I HAD breakfast this morning with my neighbours Pete and Brent, a surfer and bodyboarder from Sydney. I mentioned to them that afterward I was going to head down the road to an upmarket resort to use their internet cafe, that I had to check whether I had passed my final university course, thus becoming a graduate. Turns out Pete, 25, is doing an engineering degree (I'm not exactly sure what kind of engineering) and Brent, 22, has just completed a business marketing (I think that's what he called it) degree. They're both in the same boat as me – young, clueless and afraid. The conversation, taken place over rough, black, sediment-filled Sumbawan coffee and banana pancakes, went something like this: Me to Brent: 'Have you got a job out of it yet?
B: 'That's the thing, I'm working as a lifeguard right now and earning twenty-four bucks an hour, but all the jobs I've looked at in business marketing have been paying about sixteen bucks. So I'm not that keen to leave my job right now you know. It's like I've done three years of uni but if I get a job in the field I'll be behind where I am now.'
P: 'Yeah and while we've been chipping away at uni all our mates that have got carpentry apprenticeships or whatever and are earning twice what we are. And they'll all be owning their own businesses too and killing it when their older while we'll probably be stuck in office jobs earning fuck-all.'
'My sentiments exactly', I tell him.
B: 'My brother reckons he might be able to hook me up with a job with his company a few days a week but I'm just not sure whether it's going to lead anywhere, or even whether it's what I actually want to do. The other thing is from what my bro's told me, the boss there would be looking to groom me for a full-time gig and give me training and shit so if that happened, I wouldn't be able to do what I'm doing right now.'
I look around: the sun is shining on our bare backs, world-class waves are breaking on the beach just in front of the restaurant and a beautiful woman (who I believe is South American) in a white bikini saunters past our table. It's like a postcard. Who would want this to end? Once our curvaceous Brazilian friend is out of view, we gather our composure and the conversation recommences:
P: 'Yeah that shit's going to happen more and more. There's going to be a point where there's a job or some girl and we're all going to get stuck back at home and the traveling thing will be up. You might get a couple weeks or a month per year for a holiday but it won't really be traveling.'
It went back and forth like this for about half an hour but you get the picture. I think the conversation is a reflection of the feelings of many twenty-somethings – a breed on the cusp of the rest of their life, yet so unsure of how to proceed with it that it hurts. What career do you choose if you have absolutely zero idea what you want to do with your life? Is there a point where seeing the world, and I mean really traveling, has to cease because of your career or can the two go hand-in-hand? If you decide to travel the world for ten years will you return home a penniless loser with only the clothes on your back and if you do, will it all be worth it? Would you be happier if you just picked a career now, anchored yourself in your home town for good and saved up for a house, like so many others my age are doing/have done? These are the questions my friends.
