When I was twenty, a group of friends and I decided to spend the summer working on the island of Nantucket. We talked about it in the dining hall over every meal throughout the Spring, imagining endless summer days spent on beaches and sailboats. The prospect led us throughout the bitterly cold post holiday months like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. I couldn’t wait to get there.

Three of my friends got jobs at a gift shop/art gallery right in town on the wharf. Their pay included housing, consisting of an adorable upstairs apartment with wood floors and seaside charm. It was at the end of the strait wharf, and from their deck we watched exceedingly wealthy individuals dock their vessels and don sporty sweaters as they headed off to decadent meals, including musician, Jimmy Buffet. (Yes, that was I who taunted you, Mr. Buffet, suggesting you return to Margaritaville. My apologies, it was all in good fun).

Many nights were spent in that cute apartment, watching my friends play Whist, putting off the long trek back to my house. Their commute to work was all of thirty seconds, as they simply had to walk downstairs and next door. My friend Jenny and I found housing outside of town, in a house located at the end of a half mile long dirt road.

Our bedroom, which we shared, was about 3 foot by 2 foot, and cost us each $125/week. If we ever had friends in town and wanted them to stay over, we were required to pay $10 per guest per night. Needless to say my landlord, who rented her empty nest to eager college students, had herself a gold mine.

For some unknown reason, I chose not to bring a bike that summer. I didn’t own one at the time, and somehow the idea of investing in one for the summer escaped me. Therefore, the walk to or from town tacked on an extra 45 minutes to my day. And in retrospect, I realize making that journey home alone at night, especially past the graveyard and down the long, dark dirt road, was not a very smart thing to do. Hitchhiking is very common on the island, but I never tried it, even in broad daylight. The Laura Ingalls in me rejected the idea immediately, knowing how it would have worried poor Pa.

As the weeks passed, I found it becoming exceedingly more and more difficult to make ends meet. After paying my rent and buying groceries, I never had anything left over. I started working evenings at the shop where my friends worked, in addition to my daily chambermaid job at the swanky beachside resort. So now I had all of a half day off each week, which was usually spent making the trip into town by cab to the grocery store or laundromat.

Jenny and I eventually moved a little closer to town to a little bit bigger bedroom for $100 each per week. And I still came home at the end of the summer with absolutely no savings and nothing to show for all of my hard work.

People ask me today about Nantucket landmarks and the island’s hidden jewels. I have nothing to report, for I only made it to the beach once, and the whole summer was basically spent working to maintain a lifestyle that I couldn’t enjoy because I couldn't afford a day off. By the end of the season, Jenny and I came to refer to our beloved island as “The Rock” in reference to the infamous high-security prison.

If I were to do it again, and I’d love to, I’d do things very differently. One obvious thing I would do this time around is research. There are so many jobs out there that offer room and board and other great perks. These extras really take some of the never-ending financial burden off a struggling college student trying to pursue a summer of adventure.

Another thing to consider is the cost of living is much higher in some regions than others. If I did have the luxury of going back and doing it all again, I’d probably choose the island of Martha’s Vineyard instead of Nantucket, as it is less expensive and a little more culturally and ethically diverse. While they do have some similiarities, and are geographically close, they are indeed two very different places.

While writing this article, I became nostalgic for the carefree days of college, when "real" life is placed temporarily on the back-burner, and days are defined by classes and scheduled meals that you don't have to pay for, punctuated by endless summers.

I think about all the summers I wasted working as a chambermaid, cleaning toilets and doing laundry for the masses who flocked each season to my hometown on the Cape. I should have been off pursuing my own adventures, while also earning a paycheck and gaining invaluable job experience.

Although I have a passionate love for Cape Cod, I also crave other environments like the beauty of a snow-covered mountain, or the serenity and solitude of lake or stream. In my adulthood, I have discovered a new love in camping, and the adventure of discovering through living simply that life is only as difficult as we choose to make it. Why not treat yourself to a whole summer of such an experience?

So if you've been thinking about trying something different, don't waste time trying to convince yourself it's not a good idea. It is.

This is the time in your life you can do these things, so go for it, and I'll live vicariously.

Your only regret will be if you don't do it.