Welcome to the world of mediocre blogging!
Just a note, please do not forward this link at will as I fear it will fall into the wrong hands. (HR or other folks that don't need to see this at my company, my parents, my nieces & nephews, who don't know I'm disturbed and merely think I am the gay uncle)
Anyway, for the past dozen years, I have endured life after college, and while it afforded me numerous privileges and allowed me to make way more money than my smarts dictate, I still somehow grew increasingly annoyed with working.
I'd like to defend myself with tales of long hours, slave-driving bosses, and sexual harassment, but that would be untrue (and unfortunate on the harassment part). Sure I worked some long hours once in a while, but being the Stats major, I can safely say the median work-week never passed 40 hours in any of the last 12 years.
And as for bosses? Sure I had some whoppers, but not really, and I can sum up all of them (in no particular order) as follows: a lovable micro-manager, a really smart guy who I'm convinced was high all the time, a best buddy, a dude who really really NEEDS a best buddy, a fat guy who looked like Chris Farley but wasn't funny and was a prick, and one very bright gal, who for all her intelligence is best known for a mesmerizing physical attribute...here's a hint: it rhymes with "rack".
Anyway, point is I know I'm a spoiled BRAT, but I couldn't take working anymore, and while I'd like to say I quit to travel the world, I initially quit to scare myself straight and force myself to consider what was really important in life. And I say scare myself straight because I wanted to feel the panic when that first Friday pay-day hit and I didn't get that magical automatic deposit into my bank account. (Please note: a few weeks in, it hasn't scared me one bit, send help)
And I gave a lot of notice at work, possibly too much, but really I feel like it helped me assure I left on a good note.
In rationalizing this decision to leave a pretty darn good company, job and group, I chalked it up to some kind of "retirement after my first trimester of working". I didn't realize how accurate that was, as trimester alludes to a pregnancy, and we all know the first trimester involves emotions like shock, excitement, pride, but mostly it involves nausea. That would be exactly how I describe my first 12 years. And if I had to guess on the next 12, it would be excessive weight gain, moodiness and the inability to eat normally acceptable foods due to digestive problems. (sounds about right) And the third trimester would involve curious hemorrhoids, unpredictable flatulence, boobs that don't resemble what they were and an unrelenting countdown to your due date (retirement date). I can't be the first to see the similarity right? And lets not forget when it is all over, you feel unappreciated for it, you get depressed you did so much work just to look weathered, tired, and out of shape...and only so some young punk coming in can steal all the glory.
Okay I'm done on the analogy. You get the point. Although in case any of my nieces or nephews read this somehow, please take no offense and know I love you punks dearly.
Essentially though, I wanted to know what it was like to quit your job and be unemployed a couple months. That idea evolved into traveling the world, and somehow it evolved further into traveling the world WITHOUT quitting my job. So kudos to my company. (even though no desire exists to return just yet)
This blog has the lame title "The Slacker Also Rises", which isn't the bold comparison to Hemmingway it may seem. "The Sun Also Rises" was about an expat in the twenties spending time in Europe. The "lost generation" he was a part of, American veterans rattled by WW1 and thrust into the booming twenties to party their ass off, is not quite like my generation, but KINDA is, for while we had no real war to damage us, or even stress in the 90's, we've been lucky enough to work in a pretty healthy economy and save for 911 & morons running the country, we have too much of an ability to be drunken, spoiled brats roaming the earth...if you are as smart as I of course and quit said easy lifestyle.
And the narrator in Hemmingway's novel also was castrated in a WW1 injury, much like myself after 2+ years of dating in NYC. So clearly the name fits.
Anyway, I'll try to post blogs for each country visited. Read at your own risk, and most importantly, do not judge me for aborting just before the second trimester.