I'm at a crossroad. To hit the road or not to hit the road. I've been thinking of this for like six months now and I still can't make up my mind. This site is an inspiration, but when it comes to actually giving up a warm bed and shower for the open road of the US, I guess there's nothing to it but to do it. But really, should I do it?
I've been working hard on the grind for 4 years now, and it got me out of my parent's house soon after high school. I'm a cook. A fucking good cook. But I hate it. Long, hard hours make a good bit of money, yet every time I step into the hot, glaringly fluorescent kitchens to stand for hours making food for dimwitted, ungrateful, and rich white people the check is not gratifying. Then seeing half of it disappear to an 800$ rent is even more depressing. The only thing I'd miss is my fellow cookies (keep it hard and fast, you dirty fucking scoundrels).
I realize I do have it better off than most of the kids on here. If I don't decide to go, I would have a nice room in a little apartment in my uncle's house, in buttfuck central valley, California (hate this place), with endless opportunities to work and next to nothing in rent. I can save money, drink, party, relax, yoga, find love, go to shows, and generally live a decent life here with all the creature comforts one could ask for. And, sitting on this giant couch watching Star Trek under a fat down blanket I feel like there's no fucking way I would be out there in a ditch huddled under a tarp nursing frostbitten feet and eating baked beans and trail mix.
But something's out there. Every time I'm out walking around town, something tells me to keep walking. To stick out my thumb. To party with friends on the west coast, southwest, middle states, to see the east coast that I've never laid eyes on before in my life. To look for work and couch surf in cities I'd never thought I would see. To camp in Yellowstone, visit the Maine forests, see the Everglades, swim in the Rio Grande.
I was out there for three whole days, bumming it around Modesto/Stockton and it was cold. Everyone there is kind of shitty. I met a junkie who told me to stay indoors at night, saw black tar heroine for the first time, and two tramps who seemed like they were having the times of their lives, despite being in middle California. It was fucking lonely.
The only way I feel I would have the balls to do it is if someone was with me. A road dog.
Help me decide, oh wise travel bloggers, for I know nothing of this shit.
My feet are cold, but my soul is burning with what y'all call "wanderlust"
I've been working hard on the grind for 4 years now, and it got me out of my parent's house soon after high school. I'm a cook. A fucking good cook. But I hate it. Long, hard hours make a good bit of money, yet every time I step into the hot, glaringly fluorescent kitchens to stand for hours making food for dimwitted, ungrateful, and rich white people the check is not gratifying. Then seeing half of it disappear to an 800$ rent is even more depressing. The only thing I'd miss is my fellow cookies (keep it hard and fast, you dirty fucking scoundrels).
I realize I do have it better off than most of the kids on here. If I don't decide to go, I would have a nice room in a little apartment in my uncle's house, in buttfuck central valley, California (hate this place), with endless opportunities to work and next to nothing in rent. I can save money, drink, party, relax, yoga, find love, go to shows, and generally live a decent life here with all the creature comforts one could ask for. And, sitting on this giant couch watching Star Trek under a fat down blanket I feel like there's no fucking way I would be out there in a ditch huddled under a tarp nursing frostbitten feet and eating baked beans and trail mix.
But something's out there. Every time I'm out walking around town, something tells me to keep walking. To stick out my thumb. To party with friends on the west coast, southwest, middle states, to see the east coast that I've never laid eyes on before in my life. To look for work and couch surf in cities I'd never thought I would see. To camp in Yellowstone, visit the Maine forests, see the Everglades, swim in the Rio Grande.
I was out there for three whole days, bumming it around Modesto/Stockton and it was cold. Everyone there is kind of shitty. I met a junkie who told me to stay indoors at night, saw black tar heroine for the first time, and two tramps who seemed like they were having the times of their lives, despite being in middle California. It was fucking lonely.
The only way I feel I would have the balls to do it is if someone was with me. A road dog.
Help me decide, oh wise travel bloggers, for I know nothing of this shit.
My feet are cold, but my soul is burning with what y'all call "wanderlust"