By Laura Libert, October 2008
As the transition between summer and fall continues, the dread that’s been brewing in my stomach is coming to the surface. I dragged my feet to class in late August, the wet, sweltering heat feeling more oppressive than usual. Is it possible that I feel old? A ridiculous notion, I know, but by my next birthday I’ll have surpassed median age in Gainesville.       Every year, like a factory, the University of Florida churns out graduates. In their place, a huge influx of fresh 18-year-old faces arrives, barely adult and ready to take on college and its wide expanses of experience. This past spring, I waved goodbye to many of my peers as they received their degrees in the standard four years. With my own graduation a nagging dot on the horizon that refuses to close the gap, I feel a little stuck here. I’ve become an expert at excuses, making frequent use of, “I work a lot,” and “My job is demanding, and, as a result, I can’t take on the average course load of one riding entirely on the scholarship, student loan or Daddy wave.” But that reassurance doesn’t satisfy my anxiousness anymore. My sister, having just moved away and loving it, calls me regularly with updates about her fabulous life and her bliss at having escaped the Gainesville black hole. What do I have to report when she’s finally done gushing enough to ask about me? I’m beginning to feel stagnant. Yet instead of finding comfort in consistency, I can’t help but feel like I’m falling into a rut.
The monotony in school has spilled over into my work life. Considering I started college and this job within months of each other, the correlation isn’t all that surprising. I’ve worked in the same place for more than four years. It feels like an eternity. I’ve been on the same station for two years, doing the same thing every day. The faces have changed a bit, but the routine remains the same. The job doesn’t suck. It’s one of the best kitchen jobs in town, and I’m paid well for my age and skill level. The people are nice, and my management tries their best to mesh my work and school schedules cohesively. But it’s still the same, and it’s starting to suffocate me.
I sense a similar disquietedness among a few of my line-mates. As with my college friends, so are my work friends restless and on the verge of leaving. Our previous sous-chef Rusty T. is already gone, determined to increase his knowledge of food science. H. Carl is antsy, eager to find a new avenue in his culinary career. He’s burnt out on the restaurant lifestyle. He said it’s past time to search for other career opportunities. Dill Doman, who’s been here almost as long as me, has found his direction not a minute too soon. He has always seen the line as a temporary solution, just another job until he could figure out his next move. I could tell this place was starting to get on his nerves. As the walls closed in, he discovered a great school with an intensive graphic design program and the ability to get him a degree in 13 months. He just gave his two weeks.
I’m happy for my friends who have found their direction and are excited and confident to take that next turn in the road, but my well-wishing is tainted with a hint of regret. These days I perpetually feel on the cusp of change but not close enough to make the leap. Again, my excuses come into play, “I need these classes before I’m prepared to go after that internship,” or “I could get another job, but I like my coworkers and my wage.” I either need to stop my complaining or my procrastination. But I’m not sure which is scarier: the inevitable change (however far away) or the inability to face it.