My Student Loans Chased Me Out of America
In 2014, I graduated college with a Gold Star and a clap on the back. I am the first person in my immediate family to get a four-year college degree. I had been spoon-fed the same promises as everyone else growing up. “If you want to make a good salary, you have to get an education.” “You have the ability to escape generational poverty if you go to a good college.”
Suffice it to say that one year out of college, I woke up from my dream world. Student loans had kicked in. I was tossing lump sums of my salary like beef steaks towards the “loan” beast. But the unsatisfied lion kept looking at me expectantly. I had graduated with what I thought was a “low” amount of student debt. Around graduation, some of my classmates exchanged our numbers like we were comparing prison sentences.
“I have 60, how about you?”
“I got 100k, but I landed a good job in New York City, so I should be able to start paying it down pretty quick. How, about you, Moody?”
I lied and added 10k to my total, embarrassed that it was less than half of theirs.
One year after that conversation, my saddle of debt started to weigh down on me for the first time. You see, when I checked my balance, I saw that due to accrued interest, my student loan total had actually increased. “How is that possible?” I thought.
It wasn’t supposed to go this way. Degree in hand, I landed my first job in New York City at an entry-level wage. The company I worked for was foreign and had hired me for my translation skills. Respectable work at a respectable company, I thought. But the numbers weren’t adding up.
I was paying 50% of my entry-level wage on rent. (Don’t make me describe to you the paltry living conditions of our 3-bedroom apartment in Queens for you to believe it was the cheapest thing I could find). My healthcare package ate another 15% of my income. Another 15% went to the student loans. Looking back, that percentage should have been more, which is how I ended up with more debt than I started off with.
The remaining 20% of my pay-checks looked pretty meagre. Not enough to pay for a pair of Nordstrom boots, if that gives you a clue as to the figure. But I scrimped and I saved for ten months that year until my bank finally reached three digits.
When I saw the statement, I whooped and danced on my Queens bed (not to be confused with a Queen-sized bed, which would not have fit in the room).
Then, I sat back down, laptop perched on pillow, and purchased a one-way ticket out. Then, I wrote a gleeful email to my manager giving my notice.
Sure, I could have looked for another job. I could have switched to another profession. It was by no means necessary my only option to leave the United States — my back was not up against the wall. I chose to go abroad because I was fed up. I was aghast that the hard work I had put into graduating Valedictorian of my high school and then studying and working simultaneously to get through college had led me here. I was disillusioned with the “American Dream” and starting to agree with the idea that our system only benefits the wealthy and keeps the poor down.
So, I went searching for a better quality of life. And, would you know it, I found it almost immediately. Free healthcare. Cost of living slashed. Saving potential. Ability to start paying down my debt. Peace of mind. All while exploring new countries, learning new languages, and just broadening my horizons in every way possible.
If it weren’t for how tired and run-down at the time and place I was in my life, I might not have had the courage to take the leap and move to a new country I knew very little about. I have that tired, broke girl to thank for all of the amazing experiences and memories I’ve accrued in over 27 countries in the last five years.
Final words.
No, going abroad isn’t the only way to find a cheaper cost of living.
Yes, it did allow me to catch my breath financially.
Now, with memories in tow and a happier, healthier and more confident outlook, it might be time to come back home.
