Finding My Own Path

Every story must begin somewhere. This one begins in the United Arab Emirates, the land of oil and money. It starts with a young and aspiring adventurer landing at Abu Dhabi International Airport.

As I exited the plane, I made a beeline for the nearest food source. The lukewarm wine had knocked me out cold for the entire flight, and I had missed every meal.

Speaking of beeline, this airport looks like a giant beehive.

I decided on a familiar restaurant, the symbol for American food franchises (and obesity)—McDonald’s. With food in hand, I wandered the airport and surveyed the land, a paradoxical land characterized by material extravagance and restricted freedom—so many options for luxuries, but limited choices for personal liberties.

Order the McArabia for a chance to win a magic lamp.

My thoughts escalate.

For my first job out of college? Really…the Middle East?! What was I thinking…Great, now I can cross getting a heat stroke off my bucket list. Dreams do come true…I can’t even see some of these people’s faces!

My thoughts turn with increasing frequency to the idea of finding my own path. It was an unconventional path right from the start, and the decision seemed deceptively impulsive. But I was not impulsive—I was searching for something I felt was clearly missing from my life.

It seems many of us are in search of something. Some search for adventure, some search for love, some search for a missing part of themselves—and the list goes on. Sometimes, the best answer is simply “more.” But this seemingly blind search stems from a deep-rooted desire to have a fulfilled and meaningful life.  We go through life pretending that everything is as it should be, that we have the life we want. We decide we are happy, even though we’re following some beaten path. But, are our sources of happiness our own, or is it something that society has conveniently prescribed? A lifetime of conditioning has taught us what is “normal” or “socially acceptable.” How can we even tell what we truly want as unique individuals, especially for those of us who have followed the herd most of our lives? And is it even a surprise that we often feel something is missing?

I believe we instinctively know when something is missing in our lives. But, maybe it would be too much effort to admit and risk living with an uncomfortable truth. It could be a simple case of denial, or it could be a symptom of something “more.”

It was a solemn thought process—one that would have been accompanied by remorse had I pursued a conventional office career like everyone so earnestly recommended. “Many others did it. It’s stable. It would make you happy,” they said.

I returned to my thoughts.

Still better than an office job. Make me happy. My ass it does. Then what? House in the suburbs, marriage, kids, a dog or a cat, 2 cars, a soccer mom van, two weeks of vacation a year, barbecue or bars on the weekends, pretending to like my job, climb some corporate ladder, slaving until retirement and then finally start living life on my own terms? 

Instead of drudging on for years only to inevitably realize something was missing, I decided to avoid the whole conventional path altogether. Perhaps others found fulfillment in it, but I wanted to make sure my choices were mine alone—not because I was conditioned to believe what choices were best for me. It mattered not that I didn’t know what I was searching for. All that mattered was that I was willing to search, willing to find my own path. And It felt natural as usual. I was marching to the beat of my own drum as I’ve always done.

Navigating the airport was of little difficulty due to the copious amounts of English translations. I passed a mini Mosque and soon found myself in the waiting area for the company that hired me—Schlumberger.

Either the translation is wrong or these people are rebels.

I retrieved a dosimeter badge from my backpack.

So, they gave me this for the radiation, but what will they give me for the explosives?
Ah, doesn’t matter. Can’t be that bad. 

Little did I know that moment marked the beginning of a great adventure—the kind that sometimes keeps me awake at night, a cold sweat on my brow, wondering how I’m still alive.