BAFTFT 4: Turkey Farm, Pros & Cons, and the Best Coffee in the South

Written by Jessica George

Self-motivation can be anything but easy, especially when no one is around to feel inspired by. As quickly as I’d found myself interviewing in Chicago, drinking beers in Boston and sweating profusely in NYC, I was back in Monroe, North Carolina.  Oh small town living! Monroe is about 30,000 people strong. There is a turkey farm here. Once I spoke to a man about his job at the turkey farm and he told me that because the turkeys are often quite plump, their legs break under the pressure of their weight. He said this all in one breath without flinching. I think that man needed a vacation.

After living life on the road, out of an overstuffed suitcase, returning to my temporary living space left me a bit uneasy. The long nights I’d had while away had me finding difficulty in the emptiness that comes from the isolation of a town where I’d yet to run into someone my age or to find a local establishment to frequent. The room I made was always to be temporary, and so it never really felt like mine. Without the world buzzing around me, I had to take time to reflect while also making the most of my days.

In this town it is easy to melt into your porch. Neighbours would poke around to see where you’d gone, perhaps not out of concern for your well being but more because they were curious and eager to be the first with new gossip at dinner club that month. Without much happening around me I had to find ways to push myself forward. I couldn’t help but think about long days at my previous job where my employer would be out for many hours at meetings and I would be left to do something of importance for the company. First I would make a list, then I’d get down to business for a few minutes, then maybe glance back at the list and then the fidgeting would begin. In Monroe, I felt like I was doing a lot of fidgeting.

I couldn’t afford to waste any time but it is so easy to lose track of the days when you don’t have the urgency of a regular schedule forcing you to allot specific time for artistic endeavours. I was squirming under the pressure of the impending deadline I’d set for myself to be settled into a job, an apartment, a city, my life. The last few months felt like a movie trailer for an unfinished movie. And now here I am, just at the climax, left to finish the script.

I spent hours talking to close friends and family about what would be my next move. I even contemplated making a Facebook application that would poll all of my virtual friends on what decision they would make on my behalf, but thankfully, I reminded myself that not taking responsibility for my future would be a very unwise (see: lame) move.

After making pros and cons lists on poster boards hung on my walls, in notebooks I carried in my purses and even scrawled across my dreams, I went back to the one decision I’d been avoiding since I left for New Zealand three years ago. Some would say that I came to NZ specifically to get away from making this decision. I would probably disagree but on nights where I have had one too many whiskeys, a small admission might sneak out. Graduate school is not for the faint of heart. After prepping for the entrance exam, which for some includes not only anxiety but also a $2,000 preparatory course, you shell out another $150 for the test fee, and then you have the pleasure of sitting the exam. Did I mention application fees yet? The money you spend on just trying to get into school is enough to make you wake up in a cold sweat.

In the USA, a lot of Americans (see: my family) I’ve met seem to think grad school isn’t just an option anymore. For me three years ago, another two to six years of schooling just didn’t seem like an interesting pursuit after I’d just completed a four year bachelor’s degree. After receiving my university diploma, all I could think of was traveling, and so I did, back to New Zealand, the beautiful place I’d fallen in love with on my study abroad experience.

Now, back in the States, back in a place where so much weight is applied to the shoulders of ex-students to become students once more, I thought I would take a peek into graduate school. To make this happen, I took a trip to the nearest, credible school I could find, and in doing so, I unlocked a whole new perspective on North Carolina.

Campus was bustling with students and I was lost in academia. Glossy book covers and  men sporting scruffy yet intelligent-looking beards whizzed around me. A swirl of possible careers engulfed me as I tried to keep my head on straight. Creative writing, check. Arts administration, check. Advertising... hmm, check. Children’s librarianship... you think this in jest, but... check. Art Therapy, check and check.

While traipsing around campus in boots too snug for my feet, I needed a momentary relief from the unfamiliar chaos. Perhaps it was my restrictive shoes, but I felt a bit as if I were a cat being shoved into a bath, holding on for dear life to the sides of the tub. I needed some air and that’s when I discovered the neighbouring town of Carrboro, my little bit of air.

Who would have guessed that a small town in the south could be bursting with all things interesting to Jessica George? Just ten minutes away from campus and I was already sipping the best coffee I had had in the south. Around me was a town with numerous art galleries, readily available bike paths, a farmers market and co-op, public artworks, a hip vintage store, an art toy boutique, an arts centre and a world renowned music venue. Things were looking up.

Although initially a small town, sporting nothing remotely resembling a skyscraper, seemed less glamorous than the cities I’d just visited, I had to ask myself who I was looking to impress. I’d already made one too many pros and cons lists and I was ready to go with my gut. Something clicked and in a weekend’s time I found a job at a gallery, a cheap one bedroom apartment and a friend. Everything fell into place too easily for me to turn my back. This doesn’t mean grad school isn’t an option, but at least for now I can have it in my backyard, yet still keep it an arm’s length away. A wave of relief and excitement comes as I feel a bit closer to making some strides I had patiently waited to achieve. Now it’s time to work on that script.