Bitten by the Travel Bug

I am at the age where one doesn't really know what to do with their life (I mean, I wouldn't exactly say I've known what to do up until this point, I have just moved from a vague sense of confusion to a gut-wrenching cluelessness). It's that weird cross-roads in time when friends are finding employment, getting married or going to prison.

Somewhere in this spectrum of friends, nestled nonchalantly between the alcoholic drop-outs and those still trying vainly to become a rapper (let's face it, Chad, you have the flow of a river in the Sahara desert during a drought) are those that have been bitten by the travel bug. The ones that upload artsy photographs in stunning locations to whichever social media platform has the capacity to display pictures, with thoughtful captions and quotes to remind their avid followers (who, let's be honest, hardly give a shit) that, despite the fact that they are travelling on Daddy's money and have just finished their undergrad in accounting, they are out-there and creative and are embarking on a spiritual, not physical, journey around the world. Fuckers.

(source: Google. Where else?)

As I sit wishing a solid bout of typhoid on them, or at the least some mild food poisoning to remind them that life is a cruel bitch that has no interest in anyone succeeding, whilst on a 5 weeks deep stalk of their Instagram feed created solely to document their travels around Southeast Asia, I get to thinking (never a good idea. I have made some of my worst decisions ever after thinking.). I could be that asshole.

I could take a year off and embark on my own spiritual journey, uploading aesthetic pictures with thoughtful captions as I try and show that, despite the 1,000 mosquito bites and the fact that I slept 3 hours last night because 2 people in the hostel dorm room thought having drunk sex when they got back would be good form, I am loving living below the breadline in a foreign country (#blessed #winning #travel #wanderer #wanderlust).

My only issue is that I am on a pretty defined career path, and taking a year off would stuff up my plans. I would set myself back quite a bit, financially and career-wise, for the possibility of "discovering myself and what the big wide world has to offer" (gag). Ok, I'm being a bit too critical. Travelling is almost always as good as it's made out to be. It genuinely can alter the very fibers of your being, it's just not so nice seeing someone else living the dream (after sitting through their 200-day Facebook countdown) while you sit at home weighing up the pros and cons of dropping out of university to become a stripper. I love to travel, so don't rub it in my face that you are ticking off literally half of my bucket list in one trip that I am following on social media whilst crying myself to sleep in the crumbs of my two-day old comfort pizza.

So here I sit, at a potentially life-changing fork in my road, with absolutely no idea which route to take (and sadly, Robert Frost is of no help to me here). If anyone has any suggestions/comments/insights (or even a few insults), I'd greatly appreciate them.

And, as always,