Young, dumb, and broke: week one in the Tetons

    We were hiking back to the Work Truck from our field site when my crewmate Megan briefly introduced me to everyone I'd be working with this summer.

    "…and Bella is the baby of the crew, she's twenty-three," Megan told me. Then she asked, "How old are you?"

    I said I was twenty-one, to which she replied, "Oh! So, you’re the baby now."

    And she was right – not only am I the baby of the crew, but I also feel like a baby in the adult world – I’ve never felt so young and inexperienced. This past week on the job has felt like one big “bring your kid to work day.”

    On Wednesday in the field, our roles were divided as such: Vanna unlocked the technology box and downloaded data onto the tablet, Megan and Martha made repairs and adjustments to the creek setup, and I sat at the edge of the creek and turned over rocks to look for bugs until we moved on to the next site (one time, while Martha was wrestling with the underwater cables, I found some really interesting translucent orange ants).

    It’s not entirely true, I did make meaningful contributions, but I certainly didn’t know what to do unless I was given instruction.

    Later in the day, I found out that four of the six on our crew are returning for their second or third season; all of them have been out of school for at least two years. They all have more life and work experience and more time for trial and error.

    This is the first time I am learning to be fully independent in an unfamiliar environment -- every mistake and lesson is new. I forgot to buy protein on my last grocery trip so I’ve been an unintentional vegetarian all week. I don’t have a trash can yet, so I’ve been making a pile in my room until it gets big enough to relocate to the kitchen trash. I have to set up a P.O. box, apply for food stamps (hooray, seasonal work), get a work email and government ID, and go through student loan counseling, all while working ten-hour days and trying to stay alive.

    It’s a harsh reality check from college, where I was wildly popular, well-liked, and admired by everyone (this is a joke, by the way. I forgot to mention that I am also funny and modest). I knew my way around BU, had a comfortable routine, and a large support system, and it’s been years since I last felt isolated and lonely.

    I admit that I did this to myself, though. If I wanted to be comfortable, I could’ve stayed in school, lived in Boston, or gone home – all places I know well. Instead, I deliberately chose to leave my friends and family for a job in a new environment – the same way I decided to go across the country for college. The loneliness and uncertainty I feel now is the same as when I first got to BU, but so is the reason why I chose to leave home: to make myself grow and learn outside the comfort of familiarity.

    This is not to say I always think I made the right choice, though. I’m out West again, in a rural state, facing conservative opinions on ethnicity and identity. I’m back to fending off questions like “what kinds of traditional foods do you eat in your culture?”, and “how do you pronounce your last name?” I remember why I wanted to leave so badly in the first place, and how quickly frustration and hurt can resurface after believing that I’ve healed during my time away.

    I don’t have an answer for this. I’m still in the thick of it and worry that people only see me for my ethnicity and my youth. But I do have some conclusions on facing the unknown: it hurts until it doesn’t, and the only way to get through it is to live it. In a few weeks, I'm sure my ego will inflate back to its normal size.

    On the agenda: I just finished my first week of work, so I have a long weekend to look forward to! I’m going to taco night tonight, going to town tomorrow and also watching Rupal’s drag race with my housemate (happy pride month), there’s a BIPOC film festival in town on Monday, and every time I look at the Teton mountain range I remember what I came here for.

    I’ve attached some pictures, and you’ll hear from me again soon, no doubt!

    With teeth, love, and rapidly dwindling groceries,

    Hanna