BAFTFT 1: Repatriation, and Chicago calling

Written by Jessica George

Stepping off of the airplane and onto my home country’s soil was a surreal experience. As an ex-pat now again a pat, I wasn’t sure how my feelings would manifest as my heart caught up with my head in realising that I was back in the states. The odd limbo I sat in was muddled with memories of my life in both countries. New Zealand is where I feel like the person I am today first took shape, in my early twenties, fresh from the nest of university, but this country, I knew it so well and yet it felt so intimidating.

The only thing I knew I had to do was hit the ground running. If I didn’t, I’d surely be in jeopardy of losing the battle against loneliness and uncertainty when moving countries. Suddenly everything becomes romaticised about the country you’ve left, just like the way we tend to sugar coat a relationship after a break up. The bumpy ride of the 248 bus into town and the appetising smell of coffee at Verona were suddenly so madly appealing, especially since a flat white is virtually non-existent on American cafe menus. To quell the thoughts of NZ longings, I decided to find my niche here. In a country with over 300 million people, this thought can be intimidating. The idea of becoming just a number takes on a whole new meaning when faced with such a solid wall of people.

To start, I made a list of all of the numerous activities I’d involved myself with while in NZ (note: I call them activities because to be honest, I didn’t get paid for most of them). Back in the United States, I felt a tight grip around my neck as I thought about the overflowing population. Instantaneously, it’s easy to assume that because so many people are vying for the same goals, it becomes difficult to work, even for free. In NZ, it always felt like there was far less red tape to cut through or middle men to bullshit you. I felt free. I wanted a radio show and someone gave me a chance. I wanted to run art events and I created the chance. I now want to take that same zeal and brazenness I had in NZ and translate it to the states. But is that possible? Was it New Zealand that gave me the chances to shine or was it me? Is the USA some sort of unholy monster waiting to crush my dreams and aspirations? There’s only one way to find out, and that’s to go out there and give it the old college try. So, I started with a plane ticket.

My first destination was Chicago. I had a magical vision of this city. In my mind, I’d step off the plane and the members of Fall Out Boy would greet me with a beer, a hot dog and a firm handshake. What a city! Slightly more grounded with my head out of the clouds, I arranged for an interview with an arts and culture publication. I had to begin somewhere and this seemed like the logical step a practical person would take. Dressed to impress and equipped with a geeky, giant map of downtown, I set out to the newspaper’s office. First, I took a test. I haven’t taken a grammar and proofreading test since I was 12, but I could tell this one was prehistoric right of passage and must have passed through many journalists’ hands. I brilliantly plowed through the test, peeking around in excitement at the writers’ desks to see what kind of haberdashery amuses them on a daily basis. The test was finished and I handed it in with shaky, slightly sweaty hands. Next was the big meet and greet with the editor. I walked in to her office, a mix of nervousness and excitement, but once I saw the editor donning too cool for school sunglasses inside of a halogen lit office building, I knew this was going to be a more nervy interview than expected. After I attempted to woo her with my charms and writing portfolio, we came to her winning, disheartening statement of the day, “Why do you want to work in a dying industry? That just seems strange.”

I can’t remember my exact words but I’m sure they included an attempt at a discussion of linking art and audiences and really liking the publication’s website, ha, all very eloquent I’m sure. The rest was a blur and suddenly, I was out of the office, walking down the sun-drenched street, sweating profusely in my tight, librarian chic outfit, accented with a kiwi bird shaped pin (my Kiwi pride is astounding). The editor’s question rang loudly in my head, and really, it’s easy to cast doubt to most of my artistic endeavours in such economically challenging and world changing times. Even on my best days, there is always someone out there ready to trump my ideas and in this new place, I felt like I had to be especially protective of my hopeful outlook of my future.

I still don’t have any answers. Whether or not NZ is this magical place where opportunities abound and the USA is some kind of black hole waiting to eat me up is still up in the air. This isn’t going to be easy, it might even be a bit hard but it certainly isn’t going to be boring. I’m up for a challenge, and if all goes wrong, I’m sure someone can give you my number if you’re keen to be my NZ husband and gateway back to the promise land. But for now, it’s on to the next city. And we’ll just have to wait and see if Ms. Sunglasses calls me about the job.

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Jess George is a girl with a plan, or to be truthful, many plans. Some might say, she does too much, instead let us say, she has an ever rotating schedule of interests that feed her ever growing insights into her world. After a three year stint in Auckland, New Zealand where she dabbled in radio, events, cupcakes, hula hooping and writing, she's gone back to her home country, the good 'ol USA. Now faced with resuming a life she'd put on hold, Jess hopes to tackle new territory while documenting her escapades in this vast and sometimes daunting land she now calls home.