Kiva Stories from the Field

To introduce myself, I’d like to tell you how I got out of the basement. But first you need to know how I ended up there.

In 2005, I was a year removed from an undistinguished college career and working at a small hedge fund in midtown Manhattan. And struggling. With the city, my health, a colorless half-cubicle and requisite data entry, and the slow realization that I was not happy. My boss got animated talking about potential acquisitions, EBIT (but not EBITDA), and reaching the one-million subscriber milestone. For a while, I felt a charge from that energy, but it never filled me.

My boss and I talked about finding your passion, and we both believed that you could only do your best work if you loved it. Something had clicked for him in elementary school when his history class covered the Roaring Twenties and the 1929 Crash. He intuitively understood the concept of leverage, and he went home and told his father that he wanted to buy stocks.

I really liked to travel but didn’t consider it a passion. Yes my Let’s Go Costa Rica had felt like a choose-your-own-adventure book with no bad endings, and my world was blissfully shrunken down to my backpack and the destination ahead. But traveling felt like an indulgence, not a vocation.

I got a little more direction when Warren Buffett decided to give his fortune to the Gates Foundation. It suddenly became a lot more hip to view charity as a social investment rather than a handout, and I latched onto the notion. It was the prospect of rigorous analysis that had piqued my interest in finance initially, and I thought applying it to social causes could engage both my soul along with my brain. I clipped articles about venture philanthropy and social entrepreneurship and learned a bit about microfinance.

I gave my boss notice that I would leave after my first year. I told him how I planned to meticulously research the non-profit sector to guide me in finding the right niche for my new career. My boss counseled me to get a job and figure things out along the way.

I left Manhattan and moved into my parents’ basement. A cushy cellar dwelling with cream-colored carpeting, dehumidified air and framed charcoal sketches, but still technically a basement

You have to squint to see the basement

And there I stayed. The better part of a year evaporated below ground, not in pursuit of finding a new job, but to tasks I had neglected during my time in New York; I reorganized my files, created a gorgeous Excel spreadsheet for my immunization records, revised my estate planning documents at the ripe age of 25, and generally puttered. Time seemed to spend itself. I thought I was getting my affairs in order, but I was really hibernating. My experience in New York had drained me physically and spiritually.

“You’re stuck,” a friend told me during a fresh afternoon in 2006. I was lamenting the fact that all my ducks were not lining up neatly and that I could not move on with my life until they were. He suggested that maybe I couldn’t complete my to-do list because I didn’t really want to. He talked straight to me for the better part of an hour, and when I left him, I paced the sidewalk, feeling a sudden need for excitement and joy and self-indulgence. I decided to travel.

I ventured to places that had piqued my interest, from friends’ experiences and gorgeous New York Times Travel section spreads. Places like Iceland and St. Petersburg, Morocco and Torres Del Paine. Sometimes the majesty of these places made me ache. It was a good pain, like my soul was finally getting a workout.

Erg Chigaga, Morocco. Hot toes!

At the end of 2007, I returned from South America with a commitment to finally land a non-profit job in the Bay Area. I had dismissed the thought of a career in international development due to health and safety concerns and all the unknowns of living in the developing world.

But then I received an e-mail about a Doctors Without Borders informational session, and I had a mini-crisis. I realized that if I moved to California, I’d in all likelihood land a desk job, stare at spreadsheets once again and daydream about two-week adventure vacations. I romanticized about helping people under fluffy white tents with backdrops of savannahs and equatorial sunsets. I needed to finally make travel my vocation.

I applied to the Kiva Fellows program this past summer, was accepted, and learned the organization needed a Kiva Fellow in Bali, Indonesia. I was smitten by the prospect of bumpy motorbike rides to interview pig farmers and find out what an $800 loan really means. I’m pretty sure they don’t have basements in Bali.

Just for fun: Tilt your head and do your best Lander voiceover. Want to find out where the video was shot? Tune in next time!

Thanks for reading my post. You can expect a new one every two weeks. I’m a beginner in this new world of blogging, so please tell me what works and doesn’t and help me create something you want to read. Too long? Want more pictures? Videos? I will be grateful for your suggestions. Lastly, check out the new loans for my microfinance institution (there may not be any currently): http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&partner_id=82&status=fundRaising&sortBy=New+to+Old&_tpg=fb