouldn’t be too hard, it’s all about Botox, acne, and facial peels, right? I began to imagine the indulgent estate that I would build myself when I was a doctor; complete with north, south, east, and west wings. I’d have secret doors and passageways that could only be revealed by the removal of the most mysterious and tattered of books from my library. I’d have one of those circular gravel driveways with an extravagant fountain in the middle and my Bentley in front. Oh, I’d also have color-themed rooms- a yellow room, a red room, a white room; and I’d have a butler with a British accent like the one Batman has.

I did pre-Med for three semesters. It wasn’t the ridiculously difficult biology, chemistry, and calculus classes that made me second-guess my decision, I knew this was going to be hard, but after a while I began to question my motivations. I was in this for all the wrong reasons. I didn’t want to be a doctor! Needles freaked me out, blood made me queasy, but most of all, I wasn’t passionate about it and it just wasn’t me. But, what the hell is me! I was so tired of this. Why could I not be satisfied by doing something solely for the money like so many other people?

I asked my little cousin Molly what she thought I should be. She said, “I don’t know, what do you like to do?” I said, “I don’t know, I like to hike, I could be a professional hiker.” She laughed and said no. I said, “I like camping, I could be a professional camper!” She laughed and said no. I said, “I like fishing, I could be a professional fisher!” She laughed and said no. I started the next semester fresh, I decided I was going to try a variety of classes that interested me: psychology, environmental studies, human sexuality (maybe I could be a sex therapist, that would be interesting), and an art class. But when I tried to get the military to pay for these classes, they wouldn’t, saying that I had to have a declared major, and that 12 units had to meet the requirements for a specified degree program. Great, what do I do now? The counselor scoffed at my attempted class list; I had to admit, it was a little weak, but I was completely clueless. She asked me what I want to be; I have no idea! She told me I had to choose something, so under pressure and without much logical thought, I choose environmental studies.

What soon came to follow was a life change I was not expecting. My first semester in this new field was a class on global environmental issues, taught by a passionate, inspiring, hopeful professor named Susan Mahoney. She taught me about the crisis in which our planet is in and enforced upon me a newfound sense of duty I had never experienced before, but had always desired. I was astounded by the dramatic and irrevocable impacts that humans have had on our planet and by the short period over which this damage has occurred. For goodness sake, if everyone lived as I did, we would need 21 planets to sustain ourselves! How many planets do you need? I was also astounded by my lack of knowledge of environmental issues and knew I was certainly not alone. I thought about all the people who were just like me, who did not know any better. I needed to let people know.

Following this class, I proceeded to spread the word about what I had learned. A reaction came from those I shared this information with, but not one I was expecting. I anticipated people to have epiphanies like me, but instead, people were indifferent. This deeply saddened me and I was confused; I did not understand this non-reaction. It became my mission to change people’s habits and inspire them to care (definitely easier said than done).

So finally I had found my passion, not what the heck was I going to do with it? Conservation efforts rarely take the form of well-paying, steady jobs. I had heard from an instructor about an organization called the Student Conservation Association, which had a great reputation for placing students in internships throughout the country with a conservation emphasis. I applied for several internships that December for the following summer, hoping for an offer by just one. I felt confident in my application; I had what I thought were good references and I am able to amply display my strengths in writing. I interview pretty well and confidently, and although I did not have a lot of experience in the field, I was eagerly able to describe my desire to gain experience through this organization.

I choose exotic locations, Alaska, Hawaii, Yellowstone, and Yosemite. When April came around, and other, more qualified and experienced people, were sweeping up the desirable positions I had applied for I frantically added more and more internships to my application. My expectations decreased, I became less cocky and a little more desperate.

When May arrived, I began to plan a summer in Rohnert Park. I looked at the bright side of things, my best friend's wedding, possible backpacking trips, and earning money with Starbucks. I had convinced myself so well that this would be an equally awesome summer, that when positions for Yellowstone and a little owl project in Hayfork, CA opened up last minute to me, I seriously questioned whether I should go or not. I wrote a blog on my MySpace entitled, "Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?" and opened it up for commenting. I wrote the blog partially for bragging rights; "Yellowstone wants me," I wrote nonchalantly. Mostly though, I was really torn on whether I should go and I wanted people who knew me to give me their opinion. Almost every person said that I would be a fool not to take up an internship opportunity, one commenter cleared up my head by saying "Do it for God's sake. Like Starbucks is your career choice..." I made my decision; I would take the Yellowstone job…