Personal Questions: A Long Distance Relationship Is Still A Relationship!

"A long distance relationship? Oh, that must be hard."
"When is the next time you'll get to see him?"
"What is the next step in your plan after this?"
"Do you Skype all the time?"
"How do you trust him?"

All real questions I have been asked recently regarding my personal life. Seriously.

Isolated, or in passing, perhaps these comments wouldn't seem so invasive to the average listening ear. I am sure no harm was meant by them. But good gravy, does it start to get annoying after a while when the most interesting thing people can seem to think of to talk about with you, is the status of your relationship, as if there aren't any other meaningful things happening in your life at the same time.

I can tell you right now, I won't be sharing any juicy details about my personal life in this blog post, or really, anywhere else online; so if that's what you're looking for, you can stop reading right now. I'm not Carrie Bradshaw. As part of my coming of age, I have learned that relationships are best kept private; with the majority of details shared only between you and the person of your affection. Period.

What I am interested in hashing out, though, is how downright irritating it is to be asked these kinds of questions. Especially when they compound on one another because it's not just one person asking.

First of all, the very nature of these questions is probing. It crosses the line into a territory of topics which I would prefer not to discuss flippantly with just anyone. I am a naturally talkative person, but I expect for my privacy to be respected, just like anyone else. I can promise you, if I wanted to discuss these kinds of things with you, I would come to you, rather than waiting for you to broach the topic with me. So if I'm not talking to you about what a struggle something is, that's probably because (gasp) it's not actually a struggle.

Secondly, I find these comments to be so rude because I don't imagine they would be directed at someone who lives in the same zip code as their significant other. I'm guessing you'd be less likely to pry into the business of a couple who lives together. I get it: people are fascinated by what they don't understand. But long distance relationships are not unicorns; you can find them anywhere. Maybe the real question here should be, what is it about them that is so difficult for you to comprehend? They are still relationships, and you're still not entitled to be a part of mine. Google exists. Please consider using it, instead of relying on me to share with you personal details about my life for your mind-opening education.

And third, these kinds of comments put an undue amount of pressure on a situation where there simply is no need for it. Contrary to popular practice, a relationship is a sanctuary of love and peace, a bond of acceptance, effort, support, and teamwork. There is very little room for pressure in a place that is so uniquely reserved for giving you life instead of bringing you stress. So pardon me, but who the hell are you to demand that pressure and stress be entitled to a single square inch of this love, for which you are not one of the architects? If I'm pretty chill about it, I'm not quite sure why you're so worked up on my behalf.

I don't mean to seem overly sensitive, because they are, after all, just questions. Questions, which others have asked me because, I presume, they care enough about me to know the answers. But is that really it? Or are you just so perplexed by the easy existence of what you think is unnatural, that you feel suddenly insecure in yourself because, as you say, "[You] would never be able to do that"?

You can't do it? Great. Then don't. No one is asking you to.

I can do a lot of things. Some of which, I presume, you cannot. And vice versa. There are plenty of things that others can do, which I cannot. But I don't go around casting these things as bizarre or outlandish and asking probing, personal questions about how they do it, or why they do it, or if they plan to keep doing it a few years down the road. So I'd expect the same courtesy in return.

Work on yourself first. That's the best answer I can give you, and it's in response to you sticking your nose in other people's business, rather than to a single one of the questions you asked. Why are you so interested in the inner workings of my personal life? What's missing from your own that made you so concerned about mine? That's the first question I think you should really be worried about learning the answer to.

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If I Had Never Quit My First Job After College

If Present Me could visit Year Ago Me and recount to her all that has happened in the time since then, I think it would be just about enough to send Year Ago Me into a frenzied anxiety attack as she began her last semester of college and approached that daunting period of time known as After Graduation. Year Ago Me was lucky. She didn't know how good she had it, flying by the seat of her pants and figuring it out as she went along. And if Year Ago Me was lucky, then Ten Months Ago Me was whatever is more lucky than lucky. Because she snagged a Job After College just the very day before Graduation. So very typical of all versions of Me.

I was lucky that I got that first Job After College when I did, and I was even more lucky that the boss let me start three weeks later, allowing me two weeks in France as the congratulatory reward I decided I'd earned. Yes, I was lucky. But I wanted more. I had a Job After College, the very thing that had caused me anxiety for many days and nights leading up to the moment I walked across the stage in May. I was supposed to love it, to be grateful, to make money, and to be fulfilled. All the hard work of the previous four years and every single summer course and pre-session I took was supposed to be paying off now. This was the time I had always groaned about to myself as I did all the things I didn't want to do throughout college, every time I told myself, "Someday this will all pay off." This was Someday. But it sure didn't feel like all it was cracked up to be.

Never having been someone to ignore her feelings, not even for a minute, I knew that simply going through the motions with this Job After College just wasn't going to cut it for me. No, I needed something more. Sure, this Job After College was fine; it paid the bills and passed the time. But there are more meaningful things to life. There is fulfillment; there is passion; there is euphoria. And wherever those things were hiding, I didn't know. But I did know one thing at least: it sure wasn't here. So, I quit.

I've looked back at that moment of my life a lot since it happened, in hindsight, and I've gone through feeling many different ways about it. A lot of the time it was the emotion closest to regret as I could really ever describe. Not regret because I quit (I haven't regretted that for a second) but more like regret that what I was seeking when I left was nowhere near what I actually found. I had high hopes for myself, as I have since as long as I can remember. I wanted to move upward and onward, and that's where I envisioned my life and my career heading as I walked out the door on my last day of work. I had no idea just how difficult the next few months would prove to be. So it's only natural, I think, for me to think to myself when times have been tough, "Man, if only I had never quit my first job after college..."

Well, I've heard it from just about everyone close to me in some form or another, and when it started to seep into my own subconscious is the moment when I decided that enough was enough. I am resilient, I am adaptable, and if there is not another good thing to be said about myself, at least let it be said that I learn from my experiences. So, I decided (although not entirely intentionally, I'll admit) that I was done with the wallowing and self-pity. Yes, I lost a reliable income when I quit that job, but I think we are failing to focus on all that I gained.

Life is funny, and hindsight is, in fact, always 20/20. So it was not until just last night, one week before my twenty-third birthday, and eight whole months after I began that first Job After College, that the Nature of the Universe finally revealed itself to me and I was able to see the beauty and purpose in the path that my life has taken since the moment when I quit my first Job After College.

If I Had Never Quit My First Job After College

If I had never quit my first job after college in the beginning of last September, I never would have had my first real experience with presenting an intimidating boss with a letter of resignation.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I never would have met Kendel, or Kara or Joe or Kevin or Wade. I never would have experienced the pure displeasure which is direct selling, or any of the other explicitly pushy techniques I was told to study and master. I never would have learned to avoid the Electronics department of Walmart at certain times of the day on certain days of the week. I never would've had the luxury of starting work at 10:30 in the morning, and therefore had time to run three whole miles before a day spent standing on my feet, improving my stamina and endurance every time. I never would've gained the life experience of defending myself and my relationship against someone who did not have the same standards for himself or his relationship with his pregnant girlfriend at the time. I also never would've learned all that I did about DirecTV and AT&T and the business acquisition which happened between them both, nor any of the technical details I learned about television, Internet, and home phones.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I never would've gone to work for a travel agency and learned all that I did about the travel industry as a whole, which remains something very interesting to me. I never would've learned the main hub airports for Southwest, American, United, or Delta. I never would've helped so many people create memories in cities all over the country, and I never would've learned all that I did about transit visas and passports. I never would've met Genesis and eaten dinner with her in my home, spending hours catching up. I never would've met Daniel or Sophie or Robin, who reminds me so much of my mother. I never would've gained their friendship and heard the reverberation of my own soul in theirs. And I never would've experienced such a horrible boss as I did during my time there, or known what it felt like to cry in the bathroom at work. I never would have learned so much about the dirty secrets of one of Wichita's most prolific business families. I never would have momentarily forgotten my worth and accepted being paid minimum wage and belittled everyday. I never would have been so physically stressed out and tense because of a minimum wage job that I decided to take up YouTube Yoga every morning before going in to work. And because of that, I never would have made so much progress on my shoulder stand pose; ironically, my mind and body would not have improved as much as they did once I was pushed to finally mandate time for myself. And I never would've gained the strength and courage I did when I walked into his office for the final time to tell him I was done being mistreated, nor would I have felt the rush of true liberating relief that I did as I drove out of the parking lot for the last time.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I never would have needed to make more money and driven for Uber using Elle's car for three weeks. I never would've had so many great conversations with strangers in Wichita or told my story of working to buy a plane ticket to go visit my boyfriend for Christmas so many times. I never would have picked up so many passengers from all around the world, or felt the common thread of our collective humanity. I never would've experienced rolling around in Elle's vibrantly-decorated LGBT-mobile and felt how differently I was treated because of it, especially as it sat in the parking lot of my apartment the morning after Trump was elected.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I never would've driven downtown on that first Uber night, and seen my friend Kate's coffee bus parked at the Pop Up Park on a Friday night. I never would've stopped the car and gotten out to say hi, and I never would've told her that I was doing Uber because my crappy boss at my day job paid me minimum wage and I needed to take up a side hustle if I ever planned on boarding a plane to France in December. Kate never would've pointed to the food truck set up right next to hers and suggested I introduce myself to the owner because she was looking for someone to cashier part time and Kate thought we'd get along. I never would've walked right over to the window of that truck and asked for Lisa. I never would have met Lisa, or Eddi, or Kimber, Alex, or Christian. I never would've bonded with Lisa over our the dysfunction of our families, or thought of my own mother every time she said, "groovy". My path never would have gotten around to any of the other food truckers, either, and I never would've met Greg or Manu or Lauren or Jeff. I never would've gone to work for Jeff either, when he needed a shift covered last minute. I never would have forged those bonds with Wichita roots, or known regular faces at local places like CSB or Aero Plains. I never would've even known what Kimchi is, or cared about the presence of high fructose corn syrup in what I eat. I never would've carried that knowledge and awareness into an organic health foods store with me today. And I certainly never would've come to appreciate just how hard it is to work for tips, or how helpful a little lipstick and a nice smile can be for that. I never would have known the truly old-fashioned feeling that is stuffing a wad of cash into an envelope and mailing it home to your Momma at the end of the week, so she can maneuver it into your online bank account for you.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I never would have quit my second job, or my third. I never would have returned to the RSC after having finally walking away from Brad, to go plop down in Rich's office and chat openly with him about how much I appreciated him as a boss, and more importantly, as a friend, now that I did not have him anymore. I never would've known what it felt like to dislike one boss so much, in order to love and truly appreciate another even more. I never would have sat at a bar and drank beer with a former boss and discussed the legality of the actions of my current one. I never would have had such an experience.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I never in a million years would have been able to just drop everything and jet-set to Europe for nineteen days. I probably would not have been able to work my magic and charm any employer into justifying that absence, so I never would have arrived in Orly Airport in Paris, exhausted and smelly, with ripped jeans and unbrushed teeth, early in the morning in the middle of December. For that matter, I would still yet to have ever experienced the sheer luxury that is a bilingual British Airways international flight. I most likely never would have successfully pulled off going to France for Christmas with David, which means I would not as of yet had met his family; his parents, his sister, his brother-in-law, aunt, uncle, and cousins. I still would not know what la raclette is, and that would be a crying shame. I would not have the nineteen extra days of cultural immersion under my belt that I do, and however many countless vocabulary words I learned that trip would not yet be in my cerebral possession. I would not have spent a day in Paris at Christmas with Justine, laughing the whole time. I would not have really, truly, physically seen what my life might look like in France, if I actually got accepted into the TAPIF, and I would not have gone from about 80% sure to the full 100, that I absolutely wanted to live there someday very soon.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I would not know quite so well the misery that is even worse than the Minimum Wage Blues, but rather what followed: The Unemployment Blues. I would not have faced repeated employment rejection so many times from the very University I just contributed so much money to for more than four years. I would not have rallied my energy and persistence immediately after I received that rejection email while I was in France, my very own Happy Place. I would not have crashed down quite so hard to Rock Bottom and felt the ache in my bones as I collided simultaneously with the cold, hard earth and bitter reality. I would not have spent that time in Europe with very little spending money, and I would not have returned home flat broke. That would not have, in turn, inspired me to wipe my brow and work harder than ever to find something, anything, to pay the bills. I would never have spent a weeknight sitting crouched in front of this very computer, applying to job after job on site after site, as I polished off the last of David's disgusting Scotch in one night. I would never have marathoned more than 100 applications in one sitting as I did that evening. I never would have tasted such panicked desperation, and I never would have wanted it even more. I never would have jumped through so many hoops and gone to so many first-round interviews, only to not be invited back for the second-round afterward. I never would have been nearly as creative as I was with selling my resume to employers, skills which I no doubt retained from my second job after college. I never would've cried as much as I did and felt the true pang of sadness that was failure and rejection, or realized just how hard it really is to get back up that eighth time after you have fallen down seven.

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If I had never quit my first job after college, I never would have accepted a position at a hoity-toity health foods store twenty-five minutes across Wichita from my apartment, with mere thirty minute lunch breaks, where my cell phone is considered the purest of contraband. I never would have accepted it as a viable option because I never would have admitted to myself that perhaps I did not have any other realistic options at this moment in time. I never would have considered that maybe living solely off of wages earned on the food truck in the coldest months of the year were not going to afford my rent for me next month. I never would have acted out of necessity, rather than my usual condition of privilege and pleasure. And I never would have come to realize that, along with making the highest hourly wage I've ever made in my life, I now actually enjoy my work and genuinely kind co-workers. But on the way to where I am now, I never would have had to ask so many of my family members if I could borrow money; and my relationships with my relatives would not have been so strained because of it, but they would not have grown and flourished as they have, either. If I had not taken this path in my life, I never would have been so truly humbled. I would not have appreciated my landlord's kindness and understanding quite so much. My heart would not have come to so warmly feel the true meaning of gratitude to all those who have helped me through my struggle in some way.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I would have remained complacent, resenting myself for settling for such a miserable feeling, until I eventually became numb. I would have significantly fewer friends and experiences, and I would have driven the same ten-minute drive to work every single day for the past eight months. I would have health insurance and a significant allowance of PTO by now, but my life never would have twisted and turned in this way. Neither my stubborn heart nor determined mind would not have been so violently pried open by change and forced to adapt in order for me to survive. I would have had only two W-2s to file last month and I am sure that the last three-quarters of a year would have gone a little more smoothly for me - financially, emotionally, and otherwise. I would have a much greater wealth of money, but I would be so much poorer in life experience, sorrow, and joy. I would not be better off, if I had never quit my first job after college.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I never would have learned so many things, many of which I can't remember now, and probably more still that I am not even consciously aware of yet. If I had never taken my foot off of that first stepping stone, I never would have arrived on the second, or third, or fourth, as far as that goes. I never would have honestly felt like I was pushing myself to really do more than what I knew I was settling for at the moment. And that would have eaten me up inside, because I would have known that I was not truly dreaming to my full potential. I was dumb, but I was brave. I was an idiot, but I was absolutely fearless about it. I made mistakes, but I owned them. And I know now, if I didn't before, that there really is no better way for me to learn. Life is about trial and error, and I am so proud of myself now, knowing that I was not afraid for a moment to try and fail, just to see what I could learn through the experience. I threw caution and safety to the wind, and I followed my heart. It was a long way down, but it didn't lead me astray. Every time we don't succeed, we learn one more way that does not achieve our goal. And we learn a whole heck of a lot about ourselves in the process.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I would have so many fewer bumps and bruises to my name, but I'd have a whole lot less character because of it, too; and not nearly as many stories.Every next level of your life demands a new version of yourself. Maybe I wasn't ready for whatever I went through on my path before I eventually got to it. But I had to go down the very path I did, in order to finally arrive. And from where I'm standing now, looking back at the many places I've been, I can see it all beginning to finally make sense. And it's happening just in time, too, as I turn my head to face the future and continue on down my path, lugging along all the lessons of the past with me as I go. I don't know what exactly it is that I may meet in the future, but just imagine how much more unprepared for it I would be, if I had never quit my first job after college.

What I Learned From Working in a Toxic Work Environment (And Quitting)

I quit my job yesterday. And I don't have another one lined up yet. I know how that sounds, and I promise you, there is not a person on this earth more aware of the urgency of the situation than I am. But enough was enough.

I stayed at my job for eight weeks. It only took me about three days to realize what a mess I had gotten myself into. I guess it took that much longer for my patience to finally wear thin. It paid my rent for two months, so it was not an entire waste of my time. And of course, being the comprehensive learner, evolution-of-character believer that I am, I know that no time is wasted if it taught you a lesson. And boy, did it.

First of all, you should know, that my intent in writing this piece is not to bash or demean anyone in any way, especially because a large part of why I finally quit was because I was demeaned and berated myself, so I know how it feels. My objective is never to hate. It is simply therapeutic for me to cut the jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings loose from my mind and my heart, so that's what I'm doing. And of course, to paraphrase my homegirl T-Swift, "If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better."

So. I've had a rough time of it since graduation (see previous blog post). I have landed and consequently quit three jobs. Three is the number of people required for a person to murder before they are technically classified as a serial killer. I guess it follows that I would be a serial employee, in that case. It isn't like me. The last job I consider to be a "real job" (and a much more worthwhile investment of my time and energy) lasted me three years in college. Now I've gone through three in six months. It's depressing. But it's also been necessary. Because as we all know very well by now, I refuse to settle for mediocre. I won't do it. Even if that means making things extremely difficult for myself in the process. I know. Sometimes I am even too stubborn for myself. But you know what? I always thank myself in the end for standing up for what I deserve and loving and respecting myself enough to do what needs to be done. And I have absolutely no trouble sleeping at night. (Mostly because I'm exhausted.) So I guess it's not all that bad.

I can tolerate a lot of crap. I grew up learning how to keep my mouth closed and my thoughts to myself, as a survival mechanism when necessary. I am a lover and a giver, not a fighter nor a taker. I naturally try to keep the peace. Whether to blame my aversion to drama or my hippie mother, I don't know. The point is I prefer not to fight. However, I equally refuse to be used or abused. For that, we can blame my Irish heritage or my older sister's bullying, either one. Point being: I can take a lot. But when I've had enough, I've had enough. I reached "enough" this week.

Throughout the course of my two-month employment, I witnessed and experienced many things which, at the very least annoyed me, and at most, simply felt wrong in the pit of my stomach. Either way, I don't like to be annoyed, nor do I like my conscience bothering me. So my attitude, my demeanor, my entire personality began to change. It didn't take long for me to notice it, and it took even shorter for me to want to change the situation I found myself in. But I had bills to pay. So I waited. As a human being, my tendency to gravitate toward becoming complacent was growing. But as someone who respects herself and expects respect from others in return, I was growing ever more restless against the metaphorical chains I found myself writhing against. It was all becoming too much for me to handle. Something had to change.

At this job, I was mistreated. But not just me. Every single employee in the office was subject to abuse in the form of verbal assaults, sudden mood swings, subtle misogyny and elitism, denied bonus checks for our hard work, and just about any other shady way that a sleazeball on a power trip could think of to manipulate or control his employees to remind them of their place under his greasy thumb. Now, I can tell you, I don't know which parent I inherited this trait from, maybe 50% from both, but I do not like to be controlled. (Just ask Mom or Dad, and they'll tell you.) I need freedom, I need trust, I need to be allowed to be human and have space to make mistakes and forgiveness for when I inevitably do. I need for my employer to recognize our common humanity and, at the very least, to respect it. The most fundamental misunderstanding between my former employer and myself was that I mistakenly assumed that all people regarded such things like respect as a given. I should've known better than to assume.

To add insult to injury, over the course of the 39 days that I dragged myself out of bed in the morning to suffer through yet another shift, I was paid minimum wage. It's one thing to be treated like dirt and at least make good money tolerating it. People do that all the time. (Not that I recommend it either, but that's beside the point.) But not me, oh no. When I do things, I like to do them big. So when I make a misstep in my career path, I like to get a two-fer and make sure I'm spat on everyday and paid the lowest amount of money that I am legally entitled to earn. Good grief, Alyssa.

So, for the folks keeping score at home: I was verbally abused on a daily basis, when co-workers who were long since desensitized to such flagrant language dismissed it as simply "his personality," I feared the man because of his well-practiced intimidating physical stance, I was the only person in the place besides this woman-hating narcissist who held a college degree, I was also one of only three employees who has never seen the inside of a penitentiary, and I was being paid $7.25 per hour! Glad we're all caught up.

Due to the fact that I was earning incredibly less than I had any business earning, it was necessary for me to start looking elsewhere for other various forms of employment. Because regardless of income, monthly bills do not change. I started Uber driving for a few weeks. A friend of a friend hired me to help out on her food truck a few days a week. I sold some things I had sitting in my closet. And I was completely demoralized because of my work environment. I could feel myself changing, and not in a good way. It was a rough time to be Alyssa.

Oh, and about picking up shifts on the food truck: most of those shifts were during lunch, which required me to ask my boss for extended lunch breaks a total of FOUR times. Jesus Christ, you'd think I was asking him if I could borrow his Ferrari. Anyway, asking for time off that equaled a grand total of five hours over two pay periods is what resulted in me leaving his office crying the first time. That really should have been the moment I quit. But as one of my former co-workers at this establishment said numerous times after she left the job and returned twice, "I'm a glutton for punishment." I guess.

Then I told him that I would be going to France for about two and a half weeks over Christmas. Now, granted, that is not something that any employer wants to hear. No duh. But it is still something that happens in life occasionally, and it's not exactly like at $7.25 an hour where I am talked down to every single day, I'm risking losing a high-paying corporate job with benefits and paid holiday. Not exactly a hard decision to make. When I left his office crying that time, it was pretty much the moment I had decided my fate and my "goals with the company," as I was later interrogated about and expected to valiantly defend. (To which I replied that I would love to keep the job if I know I'm not going to be verbally abused, by the way.)

Then there was yesterday. I finally did it. I'd had enough, well before he told me that I had "an attitude" yesterday morning, so I decided to quit. Because nobody gets to talk to me like that and think it's okay. Because what we allow to happen in our interpersonal relationships is what will continue. Because what we accept is what we are conveying to others we are comfortable being treated like. And because if nothing else, I should not leave my employer's office in tears three times in the span of two months of employment.

After being told three days previously that if I am going to expect to be able to be gone for three weeks in December, that I "might as well pack up and go home," I was met with a much different tune when I actually said the words,"I quit." This time I was told that he wished I would "reconsider" because he had "such high hopes for me". Yeah, right. When I am consistently treated like crap for eight weeks straight, that pretty much tells me where I lie in your priorities and what my value is to you. And when I am continually pushed away, and I finally decide to accept this fact and turn my back to walk away, don't ask me back. Once I have decided it's time for me to leave, I'm not coming back. I've been witness to far too many abusive relationships to fall for that lame power move from an insecure old man. I sound like I think I'm better than him, and that's because I do.

Immediately following his plea for reconsideration came his guilt tripping and reassuring me that it "will be interesting" if I think I have any chance of finding another employer who will treat me better than him and this company. The he lectured me that "in the business world" I need to work a full 40 hours a week, as if I am some kind of newbie teenager quitting her first job, or if I were someone who has been handed a single thing in her life. And let's not forget his repeatedly demanding to know exactly why I am quitting, and if he is solely responsible for it; as if his little power trips and temper of a two-year-old being the straw that broke my back was somehow going to satisfy his sick craving to feel accomplished in his 70+ years of life, verbally abusing a 22-year-old girl. What a man.

So I did it. I quit. I left. I spent the day cleaning up my drawers and my computer, I clocked out, and I never looked back. I flipped the place off later that night when I drove by on my way to work the food truck, because we're all a little petty at times and the emotions were still fresh in my mind. But you get the idea. Adios. Sayonara. Adieu.

The title of this post is "What I Learned From Working in a Toxic Work Environment (And Quitting)," so I guess I had better tell you what exactly that is, instead of just using it as a metaphorical punching bag for my emotions and a word vomit receptacle. What I learned is this: never again. Never, ever again, will I settle for less than I deserve. Never, ever again, will I allow myself to be treated like dog poop scraped off the bottom of some rich man's knockoff Italian leather shoe. Never, ever again, will I accept working for a wage so low that I have to seek supplemental work elsewhere, then get reprimanded for my attempt to survive because it cuts into the hours someone else thinks they own in full, for a measly $7.25 apiece. Never, ever again, will I be so utterly and preposterously disrespected and spat upon when I know damn good and well that I am capable of doing better and that I deserve more. Never again.

I did not pour hundreds -- nay, thousands -- of hours of my life into college courses; I did not graduate with thousands of dollars' worth of student loan debt tied to my social security number; I did not prop my eyeballs open through boring three-hour long night classes about macroeconomics and supply chain management, in order to be treated in such a way as I have been since the beginning of October. I would rather be one of the many (although hopefully temporarily) unemployed recent college graduates, than to allow myself to be subjected to such abuse and mistreatment ever again. I sound proud. I am. I know what I deserve. And what I learned from this experience was that I sure as hell deserve a lot better than that. Never again.

I've got to do what makes me happy, and part of that means also not doing the things that don't make me happy. So no. Never, ever again.

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Happiness, Stepping Stones, and Job Interviews: A Girl Who Refuses to Settle (But Still Has Bills to Pay)

I have been on six job interviews in the last five months. And I have been offered the job after every single one of them.

That sounds great, at first. Until the logical question eventually comes to your mind, which is, why has this girl gone on so many job interviews in such a short period of time? The short answer is because I wasn't happy. Obviously. Something was amiss somewhere between all of these jobs and my heart. The connection just wasn't making a full circuit, when I thought it should've been. Of these six job interviews in the last five months (averaging out to 1.2 new jobs every month, by the way), I have accepted -- and worked at least a short while -- at three of them. However, the way my life went did not average out to 1.2 new jobs every month. Instead, it went something like: a new job for three months, a new job for two weeks, a new job for four days. So really, since the beginning of September, my life has been a little more hectic than usual. Allow me to explain.

Rewind to the beginning of May, two weeks before final exams and graduation. I knew I desperately needed to find a new job, because I would soon no longer be a student, and therefore I could no longer have a student position. More importantly, I would soon have that coveted college diploma, and that meant I should probably have a career to go along with it. So I set out to see what I could find in the scary world of big girl jobs in Wichita.

I'll quickly skim over the beginning parts, because they're not the real focus of this story.

First, I applied to a refugee crisis center where I would be helping those people who were coming to seek solace in the United States. Amazing. Made my humanitarian heart feel good. I went to the interview and nailed it. I would've accepted it too, had it not been for the meek stipend offered as pay which averaged out to five dollars per hour with the possibility of working more than 40 hours a week.

A week later, I did a preliminary phone interview for a position at a law firm that I ultimately ended up accepting. The following week, I went in for the face-to-face interview and underwent a series of questions printed off by an intimidating attorney. I left feeling good about it.

A few hours later, I sat down in front of this very laptop where I am typing now and conducted a Skype interview with a Peace Corps representative. I smiled and talked for an hour about why I would be a great candidate for volunteering in Senegal for 27 months, starting next February. I felt good about this one, too. Until I decided at the end of June that moving to Senegal for more than two years was something my heart no longer yearned for, and, heartbroken and sorry, I graciously declined their job offer. (See previous blog for more details.)

Two days later, the day before graduation, I was offered the job at the law firm. I took it. I didn't have any other offers on the table which would pay as well, and I needed something to help pay for car insurance and groceries. So I did it. Then I hopped on a plane to Europe a few days later and forgot all about adult responsibilities until I returned at the beginning of June.

I stayed at that job for three months and three days. It was an alarmingly short amount of time for me to stay at a job. I felt like crap about quitting it. But I knew I would feel more like crap if I stayed. I had started in June and made it through the first two months without thinking too much. I was mostly just answering phones and filing court documents. Wax on, wax off. Day in, day out.

But at the end of July, I took a week-long vacation that I had been planning since the night I hatched the plan in Paris -- back in May. I went to Boston and New York City and aside from the few times a colleague texted me asking where to find client files, I didn't spend a single second thinking about work. Not until my plane landed back in Wichita on Sunday night and I immediately remembered reality was lying in wait for me the next morning.

This was the week when something changed inside of me. Before this moment, I had been mostly fine with my job. There were things I disliked about it, of course, and certain times when I wished I was doing something more exciting. But for the most part, to this point at least, it was okay. But when I came back from New York, my brain was still on vacation. My heart most certainly was, as well. My boss was on vacation this week, and her absence was something I was not exactly struggling with. My co-worker and I were the only ones in the office, and I came home on every lunch break to see my boyfriend (who was here for only a week) making us lunch and watching the Olympics in my apartment. Those were the hardest days to go back to clock in. The following Monday, he was back across the Atlantic and my boss was back in her office. That's when the switch inside of me flipped.

I had decided that I was no longer happy, living a meaningless existence behind my desk, stapling papers and stamping envelopes. I had a college degree and self-respect, and I deserved more than what I was getting paid! So I started looking around online and I applied to some jobs that I thought might interest me. This is where the fun really starts.

I quickly got responses back from two separate businesses, both of whom really liked my application and resume, and who wanted to schedule interviews with me. Great! This all happened the next business day following my online application. So I made appointments. One on Thursday, one on Friday.

The interview on Thursday was a colossal waste of my time, as I spent my entire lunch break sitting in a waiting room with a dozen other applicants, waiting to be called in one by one to some guy's office to be briefed on the "job" at hand, as we listened to the receptionist sing along to Nicki Minaj songs on the radio. Towards the end of the hour that I sat in that chair, I decided this was ridiculous, told the receptionist I had to go back to work, and left. They never missed me.

However, the Friday interview was much more promising. I went in the morning and I met with the director of a new marketing firm located in a big office building downtown. Wow, I can remember thinking, this is it. I walked in, took the elevator up to their office, and waited nervously in my best business professional heels and blazer.

I shook this young man's hand -- he was only two and a half years older than me -- and looked out over the incredible view of downtown Wichita he had out of the giant window behind his desk. To say I felt hopeful would be an understatement. I told the man that I was looking for something else because the work I was doing now was simply unfulfilling -- I wasn't happy. Great, he promised me, this will be an exciting job for you. By the end of the twenty minute interview, we shook hands and settled on a date for me to return and do a second-round interview. I had nailed it.

I went back for the second-round interview, after having made a last-minute Target run the night before, buying a new pair of slacks and a new blouse specifically for the occasion. This is where I met two of the people who would be my new co-workers. They were two guys around my age, and one was engaged and another had a baby on the way. They seemed like nice enough guys and they were certainly very relatable, as far as needing to make more money goes. I could tell things were going well in this interview, and when I left I metaphorically crossed my fingers. I had pissed off my boss pretty bad by leaving work for this appointment, so I was hoping they'd call me back the next day with the job offer, as they'd said they would if they wanted to hire me. And they did.

I accepted the offer and the following day, I gave my typed and signed letter of resignation to my boss at the law firm. I allowed for a little less than two weeks -- as much as was possible between the moment I found out I got the job and the date the new place wanted me to start. She was inconvenienced but understanding, and she said she was sad to see me go. This turned out to be the beginning of a domino effect of quitting-and-beginning-new-jobs that has plagued my life for the last month.

I reported for duty at the agreed date and time in this big office building which would now be my new employer. I still wasn't really sure what I was going to be doing, but I was sure it was going to be amazing. (Spoiler alert: I was wrong.) On the first day, the people in charge gave me and three other new girls a clipboard, a polo, and a pitch to memorize in the next two days. I learned I was going to be going out to Walmart and talking to customers to try to sell them cable service. (Read: standing on my feet for at least seven hours a day, wearing slacks and the same polo everyday, working late and on weekends, and bothering people who would really rather not be bothered.)

Even for the amount of money promised to me in commission for each sale and the "safety net" option of minimum wage multiplied by 40 hours a week, this didn't seem to be worth it for all of the time I was putting into it, not including the amount of gas I was using every day to drive to different locations. It didn't take me long to realize I hated it, and I needed to find something else to pay my bills.

I had sent out copies of my resume and cover letter to different travel agencies in the area about a month before this point, at the same time as I applied to this marketing firm. I decided to call them up on one of my days off and just touch base with each of them. Who knew, I thought, maybe they're still hiring. I made an appointment with one of the agencies for the following Monday -- which meant I only had to survive seven more days selling my soul to the devil.

Travel agencies seemed like such an obvious choice for me, because even though it probably doesn't really count as international business, it still has all the exciting parts of work that I love involved in it: namely traveling and helping people. That's really all the convincing I needed, coming from my recent history of filing court documents and pitching cable television sales in Walmart. I set the interview and prepared plenty of questions this time, to make sure I really knew just what I was getting myself into.

I went to the interview and, twenty minutes later, I walked out the door having already accepted the offer. I was going to start the following Monday. I had accepted this offer against what was perhaps my better judgment, which was telling me that the position paid entirely too little for someone with a college degree, that the location totally sucked, and that though this woman had hired me on the spot, she also reminded me strikingly of a woman I had just spent three years working with during college, and that's not exactly something that I'd say is a compliment. But I knew how I felt selling cable TV packages, and I knew how I felt researching flight tickets online, and I didn't need a college degree to tell the difference between the two. So I listened to my heart, instead of my screaming bank account, and I accepted the position -- and informed Kate afterward.

Two days later, I informed my boss at the marketing place that I was no longer interested in moving forward in the company, because I simply did not love the work, and I was sure that meant I was eventually going to hate it. I was completely honest, and it felt so good. I'm sure everyone was blind-sided by my decision, because I had just been promoted a few days earlier, but I explained that I stayed long enough to achieve this for the sake of the colleague who had hired me, and who would consequently be promoted himself. But as soon as I accomplished that, I was abandoning ship. I think my boss was confused by my choice, but he said he understood. I returned the clipboard and polo to him the next day.

Then I began the new job at the travel agency, and I was loving every single thing about it. I immediately hit it off with another employee who was close to my age, as she showed me around the office and taught me how to use the computer programs. It was great. I went to lunch on that first day (just three days ago) and as I left, I checked my emails on my phone. The owner from one of the other travel agencies had reached out to me and offered to set up a time for an interview to see if we would be a good fit for one another. I had only been on the clock at this new place for two and a half hours!

Thinking that perhaps this place would pay more per hour or offer a better commission rate, I decided that I had nothing to lose, and I replied with haste that I would love to meet with him and I could be available any time. He hadn't replied by Tuesday's lunch break, 24 hours later, so I called his office line. We chatted and he loved my enthusiasm, and later we decided on a time that would work for both of us on Thursday. I patiently waited out the rest of Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday morning. Meanwhile, I was adjusting to my new job and learning more and more about the people I was working with -- not necessarily enjoying all of what I discovered.

However, I sure did love the work side of it, and I was quickly getting very excited every time I helped another agent research a flight or quote a cruise package. So at least this time, I could say that I didn't feel like I was selling my soul when I went in to work in the morning. Finally, I felt at least somewhat fulfilled and interested in what I was doing. My heart told me I was getting closer to something that made it very happy.

So today, I went to this interview with the owner of the other travel agency. My goodness, did we hit it off. We spent two hours talking and sharing insights on life and work. It was perfect. I felt like I had so many signs that this was finally where I wanted to be. He reminded me so much of my old boss from college, in all the best ways. I was thrilled. Until he told me it was commission only, with no such "safety net" option, even like what was offered at the marketing firm. Crap. He warned me that it would not be a profitable endeavor for the first few months, and that although he was certainly not trying to discourage someone who he thought would be a great agent, he did want to make me aware upfront of the kind of commitment I would be making if I chose to sign on the dotted line.

If I thought it had been heartbreaking to turn down the Peace Corps, or to quit my job at the law firm, or to drudge into a sales job I hated every day for two weeks, I had no idea the kind of heartbreak one could feel from finding the perfect job made exactly for them -- before realizing there is no way on earth that you could afford to continue existing and paying bills in the meantime before you could turn a profit for doing this thing you've come to realize you love.

I came home and called my mom and rambled on and on and on for almost twenty minutes about ways I thought I could make this work, and how impressed by me this man was, and how I had taken so many things as signs, and that I just really wanted to work there so badly I could taste it. And at the end of the conversation, I somehow just knew -- I had this feeling that it just wasn't going to work out. There is just no way I can possibly survive for up to six months until these commissions start rolling in, with no hourly wage, even if the commission I would be making would be 50% more than the commission I am making now.

There was just no way. Happiness has always been what best motivates me. But being able to pay my bills is a close second. And I guess that's just one of the tough facts of adulthood, also known as why so many people get so jaded, so soon.

So for now, at least, I will stay at the travel agency that hired me on the spot. There's certainly nothing wrong with learning and earning as much as you can where you're at, while you're there. Especially if you're a daydreamer like me, and always scheming the next plan anyway.


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I was talking to Kate about all of this career stuff last night. Kate, bless her, who had just returned to the country from the other side of the world and was suffering great jet lag, yet still listened to me whine and cry about my life for half an hour. And as per usual, I hung up the phone with Kate feeling like I had just read my own personalized fortune/horoscope/whatever nonsensical universal sign you believe.

I told Kate how I felt bad about the fact that I had moved around so many jobs in such a short amount of time. I said how unlike me this was, how Kate knew that, and that I thrive in situations of consistency and accountablity. I told her how I, more than my mother, my boyfriend, or her, was so exhausted from all of this up and down, in and out, first day/last day nonsense. I just want a routine, I told her. I want to be happy and I just want to make enough money to pay my bills.

And Kate told me this: "Don't worry. Everything before 25 is shitty. It gets better." 

Kate is pretty good with the witty one-liners that offer blunt wisdom that can only come from having lived life longer than me. I've come to expect them by this point in our relationship. That's probably part of the reason why I just know to call her now when I am freaking out about something like this.

Of course, I wouldn't heed her advice so much if it didn't already make perfect sense with what was going on inside of my own head at the time. In this instance, like many others before, it matched perfectly.

Kate pointed out to me that there are really two main groups of people who graduate college. She has been in the business of witnessing students graduate college for a while now, so I trust her opinion as an authority on the matter. She said she has seen it several times, and the two types of graduates are as follows:

1. The type of student who finds an internship sometime in the middle of college and gets a job which they can rely on to pay the bills AND which looks good on a resume. They are basically working full time by their last semester and when they graduate, they've already accepted the eventual job offer which they received when the time came to transition from college student into an active member of the adult workforce. They have a consistent, reliable form of income and a schedule which they have come to live by, and for the first little bit they're pretty well set saving towards their 401(k) and adulting like a professional.
2. Then there's the other group. They have a job during college, which may or may not be related to their major, and once they graduate they may kind of drift around a bit until they figure out exactly what it is that they want to do with all this adulthood they now have. They may not have a savings account, but they have a clear image of what they want and they don't mess around for too long putting up with anything less than what that image is. They move. They change. They evolve. They learn. That's not to say that the first group doesn't also do these things, but the second group does them at a more frequent rate than their counterparts. And in doing all of this moving and growing and exploring of their options, they open themselves up to opportunities that their counterparts may have missed, occupied by their routines and stability. By virtue of their constant changing, they learn to become more adaptable than their peers, who have yet to face such evolutionary challenges. Essentially, they prove Darwin's point.

Of course, I'm paraphrasing a bit, but that is essentially the message I took away from our conversation. To really drive her point home, Kate told me to look at these two types of people ten years after graduation. Sure, maybe the first group looks good on paper, ten years at the same company with a consistent contribution to their pension fund every two weeks. But maybe the members of the second group are a bit happier because they have explored their options and looked deep within themselves to ask the very important question, what do I want? Kate said that a lot of the time, ten years after graduation, the first group of people are unhappy because all they have done is the same work for ten years that they decided they wanted to do when they were 19 or 20 years old, when their brains were still developing them into who they are now. They've made a good income, but at what expense to their happiness? See where I'm going with this?

Now, a small disclaimer for those who are easily offended by my own personal opinion: Of course, that is not to say that every single college graduate fits explicitly and necessarily into one of those two groups I just illustrated. Of course people graduate with full-time positions offered to them and they are extremely happy AND make a good income. I am in no way saying that happiness and a steady job are mutually exclusive. Of course they're not. What I am saying is that by bumping around and getting scratched up a bit by the three jobs I've had in the last month, I have learned an inexplicable amount of knowledge and gained an immeasurable sum of experience, that I never in a million years would've known if I had stayed working at the very first job I got out of college, clocking in and clocking out, never bothering to ask myself what else I could do with my life, as is the case with many people complacent with their jobs, as described in the first group.

So, it has certainly been a tumultuous time for me, fresh out of college, during this student loan grace period. I feel as if, in many ways, I have learned a lot of things I couldn't have possibly learned while I was actually enrolled as a student. There certainly is something to be taken away from every life experience, no matter if it is good, bad, or indifferent.

I always envisioned my life as being that of a stable person with a reliable income, not that of someone who goes from one job to another to another within a month's time. But you know, I have also always seen myself as someone who pursues happiness above all else. I have never once forgotten the advice from Dr. Matson which I have handwritten on a canvas right next to my front door, which says, "Remember -- happiness leads to success!"

I have channeled that advice more than ever before in my life during this last month or so, and I have thought of Dr. Matson's words often. That includes his words about happiness becoming so important to you that you will stop at nothing to achieve it, and his words about not following the money in order to be happy because that's the inverse of how it works, and his words about twenty-somethings "drifting" after graduation and before marriage thus allowing themselves time to explore and find themselves, and his words about how those who do not progress and evolve will eventually get left behind. When I was a nineteen-year-old sophomore sitting in the front row of his class, I thought I understood what he was talking about pretty well. But now that I have actually lived through some of what he warned me was coming, I understand even better.

Throughout all of this (what has felt like a crazy mess to me but what is probably not that big of a deal actually) I have had tremendous support from so many of the people around me. I find myself feeling so grateful for those who love me enough to calm me down when I need it. One such source of inspiration which I was a bit shocked to hear such wisdom from, was my father.

He told me during one of his little pep talks that all of these experiences are nothing more than stepping stones, and that I should treat them as such. My father, having the way with words that he does, painted a picture in my mind of life as a pond with a series of stones protruding above the water as I use them to cross it. He told me, "Some stepping stones you step on for a long time, and they're more spaced out than the others. And others, they're closer together and you step on a whole bunch of them for a short period of time. You just gotta figure out the difference."

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So I learned that the job I had in college was a big stepping stone that I stayed on for three years, isolated away from the others which were soon to come. The job at the law firm was a stepping stone I stayed on for three months. And the others, well, those were stones I was only meant to step on to help me get closer to where I'm going... Wherever that may be. Maybe I'll stay on them a long time, or just a little bit. But I won't know until I get there.

When I look at it in this light, it really makes much more sense, in the grand scheme of things. It fits in nicely to the idea that everything happens for a reason, and that you can't connect the dots looking forward, as Steve Jobs once said. You can only connect them looking back. Everything in the universe works together to culminate in the bettering of yourself, if you can just be open to it as it happens.

So, I think it's important to focus on what I can take away from these experiences. I've learned many things which I now know I do not like about a job. And it's not like I got fired from a single one of them. I just felt obligated to leave what I knew in my heart was not right for me. And in doing that, I have only managed to get closer to discovering exactly what is right for me. At the end of the day, I've got to believe that's more than enough to get me wherever it is I am meant to go.

Sweating the Small Stuff: The Political Correctness of Personal Opinion

I used to be a pretty negative and hateful person. I know it's hard to believe, but it's true.

Just a few years ago, at the beginning of college, I used to allow myself to get so upset and angry about things because I took everything personally. Any time I ran across something or someone in my life with which I disagreed, or which I thought rubbed me the wrong way, I chose to let it bother me -- deeply so -- to the point that I was just always perpetually pissed off about something. And let me tell you, it was exhausting.

Then, sometime around the end of my sophomore year, and at a point in my life which has since proven itself to be pretty pivotal for a few reasons, I read a book by Richard Carlson called Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (and it's All Small Stuff). It changed my life.

I learned that things are not meant to be taken so personally. I learned that I was actually the one choosing to get offended by views I did not agree with. I realized that the whole world did not, in fact, revolve around me, and what I thought was the one correct way to do things. I came to understand that life is entirely what you make it -- and that if you choose to make it an "emergency," as he called it, then that's exactly what it's going to be. Basically, I grew up a lot. And my life has been infinitely better, happier, calmer, and overall more enjoyable for me and those who are in it, ever since.

But what does that have to do with anything?

Well honestly, it has a lot to do with everything. You see, that moment in my life has helped change my perspective on a lot of things. Don't get me wrong; I still screw up on occasion and I am still very much learning as I go along. But I can clearly see progress from where I am now, compared to where I was then. If I had to choose one aspect of my life which has benefited the most from changes like these, it has got to be the way in which I react to things now.



Billions of people all over social media get offended nearly on a minute-by-minute basis nowadays. They watch something or read something, and their reactionary fingers are quick to the keyboard in anger. Have I done this myself on several occasions? You betcha. Did it make me feel better in the moment? Oh yeah. But was it good for my happiness and well-being in the long run? Did it help me in any way, with learning to let things go? Not at all.

Now, until recently in my life, I would have been the first person out of everyone I know to unyieldingly support the idea of political correctness. And why not? I value mutual respect in the political sphere, as well as between two human beings in their everyday interactions. To me, for most of my adult life, political correctness has always meant treating other people the way you would like to be treated. It has meant respecting one another's differing opinions and working together to not offend one another with things like slurs and bigoted comments. Being politically correct, for me, has long been something I value. Until recently.

Perhaps this is a part of my impending adulthood and the realization that it's not the bed of daisies some of us have always imagined it to be. But recently, I have reached the conclusion, that perhaps being politically correct all the time is not appropriate, after all. That is, I have arrived at the belief that there is a time and a place to be politically correct -- and that is about 98% of the time in 98% of the places -- but there is also, absolutely, without a doubt, and rightfully so, a time and a place to simply put your middle finger in the air and politely offer two words to those who may take issue with it. And that time and place is when it comes to your own damn personal opinion.

In my life experience, I find that we humans seem to get awfully caught up in not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings. In fact, I have noticed myself tiptoeing around others before, in order to not offend them because I know their opinion is different than mine. And I have got to say: I've had quite enough of that in my lifetime, and I'm only twenty-two years old.



Put briefly, I'll explain: I have an opinion, and I have a right to have it. My opinion can be a lot of things. In fact, it can be any single thing in the world that I choose for it to be. And there's not a damn thing that says you have to like it. You don't have to agree with it. In fact, you can blatantly and grossly disagree with the very fundamentals of it. And vice versa. I can think your opinion is the most nonsensical, absurd, and downright stupid thing I've ever heard. But I don't have to agree with it, in order to understand that you have the same right as I do, to have it.

Furthermore, I can wholeheartedly disagree with you on something, and still choose not to react to it as if I have been personally offended by your differing opinion. This is a pretty heavy intellectual concept that I think many people fail to utilize in their everyday lives.

You see, before I read that self-help book a few years ago, I saw everyone who had a different opinion than me as a threat to my own stubborn belief system. I viewed every discussion on abortion, same-sex marriage, and gun control as a showdown of epic proportions, where I had to fight to the death (that is, until I was emotionally drained and physically exhausted) until I could persuade the other person that my opinion was correct and that they had so personally offended me before. I simply could not let it go when someone did not see every little thing in exactly the same light as I did.

Thinking and behaving this way cost me a lot. It cost me my happiness and peace of mind, it cost me sleep on some occasions, and it even cost me some relationships. It robbed me of the truly zen outlook on life which comes with knowing that not everything is intended to personally offend you or piss you off -- in fact, most things people do are done from their own self-serving intentions, without you in mind at all.

Once I  realized and better understood that, I really did stop sweating the small stuff. I was able to comprehend that being politically correct is called for -- most of the time -- in a public setting, on touchy subjects, when talking to a large group of diverse people. But when it comes to my own personal opinion, and my own set of beliefs which govern my personal life, I can say and do whatever I want. And nobody else has to like it.

Everyone has an opinion. Chances are, out of some 7 billion people on the planet, you're not going to be able to find someone who agrees with you on everything. The more quickly you learn to accept that we all think and feel differently, and that there's nothing wrong with that, the more quickly you will realize that it's your choice to be offended by someone else. And in the grand scheme of your life, someone else's opinion really is the small stuff. And if you want to enjoy the kind of inner peace that everyone deserves, then you really shouldn't sweat it.

Letting things go is just so much easier than carrying around resentment and anger in your heart over the course of your life. So the next time someone says or does something that offends you, ask yourself if it is worth taking personally. Is it something truly offensive and politically incorrect, like Donald Trump hailing Hitler or yelling racial slurs? Or is this person simply exercising their right to have an opinion different than yours, the very same right you reserve for yourself?

What Are You Going To Do After Graduation?

This is the question I have been asked countless times over the course of the last year of my life, but particularly this semester, and particularly more frequently as the days have passed.

It's April now. I graduate next month. And I have no plans as of yet for the future. It's a daunting fact and a realization that carries power with it to haunt me for days. I don't have a job lined up -- least of the beginning of a career and I don't have the first idea where I am going to live. It's terrifying.

And yet, I have remained pretty calm throughout all of it. At the beginning of this year, my goal was to find a job by second semester. At the beginning of second semester, my goal was to find a job by spring break. After spring break, my goal was simply to find a job. And it hasn't been for lack of trying. But I just don't seem to be having any luck.

I've applied lots of places. Locally, and in Boston. All last week and the week before, I have sat in class, multi-tasking as I attempt to feign interest in whatever the teacher has been talking about, while simultaneously sifting through internship opportunities and online application portals. I have revised my cover letter so many times, I think I could recite the introduction paragraph by heart. I have pleaded in desperation to companies to please hire me, veiled thinly with phrases like "I await your response" and "let me know if you have any questions". And all to no avail.

I just spent some time surfing through Boston's Housing Wanted link on Craigslist where I ultimately posted an ad asking for a room to stay in during the summer, even though I have no job lined up and no money for a down payment. What can it hurt?

I so don't have my shit together. I don't have a place to live -- here or there -- and I don't know where I'm going to work after May 14th. Sure, I've booked myself a roundtrip ticket to France for a two-week post-graduation vacation in the country I love, but upon my return, I will be landing not only in Wichita, but in reality. A reality which is likely to see me unemployed and homeless.

Over the last several months, my friends have been discussing apartments in Wichita and things like rent and roommates. They've started new jobs at big companies and things are looking great for them and their continued lives in the Midwest metropolis which is Wichita. But not for me. I want something more.

Of course I do. I always do. And isn't that exactly what always gets me in trouble? I demand euphoria, excitement, drama, perfection. I need things to be big and bold and absolutely not boring. I have to go and do things on my own and far away from everyone else. I can never simply be satisfied to stay where I am, and live my life among those who seemingly do not long for faraway places in the same way I do. No, I have to make things difficult on myself.

I know that, but I also know that making things difficult is just another way of saying that I am making things worthwhile. All the struggles and moments of sheer fear when I have no earthly idea of what is coming next, that's going to be the stuff that makes it meaningful later on, right? Right?

Nobody has the answer for me. Least of all, myself. Nobody has any idea what is going to happen to Alyssa in the future, or even right now, for that matter. And that thought alone is enough to make me want to enroll in more classes until I die.

After graduation -- out there, in the real world -- that is the place where scary things happen. The unknown lurks around every corner and there are bills to be paid and responsibilities to be had. It's the total opposite of the warm security blanket of college education which has coddled me for the past eight semesters. It's a harsh wake-up call from an angry mother with a shrill voice the morning after a night out with friends, as she rips the covers off of your face and turns your hungover, disoriented world upside down. It's sudden, it's scary, and it's very, very real.

And yet, I find it most comforting to recognize the fact that there are others who are in the very same boat as me. Even though I haven't had enough time to catch my breath in two weeks, even though I have an exam tomorrow which I should be studying for now, and even though I won't see the end of my to-do list until a few days before graduation finally arrives... I think it is somehow calming to accept the fact that I am not in this alone.

Sure, I may be freaking out about my future. But everyone does, at some point. And yeah, hindsight is always 20/20. But foresight? You're going into that blind. There's no way to tell the future. There's no way to know if the next best decision of your life lies just around the corner. There's no way to know. Until you get there. You just have to go.

You just have to have faith in yourself and your life and know that whatever happens, will do so for a reason and it will all inevitably lead you down the right path at the right time and you will arrive exactly where you are meant to be, to stumble upon the opportunities which are meant for you. And that's horrifying. But what other choice do you really have?

So no, I don't know what I'm going to do after graduation. I don't know where I'm going to live, either. Maybe Wichita. Maybe Boston. Maybe France. Maybe somewhere else entirely. I may work two jobs earning minimum wage as a barista and a waitress, putting in 50 hours a week. I may land my dream job tomorrow when one of the internships in Boston finally replies. I just don't know.

I haven't the foggiest. Because, for the first time in my life, the protective, familiar structure of academia has not dictated what I am supposed to do or where I am supposed to go. I am free to choose what I want to do, where I want to go, and who I want to be. I am vulnerable and, finally, I get to make all my own decisions. That's terrifying, and I haven't really figured it all out yet. And that's okay. I'm twenty-two and new at this. I don't have to have everything figured out. Thanks for asking.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 22 (Your Morning Routine)

Day 22: Your morning routine

Well, today I ran a little behind schedule so I didn't really stick to my routine. Instead, I will describe what usually happens:

• Hit snooze several times
• Get out of bed
• Shower
• Get dressed
• Turn on music
• Make a cup of tea
• Do my makeup
• Do my hair (it's important to do makeup before hair since I cut my bangs and they now cover my forehead)
• Brush my teeth
• Spray perfume
• Put on hand lotion
• Put on jacket/coat
• Leave for the bus to class

That's about it. On the days when I don't have class, I sleep in until my body wakes me up because either my stomach growls or my bladder is full. There's generally very little routine to those mornings.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 14 (Your Life in 7 Years)

Day 14: Your life in 7 years

Good grief. I can't even picture my life in seven months, let alone seven years. It could be anything -- literally.

Let's see, it will be 2022 in seven years, and I will be 28 years old. I already don't like the sound of this. Where will I be living? What will I be doing? Who will be in my life? This is stressful.

Just last week, my chiropractor was making small talk with me and, knowing I'll soon be graduating with an IB degree, he asked me which country I want to live in when I grow up. My knee-jerk reaction was to say France or Britain. But, I told him, I would also be fine staying in this country (for now) as long as I can move to another state. I told him about Boston and I think he could see the stars in my eyes. But for the moment, any permanent decision remains to be made.

I haven't the foggiest idea what I'll be doing at 28 years old. Will I be writing? Will I be a digital content manager? Will I work at McDonald's? Will I own a company? (God, I hope not.) I don't know. But that's kind of the terrifying beauty of it. I don't know what I will be doing seven years from now, any more than I know what I'll be doing seven hours from now. (Sleeping, I hope.) Whatever I'm doing, I know I'll be happy.

Who will be in my life? That question is yet another amorphous blob of mystery. The people who are in my life now may stay or go, and certainly there will be others I've yet to meet who come along as well. Will I be married? (I certainly hope not.) Will I have children? (No.) Will all my friends and family still be alive and available for me to call on the telephone? (Fingers crossed!) But we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

I think back on my life seven years ago, and that's how I know there is no way of knowing the future seven years from now. Seven years ago, I was 14 years old. It was 2008, Obama was just about to win his first Presidential election, the US economy was almost ready to tank due to the housing bubble, and The Black Eyed Peas had just dropped "Boom Boom Pow" on the radio. I was a freshman in high school (oh how I wouldn't relive those days) and I had no idea I was in for a long and bumpy road of school, homework, bad teachers, late nights, early mornings, boyfriends, heartbreak, best friends, questionable haircuts, hard work, international travel, a feminist awakening, and even becoming a big sister.

There is no possible way that if I were able to go back in time to 14-year-old Alyssa right now and tell her everything she has in store, that past Alyssa would believe it. Who I was then and who I am now are two different people, entirely. The damage and the growth alike are irreparable and irreversible.

So, as for my life in seven years, the only thing I can say at the moment with any clear certainty is: I don't know.

My Mother

Few things in this world do any of us need more than our mother. Few people know us so well or can comfort us the same.

There was a long time during my youth when the person I wanted to see least was my mother. I said awful things about her and to her. I slammed the door to my bedroom at least a dozen times. I back talked her and she slapped my face only a fraction of what she should have.

A child so unruly grew into an adult with an appreciation so deep. My mother made sacrifices for all of us: my father, my sister, my brother, and me. She went without many things that she desired so we could have what we wanted instead. There were undoubtedly tough times when we did go without, and I will always remember them well. But I will never forget that she always did her best.

My mother's life has not always been easy, and as an extension, neither has mine. That's not to say she is a victim or that she is a helpless pawn in the game of life. It's to say, instead, that she has a fighting spirit; one which I know I inherited from her. I've seen her in moments of strength and weakness, laughing with joy and with tears of pain rolling down her cheeks. I have heard her make declarations in indignant anger and I have heard her say nothing as she is faced with disappointment. Many times I have witnessed these types of interactions without her even knowing I was watching.

I have learned things from her which I may not realize for another ten years. Just the same, I have taught her things that she never expected to learn. We have learned from each other, both from the ways we are different and the ways in which we are entirely too much alike. I often hear her words in my own voice. Everyday, I see her face in my own reflection. She is with me forever, wherever I go, whether I like it or not.

I doubt if there is a thing in this world of which my mother is more proud than her children. Besides her grandchildren, perhaps. Her pride is fierce and constant, and no matter how hard I try, I know I could never lose her love. She created me, after all, and then she set me free out into the world. As the days go by and I grow older, I realize that in a number of ways, I am her in miniature, and sometimes it's not always so bad. Ten years ago, I would've cringed at the thought, but adulthood brings with it a certain appreciation for all that your parents have done.

I have seen what it takes to be a mother and I have decided that it is likely not for me. It requires a patient kind of selflessness that I do not possess. It demands momentous sacrifice again and again. It means allowing your heart to beat outside of your chest, and consequently, it means worry in your heart and wrinkles on your forehead. It means being there for your child, even as they turn their back to you and spread their wings in the opposite direction. It means being available for every late night call that may ever come, about school, relationships, or careers. It means dropping your toddler off at daycare and praying you don't get another call about their misbehavior. It means, that for better or worse, you are at least a little bit responsible for who this tiny, malleable person becomes in the future, and that outcome hinges on every single moment, both big and small. It means being both the good cop and the bad cop, and having your teenager's attitude toward you change accordingly. It means refraining from smacking the mouthy little brat's mouth when they disrespect you in the mean-spirited way that only kids can. It means that you have to keep this extremely dependent human being alive to adulthood, and not get yourself killed in the process.

It means doing all of this, day in and day out, with no sick leave and no paid vacation time, for a minimum of eighteen years but usually much longer, in the hopes that someday, just maybe, they will realize all of this and be grateful to you for all you have done to make them possible -- both figuratively and literally.

My mother is many things to me. She is my support system, my champion, and my rock. She is my number one fan and my biggest critic. She asks too many questions and she too often tells me what to do. She is, on occasion, my best friend; but more often, she drives me crazy. She is three text messages and seven missed calls within an hour. She is a love note packed away inside my suitcase the night before I leave. She is the voice inside my head when I really don't want to make a decision. She is my backbone, my strong-willed stubbornness, and my determination. She is my pants and my bra both immediately taken off upon coming home after work. She is the sinkful of dirty dishes and the laundry hamper piled high. She is the salty sweet combination of every small motherly habit and every curse word I've ever heard. She is the reason I know what it means to love someone with all of my heart, but not to like them one little bit.

She may not be much to anyone else. But she is my mother, and without her I would not exist. She is the very reason I am breathing, and as such, she is the air within my lungs. She is my mother, and she is very much the reason I know love, and all of the beautiful things which derive from it.