You Will Actually Have To Work Hard To Get There

"I don't want to move all the way there, have no job, and have to live in my car!"

"I did."

"But it's so far away -- halfway across the country -- and it scares me sometimes."

"Excuse me? Do you know who you're talking to? And when I moved here, there was no Internet!"

Arguing with Kate has never proven itself to be a very successful, worthwhile activity to me. Especially not when I know that she's right (which accounts for about nine out of every ten of our arguments). Kate and I have both come to know that eventually, a few weeks after she suggests something to me, I will usually decide she was right and do whatever it was she told me to do.

I usually call Kate "my academic advisor" when people ask me who she is, but my rightful academic advisor is really some person who sits in an office in the basement of the business school and tells freshmen what classes they need to take. I honestly couldn't even tell you which advisor is assigned to my student ID number. That's because over the course of the last three years, every time I've had a question pertaining to the university, my major, or any future career options I may have, I've always just sent Kate a Facebook message immediately after the question occurs to me. (Usually there is an abundance of follow-up questions included, and the questions always seem to come to me frantically sometime after midnight.)

In reality, when I met Kate, she was the Assistant Dean of the business school. She has a long list of esteemed credentials and titles to her name, but most importantly to me, Kate is the woman who saw some flicker of potential in me as a sassy, seventeen-year-old high school senior when I entered a scholarship competition all the way back in 2011; and she is one of the people responsible for choosing me as the recipient of an extremely helpful sum of scholarship money to finance my college education. In essence, one could reasonably say Kate is the reason why I am at WSU.

As I mentioned, Kate has known me since I was seventeen. I am now closing in on twenty-two. I cannot emphasize enough how much a person changes over the span of those five years. I will also say, that for better or for worse, Kate is at least partially responsible for some of those changes. As I have grown and changed since the day we met in November 2011, so too, has our relationship.

The one constant that I secretly hope will never change, however, is that Kate doesn't put up with any of my shit. She has heard all of my excuses about how I am afraid of being a real adult, how I despise math and hated all of those required business calculus and statistics classes, how I love my on-campus job and don't want to push myself to find an internship which will pay better. And she has tolerated absolutely zero of all of it. There have been times when I have been highly irritated with her pushing me to do something I was simply too lazy or unwilling to do, just as I know there have been times when she has rolled her eyes at my lazy unwillingness and known, to herself, that at some point in the future when I finally decided to agree with her, I would do it. She is one of the only people I've ever met, besides perhaps my own mother, whose stubbornness contends with my own.

The particular conversation we were having on this day was one we have had many times, in many forms: what am I going to do after I graduate? I can tell you what I want to do after I graduate. And Kate has told me endless times that she knows I can do what I want to do after I graduate. The only remaining piece of the puzzle is connecting point A to point B, crossing my fingers, and hoping it all works out.

I want to move to Boston. I want to work for a publication -- no particular one, but one that fits my views, naturally, be it writing about feminism, travel, international peace and humanitarianism, or be it researching consumer behavior and target markets in the publication production industry. Beyond those two goals, I really just want to be able to afford an apartment (probably with a roommate), buy cute clothes at Target, and maybe visit my family in Kansas on Christmas. They are certainly not uncommon or grandiose goals, but from the perspective of a recent college graduate moving alone 1,625 miles away from her birthplace with relatively little money saved and impending student loan payments due in six months, every day these goals feel daunting. The goals are simple: Move to Boston. Work for a publication. Simple, although not easy.

You know how earlier I said Kate is sort of like my academic advisor? Well, she's also sort of like my free therapist. For the umpteenth time, I was whining and crying to her about how I was terrified of being poor and alone with no job prospects in my dream city, and she ruthlessly shut me down. You see, one thing I also forgot to mention earlier about Kate is that she was born in Taiwan. In addition to naturally possessing a high amount of tough love, she further feels no pity for me moving a few states away to Massachusetts because she moved halfway across the world to another country and learned another language, while working multiple jobs and putting herself through college to eventually become a professional businesswoman -- all by herself. So I guess it really comes as no surprise that she wants to smack me sometimes. I would have done it by now, if I were her.

So, this discussion we were having about me moving to Boston was going in about the same circles as usual:

"I want to move to Boston."

"Then move!"

"But I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Being poor."

"Then get a big girl job now and save your money."

"But I love my job."

"Then get another."

"But I don't have time for one!"

"Well, I don't know what to tell you."

"Ugghhh but Kate!"

*silently purses lips and gives me motherly side-eye*

And this is how it goes. See? I told you I would've smacked me by now.

That conversation is actually what sparked me writing this very blog. When I told her I was afraid of having no money and having to live in my car, she told me that she had done that very thing before, as if it were just an expected part of the struggle I was knowingly signing myself up for by falling in love with a big city. Then, when I started complaining about being so far away from my family and friends, she was rightfully appalled, because she also did that very thing back in 1990 (pre-Internet, as she reminded me). Then she said, "Write about that! Talk about your struggle, because I promise you, there are a lot of other college students standing in your shoes right now. They will relate!"

We had this conversation two weeks ago. And here I am now, delayed long enough to make the decision on my own, typing away because Kate told me to. Just like clockwork. (Although, the blog intended to be about the college struggle has actually materialized as a blog about Kate, instead.)

When I think about the situation from Kate's perspective, I shake my head at myself because I realize just how privileged and lazy I am. Kate worked much harder to get where she is today than I am working to get to Boston by this time next year. I think that's just it though: I didn't realize that I am going to have to actually work hard for it. Of course it's going to be hard. If it were easy, it wouldn't mean as much. If it were comfortable, it wouldn't make me grow.

Kate chose me as a finalist so many years ago because I demonstrated something to her that made her feel I was a good investment. I have never asked her what that was, and I don't plan on doing so. I prefer it remain a mystery for my own imagination. But I can tell you this: whatever it was that I had, I'm sure glad I had it. I am so grateful that Kate liked what she saw and that she extended her hand to me, on the behalf of some very generous scholarship donors, to pull me up and help me through college, thus making possible all the experiences that come with it.

Now I don't know this for sure, and I don't want to put words into anyone's mouth, but I'm betting that Kate didn't have a Kate when she was in college. Most people are not lucky enough to have a Kate in college, someone whose tough love and persistence supports and pushes them throughout the entire process. I would wager to guess that she was not the recipient of such a benevolent gesture as I was when I was awarded that scholarship package. I don't think she has ever had anything handed to her. That's not to imply that I have had things handed to me, or to say that I haven't known my own fair share of struggles, either. But it certainly puts things into perspective for me and makes me think hard about how badly I want to move to Boston and what I will have to do to get there.

There comes a point in time when a flower outgrows its limited environment, and it needs to be transplanted from its small pot into a bigger garden so its roots can continue to expand, stretching out like cramped legs to gather nutrients to provide the plant with life, otherwise it faces a slow and painful death. If I don't take advantage of my opportunity to grow and develop in a bigger environment, staying where I am will stifle my desire to leave and eventually it will permanently stunt my growth. My roots are smothered and crowded and itching to break free of the pot into which I have been crammed for so long. I need to find nutrients in a bigger garden in order to sustain my life.

I want to move to Boston. I have to move to Boston. I need to get out of Kansas. I know that I am capable of feeling more fulfilled than I do here. I know that people are capable of better understanding me than they do here. I want to reach the high of euphoria again that being in a place I love so much brings with it, and which is impossible for me to ascertain here. I have to go explore what is out there waiting for me, otherwise I will never know.

I have always been one to do what I want. The more I want it, the more likely I am to do it -- and more quickly. I will do anything I have to in order to get what I want. Both of my parents can attest that I have been this way since I was a child. It is intrinsic to who I am.

Even with my vast vocabulary, I cannot adequately explain how badly I want to move to Boston. So, if working hard is what it takes to get me what I want, then I am going to do it, quick and with a passion. Especially when I stop and think about how much harder Kate worked when she was in similar shoes.

I remember during one of the presentations at that scholarship competition in 2011, somebody told us, "Kate is here to help you. But she doesn't come to you. If you need help, you go to Kate." Well, I've gone to Kate for help more times than I can count. And she has endlessly given me her help when I've asked for it. She has shared her knowledge and experience with me for years, trying to guide a stubborn girl in the right direction.

And now, eight months from graduation, I guess it would be a pretty good time for me to think about doing what she tells me. After all, I wasn't selected as a finalist because she thought I wouldn't listen or work hard for what I want. She knows what she's talking about when it comes to all of this, because not too long ago, she worked hard to make it on her own very similar journey. Thankfully, I will still have a Facebook connection for when I run into late night identity crises and career catastrophes in Boston.

What Happened When I Followed My Heart

I have spent a lot of my life doing what other people want me to do. I have spent so much time adhering to the expectations placed before me, the loose guidelines of what any number of things is supposed to look like: success, happiness, inner peace, a good role model, a worthy scholarship recipient... Without even realizing it, my life has been plagued with these ideas of what I am supposed to be and the things I am supposed to attain.

Now, I realize my life is much easier than that of a lot of people. I do not discount that fact, nor take it for granted. However, I am able to clearly notice the small, yet meaningful, differences in my own consciousness when I am doing something for someone else as opposed to when I am doing it for myself.

Some people -- okay, a lot of people -- would say I have a bad attitude. They would say I am negative, pessimistic, and always complaining about something. It's true. Other people -- fewer people -- would say that I have a positive attitude, compassion, wonderful insight, and plenty of big ideas to offer this world. For the longest time, I was conflicted by those two opposing opinions of who I am. How on earth can one person be perceived in such polarizing ways by others?

Then I paused for a moment to examine what it was these people saw in me. I stepped out of my shoes and into theirs and I tried to imagine myself through their eyes. If I were to ask these people what it is I am always so unhappy about, what would they say? I can create a list of my most common complaints from my own memory: being stared at by strangers, inconsiderate co-workers, lazy classmates, being talked down to, and having too much homework. All in all, not unreasonable irritations.

All right, but what about the other people who would say I am a hopeful beacon of light for the future? If they were asked what it is that makes me so great, what would they say? The compliments I receive most often include: being mature and professional for my age, being intelligent, giving solid advice, being inclusive, and being able to see things from another perspective.

Now, perhaps the most important question: who are these people? Who are the people in my life that seem to think I am nothing more than a Negative Nancy? Conversely, who are the people who see the raw material I'm working with and encourage me to mold it into something more? What positions do all of these people hold in my life and why do I even listen to them, anyway?

This is when I understood the reason why I was so disappointed by trying to live up to the expectations of others. Each individual person expects something entirely different from me. By worrying so much about having good relationships with so many different people in my life, I neglected to have a good relationship with myself.

The people who have made me feel badly for being "too negative" are greater in quantity, but noticeably less in quality. They are acquaintances, co-workers, classmates, and even strangers I encounter in passing, who know only the surface of my life. They comment on what little behavior they witness from me, and they honest-to-goodness believe they have me all figured out: I complain too much and I'm so unhappy and I am always angry or in a bad mood. (Do you know what actually makes me unhappy? Feeling the need to defend my happiness against people who barely took any time at all to know me before judging me.)

On the other hand, when I think of the times I have had awe-inspiring, hopeful, optimistic conversations about the future, I think of an entirely different caliber of human being. I think of teachers, mentors, parental figures, and even a few very close friends. These are the people with whom I have discussed my worries about today and my plans for tomorrow. They are the ones who have taken the time and interest to more closely observe some of the things that make me tick; they're people who have read what I wrote or heard what I said and understood with a single look into my heart and mind that I had it (whatever it is), and then pushed me to be more.

Because of all the ambivalence I felt from such opposing forces, I was unsure for a while even who I was. Was I this mean, hateful person that so many people painted a picture of? Was I an insightful, wise-beyond-her-years, eclectic individual with something deep within her soul that stirred the interest of kindred spirits? Or did I fall somewhere in the middle and fluctuate slightly between good and bad days? I didn't really know for sure, and it resulted in a miniature identity crisis for me, at the age of 21. (Which, granted, is a better age for a crisis than 45, when I'd probably have many more long-term commitments.) So many people wanted me to be so many different things. But what did I want myself to be? Through all this struggling, I was able to find some answers by myself.

You see, I was so preoccupied with worrying about these two very different perceptions of my personality, that I forgot to take into account one very important opinion on the matter: my own. I became so worried about why I might seem bitter and cold to a mere acquaintance, or if I were falling short of the exemplary mark set for me by a mentor, that I failed to leave enough time and energy for me to examine how my personality was measuring up to qualities that I valued.

I can't pinpoint an exact moment when it happened, and I can't even tell you the exact sequence of events that led up to it, but there was a moment in time when I just quit. I didn't quit listening, I didn't quit trying, and I didn't quit caring about the people in my life. What I did quit, was concerning myself so much with the validity of others' opinions. I quit caring more about how they perceived me than about how I perceived myself.

In that moment, I stood up for myself. I realized that what was in my heart was the only thing with any true consistency -- the only thing that really mattered -- and I decided I would give following that a chance, instead. It occurred to me that I was always going to let someone down if I kept trying to please so many different audiences, so I might as well try to please the one audience I knew best: me.

I didn't know where else to start, so I just asked myself, "what do you want, Alyssa?" My heart answered, and I made sure to listen closely. It spoke softly to me about all of the glorious, adventurous, beautiful things it wanted to see and feel. After it was finished whispering many splendored things to me, I started with the smallest, easiest item on the list: writing.

I had procrastinated accomplishing anything at all with my writing for months, and I had made excuses for myself about how busy I was with my life. I let other things (albeit credible things like class, work, and family) dictate my actions. I did not make time for what my heart really needed. I had not been listening to my own desires, and I had suffered because of it. But that was about to change.

I sat down one afternoon, and I wrote. I applied to publication after publication, and I sent several different samples of my work into numerous websites which I had previously scouted. And when I was finished, I felt so good about myself. I felt accomplished, like I had just crossed something very heavy off of my heart's to-do list... finally.

A few short days later, when I began to receive email responses with positive answers from those publications, I was absolutely elated. My heart was so happy and I felt so pleased with myself, because I knew that I had made this happen. I was the one who had done the hard work which earned me this reward. Because I chose to finally listen to myself and value my own opinion above others, I took action toward my dreams and I had now reaped the fruit of my labor. I did it all by myself and I was beyond proud.

This is what happens when you follow your heart. It applies to every area of your life: personal, professional, academic, and even athletic. When you act based on your own heart's wishes, you will be happy with the results. As soon as I stopped allowing the perceptions of others to set boundaries and expectations for me, I opened myself up to endless possibilities for joy with a horizon limited only by my own imagination. I reminded myself that I don't have to impress anyone else, fans or critics alike. I always took for granted that I knew this before, but society has a nasty way of creeping up on you and ingraining things into your mind before you are even aware it's taking place.

I think that's what happened to me. I spent so much time listening to so many mixed messages from everyone else, that I lost myself among the noise. The only thing louder than all that racket was the consistent, steady beating of my own heart. I chose to focus on it, and soon its reverberation rose above all the external static, until eventually it was the only sound I could hear.

Friend or foe, the opinions of others are irrelevant to your existence. You are the only one living your life; and ultimately, you are the only one affected by the decisions you make. So save yourself some stress and follow the instructions written on your heart. They are the words that will lead you exactly to the place where you are most happy. They have always been there, and that's where they will remain, for you to fall back on when the commotion of everyone else becomes too loud.