A Year Off

by Alexandra Brown

  “OK,” he said. “I will.”

  The complete lack of filter on my part opened up a vulnerability and tenderness in our new relationship that never went away. After we said good night, I regretted not kissing David, and I sent him a short text saying as much. He later said it was this total lack of subtlety and “game” that endeared me to him. Soon after he said to a friend, “I’m pretty sure that was my last first date.”

  Things moved quickly after that. I quit my job at the agency where I worked in San Diego and became a freelancer so I could move up to San Francisco to be with David. I moved in with him under the pretense that it was just a temporary arrangement to save money—that is, if we didn’t decide to travel together.

  We had begun seriously talking about an extended international trip on the drive up from San Diego to San Francisco, daydreaming about the places we could go and how long we would take. We would lie in bed at night, excitedly talking about all the different possibilities and imagining what a life on the road together would look like. The conversations would reach a fever pitch, and then we would inevitably feel overwhelmed and decide it was all too soon, that we should stay in San Francisco and date “normally” for a while before doing anything dramatic.

  But one night after we had been dating for a little over three weeks, it became very clear our intentions for each other were strong enough to consider embarking on an adventure together. We were talking about our most recent relationships and the things we had learned. David opened up about his past broken engagement, and I asked how he felt about marriage now. He said he still thought marriage was a good idea, assuming it’s with the right kind of partner. As he spoke, I let myself be carried away by the soothing tone of his voice and the comfort of his honesty and genuine spirit. He spoke for a while before pausing and asking me, “Do you want to get married?” I felt my breath catch.

  “OK,” I answered.

  “OK?” he responded with a bewildered expression.

  Within seconds, I realized this was not a proposal. The heat of embarrassment flooded my body, and I hid under the covers in an attempt to disappear. I remember thinking, Oh my god, I am such an idiot. This is the type of stuff guys run from. I had no idea what he could be thinking. I was pretty sure he was in love with me too, although we had not yet crossed the “I love you” relationship hurdle. And even then, saying “I love you” is a far cry away from “I want to marry you.” Most guys would have placated me in the moment and then not called me back ever again, but David was different. He lifted the covers to look me straight in the eye and said, “You’re adorable.”

  After that night, David’s travel plans became our travel plans, and a three-month motorcycle trip through Europe became a one-year journey around the world. We had only known each other for two months when we officially made the decision to go, but that didn’t matter as much as any reasonable person would assume. To a bystander, our decision must have looked like a recipe for disaster. To our friends and families, we were crazy fools in love who would, at least, get some interesting travel in while rapidly sorting our compatibility. Some people secretly placed bets about how long we would actually last once we left the country. Others were worried we could put too much pressure on top of a new relationship and ruin something great. We knew it was risky for many reasons, but we trusted our guts and forged ahead, making plans to leave in a matter of months.

  In late August we decided we would officially hit the road just a few months later, on November 1. David had been saving for a shorter but more costly trip, so it seemed to us we could make those funds stretch the year. Assuming I could stay at David’s apartment, finish my work contract, and sell my Honda Fit, I could also have enough by the fall. With what we had, we would be able to live comfortably yet modestly without working for a year and still have additional savings to live off of for six months when we got back home. Upon realizing this, we were both a bit shocked, but the trip we envisioned was not nearly as costly as we had expected.

  Our planning cycle kept an accelerated clip similar to our relationship; we were a couple that dove in and moved fast, and our preparations for the trip were no different. We had two months to make a departure plan at work, wrap up loose ends at home, and take care of visas and vaccinations. The night before David and I gave our notices at work happened to be Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. Over a dinner of roast chicken with a friend, we each set some intentions for the year ahead, and the realization of what was about to happen hit us. The symbolism of the holiday sunk in for the first time. Our new year began that night.

  Making It Real

  San Francisco, CA

  DAVID

  37.7749° N, 122.4194° W

  From the moment I awoke, I felt anxious and unfocused. I was going to quit my job in four hours. My fears and doubts were eating me alive, and I had to get them out in the open. Desperate for help, I took some advice from a friend to literally say everything in my head aloud, get it all out there, and see what held water. I went into my room, closed the door, and let it all out: “David, who do you think you are? This is both irresponsible and foolish. No one will catch you if you fall. There is a solid chance this will ruin your professional reputation and you will pay for it for the rest of your career. You barely know this woman. This may ruin what seems like a totally incredible relationship. Travel will not solve anything.” The list went on and on.

  Eventually, my mind quieted, and I felt more connected to my gut. In that moment of calm, the same belief that compelled me to want to do the trip in the first place came back to me: pursuing this adventure was the most honest step forward in my life. It was not perfect, but nothing ever is.

  I finished my morning routines and left for work. Walking into the office that day I felt surprisingly clear on how I was going to spill the beans on this plan. I had a great professional relationship with my bosses. I felt especially indebted to my direct boss for all he had taught me over the past few years. I was unsure how either would respond, and was nervous about burning a bridge, but I felt they deserved to hear my honest and authentic story, not the corporate edit.

  During our meetings, I expressed my gratitude for the incredible education and experience they had provided me. I put my decision to leave in the larger context of my past life and future goals. I shared with them the process that got me to this point and my desire to feel inspired again. I even revealed my feelings about the crazy and exhilarating new love in my life and the momentum it had created. I was also very candid about the fact that my heart was no longer in my role and how it pained me not to live up to a standard in which I could take pride. I can only imagine they were taken off guard by both the news and my candor.

  I always knew my bosses cared for me beyond a professional level, but our conversations that day were so human. I had a strong sense they genuinely wanted the best for me. One boss even said, “Well, pitching a new exciting role seems futile. I’m sad to lose you, but I’m excited to hear about what’s to come.” Leaving these meetings, I felt a surprising sense of support. For weeks leading up to giving notice, I had imagined leaving the office and feeling a combination of freedom, fear, and finality. I was abandoning the protection of my well-defined career and deserting what I had worked so hard to achieve, along with those who had invested so much in helping me do so. Those emotions were part of it, but I also felt excitement, understanding, and encouragement. I did not need their permission, nor was I requesting anything from them, but they chose to wish me the very best and offered to help me if I ever needed it. I believed they would. They had given me their blessings.

  HOW TO pREpARE FOR AND HAVE “THE TALK” WITH YOUR BOSS

  Deciding to quit your job to travel the world can feel like an enormous step, but actually telling the people you work with can feel equally big in its own way. How you approach the conversation will ultimately depend on what you may want after you come back, but there are a few steps to consider in making the whole process more fruitful for
everyone.

  1/ Reconsider the “guns blazing” approach that you may be fantasizing about. You never know what the future holds and what you may want in a year. If you need some catharsis, do a little role-playing with friends over drinks so you can really give it to the man, but be respectful when it comes time for the actual talk.

  2/ To be honest with your boss, start by being honest with yourself and getting clear on your intentions. Before the talk, make a list broken out in sections: the reasons you want to take this trip, what you’re hoping to get from travel, how long you are considering being away, and how you feel about returning to your career or even your current company if that’s an option.

  3/ Take the opportunity to see your boss as a person and invite him or her to share in your experience, which will help him or her realize that this is a personal investment, not just a “yearlong vacation.” Gauge how much you want to share depending on your relationship and your boss’s personality, but even if you do not have a deep connection, piquing your boss’s interest in your journey may make staying in touch after you go much more natural and likely.

  4/ Put together a work plan for your departure. Let your current employer know how you intend to make the transition as smooth as possible. Although this is extra work you technically do not need to do, it can go a long way in preserving the relationship and making you feel good about your departure.

  LETTING GO OF EXPECTATIONS

  Alexandra

  While the conversations with our bosses went well, the conversations with our families were more nuanced. We were reminded that parents stay parents even when you’re in your thirties, and parents worry. David’s parents did not question his decision, as they were more adjusted to his free-spirited approach to life and trusted his track record of having always somehow landed solidly on his feet, but the idea of us being in India for six weeks scared them. My parents wanted a lot of answers. They had always been proud of my academic achievements and career choices, so seeing me step off the familiar path unsettled them. They didn’t express confidence that I could do the trip. I had also developed a reputation in the family for being impulsive and quick to bail when things didn’t turn out as expected, and this trip made it clear that that shadow remained. These conversations made me question if I was really doing it for myself or to prove something to everyone else.

  The questions and concerns rattled us, and a voice of judgment inside would whisper, “You have no idea what you are doing!” Yet as the weeks went on, we grew more and more comfortable with our choice and were able to slowly let go of the expectations that we imagined others had for us but that were really coming from within. We started seeing opportunities to invite people into the dialogue of how we got where we were, and the more we opened up, the more inspiring their responses became. More often than not, when we told somebody about what we were doing, they would start sharing their dreams and reveal deeply personal information about the choices, good and bad, they had made in their lives. It was amazingly reassuring.

  THE OpINIONS OF OTHERS

  You’re going to be eager to tell your family, friends, colleagues, and the person you just met in line at the grocery store about your travel plans, and people are going to be eager to share their opinions about your travel plans with you. The truth is that most people will be excited to hear some details of your plans and even inspired to do something similar. On the whole, responses will likely range from support to quiet reservation to blatant judgment. Someone is bound to say, “Well, aren’t you lucky.” Which is true, but his or her intention may not be to inspire a great feeling of gratitude about all the privileges that come with being middle-class or above in the U.S. There is also a good chance someone in your family or inner circle will experience great fear for your safety and suggest you get a GPS tracking device or at minimum provide you with a heartfelt talking-to about the dangers of places outside the U.S.

  Then there’s jealousy, which can come from anywhere. One of our favorite digs we like to repeat to each other periodically was from someone who could have easily afforded our trip several times over. He said, “Oh, wow, a yearlong vacation during a down economy. That must be nice.” We did not respond.

  Random strangers may even have an opinion or two to share on the topic. Cocktail party conversation can quickly devolve into an analysis of your future journey with eager and unwanted assessments of your proposed path and attitudes on polarizing countries like India. One way or another, people are going to have opinions.

  Tip 1: What someone else thinks isn’t a reflection of you or the choice you’ve made. For those who feel they have earned or were bestowed with superior logic and a handle on all truth, feel free to toss out or say to yourself, “You be you; I’ll handle being me.”

  Tip 2: Be aware that your actions can translate into statements. You are rocking the boat on several levels and taking advantage of privilege. No matter how scary or challenging taking this step may be, it is a luxury. Although there are many people who want to take a trip like this, most are not in the position to do so. Be sensitive when talking about your upcoming travel plans or sharing updates from abroad, and don’t get defensive if someone makes an offhand remark about your trip. Leaving for such a long period of time may also cause the people closest to you to feel abandoned. Stay focused on what you are doing while thoughtfully affirming the positions they have in your life.

  Tip 3: The reactions of family and close friends may hold the most weight for you. If the feedback is less than positive, it is well worth listening to their perspective, but remember that their perspective is just that: theirs, not yours. They may have a myriad of reasons for challenging your decision, many of them likely well-intentioned, but their opinions are inherently products of their context and life view. For example, no matter your age, parents may express concern for your safety, career, or any number of things, but we found it best to just see this as an expression of love rather than disapproval. Friends may express some disappointment, yet this is likely to be more about missing you or feeling abandoned than about criticizing your trip. Including your family and close friends in your process can help alleviate some of the potential tension, but if it doesn’t, take a step back to avoid unnecessary conflict.

  PUSHING OFF

  After quitting our jobs and telling our families and friends of our plans, we moved forward knowing we could not turn back to what we had had. This visceral understanding incited action. We dove deeper into making a list of all the things we thought we needed to take care of before we left and read anything we could get our hands on or find on the internet. The next two months flew by at a breathless pace, but we were somehow able to stay thoughtful with our time. Perhaps it was because we knew our days left in San Francisco were limited, or maybe it was the renewed sense of energy we felt after giving notice at work. Either way, those weeks were full and vibrant. On November 1, we took off on our Great American Road Trip, a two-month journey traveling along the perimeter of the country visiting family and friends, with a two-week interlude in Costa Rica to pressure test our travel gear in an international setting. We still had a lot of planning and prepping to do, most of which we’d decided to tackle while on the road trip, but technically our trip had begun.

  Reaching the Badlands

  South Dakota

  DAVID

  43.8554° N, 102.3397° W

  Exhausted, sore, and hungry; it was painfully obvious I was no longer eighteen years old. For the last five days, my six-foot-three body had been packed in a tiny car. The sadist who designed the interior of the Honda Fit must have taken some sinister pleasure in the irony of its name. We were a week out from our last days in the office and at the beginning of our self-inflicted race across the U.S.

  We had pulled over somewhere in South Dakota and were trying to find something to eat. For the past few hours, my mind had rested in the familiar comfort of dreaming about great food—specifically about what new and interesting food we could find that night.
I imagined us discovering some hot spot in town serving the local favorites. Maybe venison sausage with some Sioux Tribe–inspired cornmeal breads and a local beer. Alexandra has celiac disease, which makes eating out tricky to say the least, but with some explaining, it’s usually doable.

  After clear over an hour of visiting every establishment having anything to do with food in a twenty-mile radius, my stomach had taken full control of my brain. It was taking all my focus and energy to contain my inner whiny child. We needed to take what we could get, and I needed to get out of the car before I started to let my feelings show. I suddenly saw the Domino’s we had passed several times in our search in a new light. As we got closer, we spotted an ad pasted in the window: Now Serving Gluten-Free Pizza! I felt both repulsed and relieved. Alexandra ordered the pizza while I made a poor choice with the pasta carbonara. The disinterested employee tossed a frozen gluten-free pizza in the oven and began to work on my pasta. I was mesmerized as he proceeded to pound a squeeze bottle against the counter, squirted thick white sauce onto noodles in a plastic container, and then flipped the whole thing in a microwave oven.

  I quit my career for this. The sentence rang in my head as if some punk kid whispered it in my ear while passing. My hungrystomach brain couldn’t dismiss the statement’s relevance in my current situation. I was not having fun, my exhaustion was debilitating, my days lacked identifiable value, I felt completely goalless, and I was burning through my savings. And for what exactly?