All Swept Up

To further extend my horribly cliched metaphor, it seems that I might suddenly go from treading water to catching a tidal wave.

A new opportunity dropped itself in my lap two days ago. Or, more appropriately, into my inbox.

For several months now, I've been on the job-update mailing list of a few companies. In addition to Monster.com's daily, usually worthless offerings, I find out what's available in TimeWarner's global network (TV production position in Hong Kong, anyone?), and MediaBistro keeps me in the publishing world's loop. I rarely bother to check on the specifics of any of the jobs that land in my inbox, generally deleting each e-mail after a cursory glance. But two nights ago, sitting in front of the Olympics and giving my computer a tiny fraction of my attention, I felt my stomach spin itself into a knot when my eyes fell onto an editorial internship that I think I want, and even more, think I might need.

What a change from my determination to never have a "regular" job and just plunge into life as a freelancer.

Let's say, hypothetically, that I get one of the five spots available. It would mean moving to Washington, D.C. from January through June, and working 20-40 hours a week -- probably closer to 40 than 20 -- without a salary, because this is an unpaid internship. It would mean slashing through my savings just to pay rent and buy groceries. It would mean finding roommates, something I've always dreaded and avoided. It would mean living through a cold winter for the first time, missing all the youth events I help plan each year, not spending time with my family, friends, and horse, and hardly seeing D. for half a year.

It would mean my plans have completely unraveled from what they were only a year ago.

There is no certainty I'll be one of the few people selected for this internship, and there's no stipulation that I would have to take it even if I were chosen. But that doesn't change the fact that even just considering it is terrifying.