The Money Machine and Sabbaticals If You’re Middle/Working Class

I said to myself that a sabbatical would do me good. I was clearly wrong on so many levels because if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be writing this. When you think of a sabbatical (year) you think of traveling to stunning settings and meeting new people because of all that delusional TV shows and cinema. And that’s quite right, as long as you have the money to do so, of course. If you are poor, poor enough to not being able to travel 24/7 but poor enough to have a house, food and the right to complain about such mundane things, you will stay home entire days, even fortnights, without human contact other than the mailwoman or your parents. That’s my case, but fortunately, I have two dogs and a kitten. So my days are just me waking up early to eat black 95% chocolate (it’s fair trade!) while I watch a show and then keeping the house clean and pets happy. I go out to the backyard with my kitten and two books and a little notebook under my arm. Then I sit on a broken post-civil war column that somehow ended up in my garden and read and write under the morning light while she’s playing with whatever interests her. Sometimes I close the book and join the game because “I have all the time in the world”. I paint, I draw, I try to play guitar, … But… Do I? Do I really have all the time in the world?

I always liked isolation because I’m an introverted person, so it’s okay for me to be alone because I really never kill myself of boredom. Ennui is unknown to me, but while everyone’s out there studying and living their lives, I’m home all day trying to learn new things until the weekend arrives and then I have to work, but what for? My close friends have forgotten me because we never meet and have not very much to share since our lives are now separated so I’m not really involved in their parties and college lives, nor I’m fond to be. Last year I was in contact with a lot of people, mostly because I was sharing a flat with three students, so I woke up and there were people. Hey, good morning, how are you? Fine, thank you! It’s not that I miss those spontaneous talks but the fact of talking to someone, because some days I just need somebody to listen, somebody that is not my mother, the package deliverer or my online friends (because let’s be honest, just a few really do listen). And some other days I just don’t want to see anybody and I’m grateful for that too now that I’m home all the time. The truth is that I had no other choice but to do a sabbatical because I had an assignment left and couldn’t get to college without closing that door shut and I also needed money to go to college, so I thought that I could be self-taught at home during the week and work on weekends while trying to complete that assignment. Now it’s like I’ve forgotten how time works. Like I’ve forgotten everything that was taught to me because of isolation, all the equipment to fulfill that assignment. I became as wild as my kitten when she’s out there in the garden, losing the already-bad social skills that I’ve got, with all the theory and data erased from my brain. I did suffer an identity crisis because I didn’t know what I liked anymore. What once was a life goal (to join college and pursue a career) it has become a sort of an implemented and forced dream, an artificial and not quite pleasing construct while it was all I dreamed of long ago. It was like I wanted to be forever in this limbo of numbness and neutrality where time didn’t work at all, where I just had to do basic stuff like recycle and taking the trash out, domestic cleaning and keeping it up with pets, all while listening to strategic Spotify playlists with tones of indie music that insufflated that oniric and cathartic feeling to my daily basis. I almost let this soporific routine devour me and my whole life, killing my will and putting my whole life in jeopardy. I was always a strong-willed person that knew exactly what I liked (at least in terms of professional work, because I am not that decisive with other stuff, not at all). And I almost lose my drive. But it wasn’t that exaggerated and cynical as it is read, because I didn’t even realize of that until I felt bitter loneliness and that opened my eyes: what am I doing with the life that has been given to me? 2020 started as if all the chaos that was somehow spared from 2019 was meeting its deadline and blowing it up like powerful TNT at the very beginning of the year. Amazonian, Galician and Californian wildfires were nothing in comparison to Australian 6-meters-long flames. Gloria wiped out Catalonia’s east coast in a blink and lots of people lost everything (1/3 of my region was covered in seawater). Coronavirus arose like some kind of biological weapon from Umbrella made to destroy capitalism and animal black market (but kill innocent people too and boost racism). It was January, and I was like “2020 give me a fucking break”. Obviously, my prayers didn’t work. And better not talk about politics, because it would be too much to bear. Just too much. But amid this series of catastrophic events, I realized that I couldn’t lay down my head and just wait and pray for it to stop. I couldn’t become a firekeeper and extinguish Australian wildfires, but I could donate. I could pick up trash. I could be kinder. I could get my friends back and restore the social life I built during my lifespan. I could do something. All that shit grounded me and re-assured what was vanishing. I knew who I wanted to become. I knew that I wanted to keep reading, to keep writing, to keep studying. To build me up. And that I also needed to work, to transform myself into a money machine because bills had to be paid and college isn’t cheap. I needed emancipation and economic freedom, so I worked even harder.

Now, I’m becoming. And I really hope that all the effort leads me to where I want to be right now. I wrote this because maybe there are more people out there like me, wandering, lost. I don’t know if it’s okay. I just want to say that it’s common? Normal? But there’s an exit, hopefully. I really hope so. But hope is treacherous, isn’t it?