Saturday 3 May 2008

Handbags to Rucksacks...media girl gone good

So it's finally feeling real.

Yesterday I left what most consider a good job in media 'creative sales' - which, amongst other things, means I am responsible for those articles that you start reading, only to realise you're being advertised to - to go and do something a bit more meaningful.

In 5 days, I am jumping into the unknown. Leaving my 13-year career and my comfortable, life in London, and swapping my handbags and heels for a rucksack and flip-flops (this last bit concerns me most, as I’m a total shortarse). I'm heading to Posadas, Northern Argentina, to do voluntary work teaching English to children and a community development project in an orphanage.

I've never been to Argentina, never given up a job without another to go to and have been cramming an online ‘TEFL’ teaching course and weekly Spanish lessons on top of my already hectic schedule. And I'm a vegetarian.

What on earth was I thinking?

Well, as you ask, I feel I work hard and have stupid hours. The job pressures, perpetual sales targets, short turnarounds, diminished head-count and usual departmental politics got so stressful of late, and I was feeling jaded, unappreciated and worn out. I felt like walking several times. Then I decided to get a grip, rather than feeling sorry for myself. I mean, it's not really a proper job is it?

Let's be honest, us media types, with our self-congratulatory awards dos and schmoozy lunches do seem to have it easy compared to say medics, teachers, the emergency services, the military and carers, to name a few.

That point really hit home when a friend at work was swearing profusely because - get this - the ad she'd booked onto a right-hand page… had been moved to a left-hand one. I bit my tongue, as I know I too have been far too worked up about a typo or an incorrect competition closing date.

I promise I won't turn into some sanctimonious do-gooder, but I do have to check myself and ask; does that stuff really matter?

It’s a question that has niggled away at me for a while. Then, after an 11 year relationship broke down and two years of partying and random dating, I found a guy, C, who was looking for more too - and was, amazingly, crazy enough to give it all up and come fulfil this dream with me.

Crazier still, he's opted to teach football out there. To the Argentinians.

I am a worrier though. Am I having some sort of early mid-life crisis (I'm 37)? My new team-mates will be about 15 years younger than me - will I be 'grandma' in the corner? (And nobody puts Grandma in the corner...) Will I get too involved at the orphanage and come back with rather more than a sombrero? (Do an 'Angelina in Argentina'!). What will this risk do to my career? Will I even want to come back to media after this life-changing experience?

And will I change so much that I fail to get excited by shoes? I still covet a fuschia pink pair of platform sling-back peep-toes that I didn't buy in my six-month economy drive saving for this adventure.

My friends assure me this won't happen, and R says she is whipping me into a spa as soon as I get back to London, but what if I come back and my life as I know it no longer appeals...?