Persona: Talia Rivers

Age: 18 • Pronouns: she/her • Hometown: Santa Fe, New Mexico • Certainty about future: 35% (leaning toward environmental design or illustration, but still exploring).

Background: Grew up between dusty trailheads and small art markets. One parent restores old adobe houses; the other works seasonally outdoors. Comfortable packing light, better at sketching than spreadsheets.

Interests: Urban sketching, trail running, cooking simple vegetarian meals, languages, and maps.

Personal learning goals this year:

  • Hold a part-time job that starts at dawn to build discipline.
  • Reach conversational Spanish and basic Portuguese.
  • Keep a weekly budget and track every expense.
  • Fill a travel sketchbook with at least 50 on-location drawings.
  • Lead at least 10 language conversation sessions as a way to practice teaching.

    • Green-Chile Sunrises to Atlantic Sunsets: My Gap Year

    I'm Talia, a woman who packs way too many pens. I decided to take a gap year because my brain felt like a crowded sketchbook—lots of lines, not enough clarity. I knew I liked spaces and how people move through them, but I wasn't sure if that meant design, planning, or something I haven't named yet.

    I started at home in Santa Fe with a simple plan: work mornings, save hard, then travel with intention. I split money into three envelopes—needs, travel, and a tiny cushion. Not fancy, but it kept me honest. I also promised myself I'd say yes to early mornings, because nothing tests motivation like an alarm before sunrise.

    My first stop wasn't far: Hatch, New Mexico. I worked as a farmhand during the chile harvest. Mornings began in the blue hour, when the fields were quiet and the air smelled like earth. I learned to fix drip lines, bundle crates, and drink more water than I thought was possible. My Spanish came out in little bursts—greetings, jokes, and the practical words you actually need when you drop a crate and it explodes into a hundred rolling peppers. The work was repetitive in the best way, and it gave me a rhythm to plan the next leg.

    In winter, I flew south to Oaxaca City, Mexico. I rented a small room with a window that faced a terracotta rooftop and the occasional stray cat. Most mornings I took community-run language lessons; in the afternoons, I helped with an English conversation hour at a local library once a week. It wasn't glamorous, but I watched shy speakers light up when they found the right words, and that felt important. I tracked expenses daily—transport, rent, groceries—and I learned to cook on a tiny stove without setting off the alarm, which counts as life experience.

    Spring took me to Setúbal, Portugal, a bright port city where gulls narrate the day. I worked part-time at a small guesthouse near the harbor—check-ins, breakfast setup, laundry that seemed to multiply like sea foam. On days off, I took the bus to Sesimbra to sketch the cliffs from the promenade, trying to catch the way light slides off the water. Portuguese didn't come easily, but numbers and courtesies arrived first, and that opened doors. I learned how different a town feels when you stand behind the front desk instead of just passing through.

    By summer I was back in the Southwest, this time in Flagstaff, Arizona, helping a local parks crew. We rerouted a muddy section of trail, replaced a few wobbly posts, and spent a week brushing overgrowth until my arms felt like cooked noodles. I liked the problem-solving—angle this drainage here, set that step higher—and how small decisions changed how people moved through a place. On the side, I finished my travel sketchbook with drawings of switchbacks, bus stops, and early morning markets. They look wobbly and alive, which is exactly how the year felt.

    What I learned surprised me. Early mornings didn't break me. Budgets are less scary when you write everything down. I'm better at talking to strangers than I thought, especially when we're both clumsy in each other's languages. And I want to build spaces that make people feel welcome—sometimes that's a trail, sometimes it's a tiny lobby with a bowl of fruit and a map with hand-drawn arrows.

    Notes I'd share with anyone considering a gap year

  • Pick two or three clear goals and let everything else be a bonus.
  • Keep a daily expense log, even if it's just bus, food, bed.
  • Choose roles that teach you a habit you want—early mornings, talking to customers, or working with your hands.
  • If you travel, read entry rules early, scan local transit maps, and learn five polite phrases before you land.
  • Leave your schedule loose enough to follow good opportunities.

    • I'm still only 35% sure about my path, but it's a sharper 35% now. I'm headed to college with a full sketchbook, stronger legs, and a better sense of what kind of work leaves me happily tired. If the year taught me anything, it's that you don't need every answer to start moving—you just need one good step before sunrise.