A quarter-life crisis. Just for me.

I recently underwent a mid-twenties crisis.

After three depressing months of writing countless unanswered cover letters and sending out resumes to companies that were seeking people with the skills I learned in college, something in my brain dissolved - much like a cold sugar cube in a hot cup of coffee - and I thought, "Wait a minute. Do I even want this?"

I think the realization was something that was bound to happen, as all it took to entirely reconstruct my priorities was a Craiglist job posting in the ETC section. There I was, frustrated, unfulfilled, jobless and potentially homeless, when all of a sudden, at two in the morning, like an impossibly convenient escape hatch, I clicked on a post to find that a traveling circus was seeking workers to take on the road with them.

Three hundred dollars a week. Free room. Three meals a day.

Holy shit. I could be in a circus. 

A circus. 

A circus.

A CIRCUS.

This led to a maddeningly-cyclic, week-long, over-caffeinated, under-rested identity crisis in which I frequently found myself staring beseechingly into mirrors and asking, "Who ARE you, really?" Thankfully, my reflection didn't answer me, because then we'd know that the issue wasn't really about dropping my new life to join the circus. In all seriousness, though, the issue was whether or not, at this point in my life, I wanted to be successful or happy. And I couldn't see a way of achieving both. And so this essentially led to one big question.

courtesy of lifeaswife.com

I was really craving some crazy new shit. 

This was met by a variety of reactions. 

Not surprisingly, my close girlfriend, Daelynn, was craving some crazy new shit for me. Surprisingly, so was my boyfriend, Sam. My sister, Jen, was open to the idea of me exploring crazy new shit, so long as I was doing it for the right reasons. As was my old professor, Tyrone. My best friend, Joe, wasn't crazy about the idea as he's perpetually concerned for my safety and I constantly seem to be coming up with new and creative ways to challenge that anxiety. 

My mother thought I needed some serious therapy and, for a day or so after mentioning that the thought of the traveling circus was tumbling around in my stress-rattled brain, I pondered as to whether she might have disowned me on principal alone. I don't understand why she gets so wound up, but sometimes I worry that one of these days I'll call her and tell her something that will put her into cardiac arrest or give her an aneurism. 

Love is cruel and life is a strange adventure.

Over the course of that week, I had no reservations. I applied to be an extra in "Men in Black 3," was called in for an interview, and was amused to find out it was a scam when a sleazy man named Brad told me I have a beautiful face and said that for just $137, we could get my professional modeling portfolio started. Why, "for $50, $40, or even $20,"  I could have my head shot taken. I laughed and walked out. 

Haha, yeah. Okay.

Two days later, I went to the circus' offices in Manhattan and applied for a road crew position that would require me to be packed up and ready to go that Saturday. The woman who interviewed me asked me if I had "ever even lifted anything heavy before," and stressed that the work would be back breaking. I told her I was counting on it. They didn't call me back. I was feeling slightly disappointed until I received an email from one of the circus' animal caretakers. Turns out, the woman passed my information along and they were interested in hiring me for a less intensive position where I could travel with them and help care for and prepare the animals for the shows. As they owned 12 ponies, 4 horses, 3 goats, 6 dogs, a capybara and a porcupine, this was definitely a strange and exciting possibility. 

That night, not wanting to kill the forward flow, I applied for a full-time dog walking position in Manhattan, because I feel that spending time with dogs is a worthy way of attaining personal enrichment. Poop and tired feet are a small price to pay for making money while feeling good about what you're doing. 

The next day bore surprises. Not only did the circus offer to reimburse me for a train ticket if I'd be willing to travel an hour out of the city to visit them, but the dog walking company called me back for an interview. So did a health and beauty company that was considering me for a salary position. So now I was in a real pickle: Accept a salary position that relates to my college degree and possibly walk dogs on the side, or pack up my room, cut my losses, and join the circus? The first option would leave me feeling mentally unfulfilled, but I'd be comfy enough to go out and do things in a city where, frankly, the only draw is the ability to go out and do things. On the other hand, joining the circus would have immersed me in myriad, rich opportunities for excellent feature writing in an atmosphere that fascinates me. But the money would be crap, the work would be hard, and the living conditions would be stuffy, to the say the least. 

Moving forward a bit: All three interviews went really well. A small part of me was hoping any two of them wouldn't so that I wouldn't really have to make a choice. My last interview was with the circus in Walden, New York. The animals were cute, everyone seemed super nice, and there was nothing there that seemed so horrible that I wouldn't tolerate it in the name of new, interesting life experiences. And I got to pet a porcupine. That's right. A porcupine. His name was Percy. I scratched him under the chin. He was nuzzling my hand. The girl who was showing around told me that sometimes he tries to crawl into your lap. Really, he was like a smaller, bristly, slightly anxiety-inducing dog. 

As I was waiting for the train to pick me up and bring me back to the city, I felt torn. I continued to feel torn all through the night and all through the next day. But ultimately, I had to make a decision. And I decided to stick it out here and see if I get that salary position, even though every fiber of my being wants to join the circus. There are a few huge reasons for this. 

1. I have $19 in my bank account. If I leave NYC, I won't have enough money to come back when the circus cycle is over in January. Where would that leave my relationship with Sam, who's moving to the city this week to continue college at NYU?

2. The circus cycle would finish up one month before my student loans start rolling in. With no job, no apartment, and no car, I'd be in a really tough spot financially to contend with VSAC. 

3. If I get an interview for a writing or editing position, they would ask me what I've been doing since I graduated college, as there would be a big, blank spot on my resume. "Traveling circus," would not be an impressive answer. 

I am leading a life where I am floating in transition and hoping neither to become a nameless cubicle slave nor a vagrant wanderer, $140,000 in debt and skipping from one laboring job to the next. I want to travel and I want to see the world. I want to meet strange and interesting people. I want to work with animals. I want to write. I want to try different foods and have exciting experiences. I want to be amazed by whatever is out there. I want to live. 

A huge part of me wants to say, "To hell with it," and just get out there and start doing things. But if I want a future that will justify my college degree, for now, it seems that playing it smart is playing it safe. Before I wrote the email turning down the circus job, I emailed my old professor for some further advice on the matter.

He wrote, "You are faced with a Hobson's choice.  Either way you lose, but my best advice, and I do not offer this thoughtlessly or unaware of your circumstances, internal and external.  Take the job with the health and beauty company.  It is highly unlikely you will get 'stuck' in any one career, and this will, I imagine, lead to other things. You have practical considerations to deal with besides the immediate, dreadful dilemma.  Everyone wants to run off to join the circus, and some manage to when they're younger, others a bit later."

Later, then. Maybe if and when I decide to leave this city, because I think I will eventually, I'll call them back. There's a time for everything. I guess the time just isn't now. In the meanwhile, I'm just hanging out in Harlem, pet sitting my friend's dog at her gorgeous, air conditioned, quiet apartment, a perfect atmosphere in which to think about my life and where it's taking me. Tomorrow I'll feel better. I hope that the company I'm waiting for brings me on board. If not, maybe it's not too late to catch that train.

* * *

EDIT: There's one more incident worth mentioning in my quarter-life crisis that I couldn't seem to find a way to finagle into this entry. Thematically, it just didn't fit in with the circus. I was in Manhattan the other day, waiting for the L train to Brooklyn, and there was this guy singing and playing his guitar on the subway steps 10 feet away from me. He was maybe in his mid-twenties, and there was really nothing about him that stood out to me, but he was playing the most gorgeous music. He was so good that I ignored my train when it arrived so I could listen to him play one more song. This is typically the moment where people drop a dollar in the guitar case or go on with the rest of the afternoon, slightly brightened by their good luck of stumbling across a musician that positively affected their day (because trust me, there are subway musicians who negatively affect days too). But not me. No, I borrowed a pen from a stranger so I could scrawl a note on a piece of scrap paper to drop in amongst the spare change and dollar bills:

I sing and play too. We should jam sometime.

- Hilary

hil.hayward@gmail.com

... It's a phase. Maybe.