To Move Or Not To Move

That is… not THE question, but a burning one nonetheless.

It has been haunting me for the last year or so and it’s a very uncomfortable situation. You see, I like things to be neat, at least in my head, if not around me. That’s one annoying feature I inherited from my mother: I need a final plan like a train needs tracks; if anything comes up to change my plan, I derail…

So this train is sitting its increasingly unused ass in the station, trying to figure shit out. Whenever I am almost 99% sure that I am either to stay or to move, something always comes up and I have to change my mind. I have therefore made a mental list of some pros and cons regarding a potential move to Brussels, which I will try to put in written form here.

1. Use It Or Lose It

That would be the no. 1 argument: do I want to get more work or not? In the beginning, this was not even an issue; with eight or nine days of work in a month, freedom to take time off whenever I damn well pleased, enough practice and cash under my belt, I declared loud and proud that I am never moving to that awful city as long as I have even one or two days of work in a month. Alas, I spoke too soon. Apparently I jinxed my calendar, because in came the months with just six or seven days, then those with just two or three. Not that I don’t appreciate the time off, but when three or four weeks pass by without booth time, you start to get a bit… rusty. And when you’re at the beginning of your career and you wanna be awesome at your work and go places, you can’t really afford to let yourself rust.

[Now I know what you’re gonna say: it’s a bad business decision to have only one client. Yes, it is! However it is not entirely my fault… except a little bit. As soon as I started working for the EU, I stopped updating my CV and looking for private gigs. Any profiles I used to have on professional networking sites are currently collecting dust somewhere in the gutters of the Internetz. Plus, in my town, there is really no private market to speak of. The truth is, for smaller languages, the main market is the EU institutions, a market that, as opposed to the local one, is at least regulated and provides a regular (if trickly) amount of work.] (memo to self: circulate statement of availability to colleagues, let them know you are still available for private gigs and can still interpret, in case they forgot)

2. Empty Stomach Makes for Bad Interpreting

Now I may not want to rust, but I don’t want to starve either. Just as I was comparing prices for shipping companies and apartments in Brussels, in came more bad news: not only has the workload decreased for all interpreters, including staff, but there are rumours on the horizon regarding “interpreting on demand” and the elections for the EP around the corner mean that Romania’s probably going to have less MEP’s, as the population has dropped by a couple of million people since the 2002 census. In other words, I have very limited ways of predicting how much work I’m going to get if I move. And living in Romania with three working days’ worth of money is not the same thing as living in Brussels with the same amount (less even, because the travel allowance and the per diems would be gone). Then there’s the crisis factor: everyone wants to cut costs, and, while cutting interpreting to a minimum (yeah, good luck with that!) would save the European taxpayer the equivalent of two cups of coffee a year, interpreters and translators are still easy targets. I’ll get back to this someday.

3. Brussels

Yeah, this deserves a subtitle of its own and the question is: do I really wanna live in that place? The answer is no, always has been, I have hated that city since the moment I first set foot in it. I find it bland and conceited, it lacks charm and personality. Of course, that’s just me, because plenty of my friends and colleagues believe it’s breathtaking, exciting, full of possibilities. It may well be, and yes, it has its nice parts, but saying that Brussels has nice parts is like saying that the Hulk has pretty eyes (which, in all fairness, he does!); it doesn’t distract my attention from the rest. (memo to self: post about everything wrong with Brussels)

If I were to move, I would move out of need and not desire. I would feel blackmailed into moving there, not drawn by new (cloudy) horizons or pushed by the curiosity of discovering a new place. Almost all my friends and family are here, whereas I know few people in Brussels and like even fewer. But thinking like that will never get me anywhere and I have a feeling circumstances may force me to give that bloody city a second (ok, twentieth) chance. What’s the worst that could happen? Would I fall into suicidal depression, break down and scream for my mommy in the middle of a press conference at the Commission? Would I get robbed somewhere near Cinquantenaire because I forgot to take my badge off after work? Would I get raped somewhere in the Theater District because I’m wearing… long hair??? Or maybe, just maybe, I would adapt, I would join a book club, make new friends, go dancing, travel more, maybe even go to college again? Maybe, maybe, maybe… I hate “maybe’s” and “what if’s” and the entire conditional mood.

4. Fake It until You Make It?

There is ONE way to foresee the amount of work I may get as a local. I could pretend to move there, I could be a fake local. After all, everybody’s doing it ;). The reasons may vary from “don’t wanna live in Brussels” to “husband can’t get a job here” to “not enough work to support myself”, and they are all… reasonable. With low-cost flights available and cheap accommodation at hand, paying the price for my own commute wouldn’t set me back that much. However, there are risks. When you are local, for instance, you may get a contract for the very next day, so you would have to check your calendar all the time to block days when you know you can’t make it. As careful as you may be, though, there will still be surprises: changes in flight schedules, flight cancellations, nowhere to stay…

Let’s presume, on the other hand, that I would get at least as many days as I do now. What would be the point of faking it then? After all, am I not trying to be rid of the tiresome travelling that paralyses me for days on end? And if I get as many days as I have now, what would be the point of faking it or even moving all together, when I could just stay home and actually NOT pay for my flights and accommodation? Either way, being a fake local would be a temporary measure followed by one of two things: moving there permanently or deciding to change my domicile back to my beloved Transylvania.

Or I could live somewhere else, some place cheap and sunny, and hip and cool, with a direct low-cost connection to Brussels. A place where people are always smiling and the police force isn’t fascist, where the buildings are painted in colours other than the various shades of “gris soviétique”, a place with more fresh fruits and vegetables than fries, with beaches and tasty food, with more brick and stone than glass and steel… Or I could move back in with my mother. Or I could dust off my CV and see what else is out there until I decide…

I have decided I hate modal verbs, too.