Simone

My job is fairly simple. I am a counselor at an adventure day camp run by my middle school English and Spanish teachers, Tim and John. Every day, I get on a bus filled with 50 or so 10- to 15-year-olds, and we drive somewhere to hike, swim, walk, or participate in an activity. As a counselor, it is my job to keep the kids safe and orderly while fostering connections with them. I’m not sure of my ability to carry out the former aspect of my employment, but I am certainly succeeding in the latter. I’ve gained at least 12 Instagram followers since camp started last Monday, and I’m learning an awful lot about the incoming eighth graders.

Aside from the sexual innuendos I’ve heard, and my new acquaintance with the art of dabbing, most notable about my job is the food. Since we travel every day, often to far off places, we have stop for eats. We always try to stop for local favorites or seek after specialties. Bottom line: We eat good and well.

Of all the money I earn this summer, I know about half of it will go to food. No question. But I do frequently question, what food? This is difficult question for anyone, but like the narcissistic, overthinking person I am, I make it all the more challenging.

My predicament is best epitomized by a recent run-in I’d had at the Jersey Shore. We’d taken the kids for a swim at Avon, and driven the bus a few miles up to Asbury Park, which is now equipped with a gentrified boardwalk. This meant my options for overpriced food were nearly unlimited: fish tacos, burgers, fries, acai bowls, smoothies, ice cream, funnel cake, cheese steak, chocolate shake. It was a lot, even just assessing my options. Once I’d seen everything, I could cut options away. I’m almost broke and I’ve become vegetarian, so there goes half the food and all the meat. But still, the quesadillas, the nachos, the salads, the veggie burgers, the grilled cheeses. I wanted something tasty, and filling, but not too much. I wanted something cheap but not cheaply made. It was all too intense. My legs hurt from walking, my head hurt from being in the general vicinity of seventh graders, and my heart ached. Why? Because if I can’t decide what to eat, then how can I decide anything ever?

My indecision is a recent development, conveniently timed of course. How am I, this coming fall, going to decide where I want to be and who I want to be and who I want to be surrounded by and what I want to learn and how I want to learn it? And I know college doesn’t determine your life’s trajectory in the way the College Board explains, but it certainly feels like that now! And what if I make the wrong choice? And aside from college, doesn’t every move I make and step I take have some effect upon my final destination? (Sorry for all the clichés.)

I wish someone could make these decisions for me. And that’s why, on that day, I was thankful I’d packed myself a lunch. Fuck you, free will. ♦