A Legitimate Showdown

Many people that have worked seasonally have come across this situation. Whether it's river guiding, waiting tables, working a hotel front desk, or running a chainsaw for the Forest Service, the season eventually comes to an end and the comments start raining like bombs over London.

"When are you going to get a real job?!"

"You're spending your money on another plane ticket?!"

"You should really buy a few pairs of nice slacks..."

And so on.

I'm not interested in debating or defining what constitutes a real job. There are infinite variables and emotions that go along with that debate, many of which most seasonal employees embark on with some amount of regularity. However, I am interested in what happens when that real job unexpectedly presents itself to you, in the middle of the seasonal dream.

It seems obvious that most seasonal employees work seasonally because they enjoy the lifestyle. I know I do. I enjoy working for a season, living in a place that people dream of visiting, saving some money, and buying a few plane tickets to various foreign longitudes. Many employees, at least many that I've worked with, don't actively pursue the hunt for career permanency while they've got their youth. When you're young and free of mortgage and familial commitment, what's the point? Why trade living in paradise, traveling, relocating to another paradise, traveling, etc. for a stagnant job that provides two weeks of annual vacation time? Where's the good deal in that?

And yet that real job has snuck in through the back door and presented itself to me, kind of catching me off guard.

Two of my closest friends work for a company that I respect, located in a small Northwestern city. The gig: franchise development. The benefits: my own house a stone's throw away from the shores of a beautiful Northwestern lake and more salary than I'd know what to do with. However, if I were to sign on, my job would essentially be to promote globalization, an idea that I'm not particularly fond of. If I reject the offer, the pressure of finding that real job will continue, either directly with sharp comments intending to light a fire under my wanderlust butt, or like that of a finger held an inch from your forehead--indirect, but the same amount of sensation ("You know, Mark's doing well these days... He's the political programs manager for Company X, and he's only 25! He just bought a house and has two black labs and 100 shares in Home Depot! Isn't he doing well?!).

So what is it worth? Is sacrificing the unattached globe trekking lifestyle worth a handsome salary and two weeks of annual vacation? To me, the answer is no. Not yet. I'm only 24. Plenty of time to experience the world, while I've still got my youth. Yet the idea of living lakeside and working with two of my closest friends is enough to propagate the dilemma between the two lifestyles.

Despite the showdown between my current life of travel and the life of career and salary what-ifs, I think I'm pretty comfortable. I've got decades to worry about job offers similar to this one. No point in rushing into things. I'd rather pick through bazaars in Albania and worry about my immediate safety in the face of a grumpy hippo in Malawi than sit on my couch and read about similar experiences, regretting never having done so.

But who knows what the future holds. For all I know, in three months I could be sitting in the same spot in which I currently sit (on my front porch of government housing, overlooking Sepulcher Mountain and a dozen elk calves), or shaking hands with future financiers of a new store in Bangore, Maine.

And there's a potential, unmentioned opportunity waiting for somebody in Anchorage...

No room for speculation now, though; we'll see what happens...