My eyes burn. They water, tearing up from the strain. The little red icon just laughs at me, taunting me, creating wrath, hate, fear, mistrust, and all the vices of the universe in my soul.
And yet I stare on, hopeful, unwavering in its scorn.
I have this dream. It’s not selfless nor as beautiful as Martin Luther King Jr.’s dream, but it’s a dream nonetheless. It’s a dream of a far off, storied land known as New Zealand, and it’s been recurring for five years now.
I applied this Winter to teach skiing for NZSki, one of the larger ski companies there. I’ve had a couple of friends work for them, and everyone involved speaks highly of them. The application process, while impersonal thanks to being online and perhaps overly involved with the proof of certification they requested, was a great a deal of work but nothing I wasn’t willing to do. To realize my dream, there are few limitations to the lengths I would go.
When I received the email saying I had made it to the interview stage, I was ecstatic. There were, however, trials and tribulations to come, ones for which I was totally unprepared.