Lehi, Utah – Tuesday, September 26, 2023
I tug at the sleeve of my navy cardigan.
It’s far too large and long for my arms, but warming in the chill of the examination room. It was the closest room available, and as soon as I’d asked my boss for a private moment alone to talk, she obliged with her trademark practical concern, inviting me to take a seat. She waited patiently for me to speak. You can do this, I told myself. Also, I added, it’s time to maybe look like you’re a 35 year-old adult. I released the hold on my sleeve, looked my boss in her soft brown eyes, and began.
Last night, I was sharing about my travels this summer. About working on a farm in Sweden, the music festival in France, and hiking the Camino in Spain. All last night and this morning, I just kept thinking about how when I left, I was ready to come back to an office, to be part of a normal routine again.
Here I looked her straight in the eye.
I don’t think I’m a good fit for this. Everyone has been so kind and welcoming, and I really was looking forward to working in an office, just like before my travels.
But. . .
Something in me is different now.
And I can’t go back.
If I didn’t explore other options, I would regret it. I’m sorry for disappointing you, thank you for everything.
Aaaaaaand that’s how I quit my job this morning on what would have been Day 4 of being a medical receptionist. I meant every word of it. To her undying credit, she was gracious and understanding, agreeing that if I was going to come in every day miserable about being in a chair from 9-5, then I should go and be happy elsewhere. I took that as her blessing, and saw myself out the back door.
Driving home could have been filled with doubts and afterthoughts. I consider myself a cautious person, not prone to making decisions, however outlandish, with at least forethought and planning. Just Monday afternoon at work, a fellow receptionist was entering data, asking a co-worker for help.
“I should have entered in the first response,” she lamented.
“That’s okay,” I consoled her. “I do that, too. The first instinct usually is the right one. After that, the doubt and overthinking sets in, and that’s when I’m wrong.”
I thought about what I’d said just the day before as I turned up the volume on my phone. The windows were down, the song “Un Canadien Errant” strummed its folksy guitar melody into the open air and out over the desert heat.
Translating from the French, “A Wandering Canadian” was written in 1842 by Antoine Gérin-Lajoie. It is attributed to the Canada Rebellion of 1837, where those found guilty were doomed to death or exiled to the United States, with some having gone as far as Australia. The melody is a traditional melody, sweet and profound. When paired with the words, the beauty of it becomes in turn haunting and irrepressibly sad. Take the first verse for instance:
Un Canadien errant (A wandering Canadian,)
Banni de ses foyers, (banned from his hearths,)
Parcourait en pleurant (travelled while crying)
Des pays etrangers. (in foreign lands.)
Parcourait en pleurant (travelled while crying)
Des pays etrangers. (in foreign lands.)
Un jour, triste et pensif, (One day, sad and pensive,)
Assis au bord des flots, (sitting by the flowing waters,)
Au courant fugitif (to the fleeing current)
Il adressa ces mots: (he addressed these words:)
Au courant fugitif (to the fleeing current)
Il adressa ces mots: (he addressed these words:)
Like I said: beautiful, but haunting. I’m also not saying I go about the roads of Saratoga Springs bemoaning my fate. For one without much going for her, I count myself lucky to be where I am and to know good people.
And yet.
I quit a more than decent job with more than decent benefits for. . .what, exactly? To follow artistic pursuits, and live with more flexibility. More freedom, really. There was a time a “normal” job was something I wanted, desperately. Now? Being stuck at a desk with an eight inch diameter of movement for nine hours of the day? I know I’m not a “normal” person. (Just last weekend I was taking a selfie with Joel McHale while dressed as an anime schoolgirl version of Spongebob Squarepants, for crying out loud. If that instance alone doesn’t tell you much about how “normal” I am, then nothing ever will.) The Swedish/Italian musician said it best when he stated. “When I see other people doing normal things at normal jobs, I know it’s not for me.”
Same here, Alesso. Same here.
So I go back to that night on the roof in Blacksas, and though it wasn’t long ago, it feels like an eternity has passed instead of two months. I remember the feel of the cool winds rushing over the metal sheets where I lay, watching the sky. I looked out over the horizon, fading into a hazy outline of what was supposed to be Finland. The future was distant, and though I was pointed in the right direction enough to see the destination, all that mattered at that moment was the stars above me, watching and waiting for me to simply be. Even there, the melody was something I could not evade, and it passed over and through me, into the darkness of the archipelago, and out over the restless, blackness of sea. I felt more at peace in the middle of the woods than I had in Utah, my alleged home.
Un Americain errant
banni de ses foyers. . .
Later, I messaged Ellie. The wanderlust has touched her spirit too, since the last time I saw her she’d been making travel plans. When I told her I couldn’t pretend to be happy in an office anymore, she answered with her laconic Good for you tho which makes me smile. I have the memories.
And, for now, they are enough.
Stay tuned next week for the continuation of the log of this summer, where I will go back to that night in Blacksas, the hike there, the random fire that almost prevented us from getting there in the first place, and of course photos from the infamous human pyramid by the cliff.
Until then — may you wander well my friends, wander well.
Amanda
P.S. Here is a link to a lovely rendition of the song itself by Whitehorse, with the link to another great version that plays during the credits of “One Week” underneath (the film from which I originally learned of the song).