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.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 16 (Bullet Your Entire Day)

Day 16: Bullet Your Entire Day

Well, my day isn't quite over yet, but I've currently got about 15 minutes to kill before The Daily Show comes on, and after I watch it, I'll be going to bed. So this is as close as it's gonna get.

• Forced myself to get out of bed in the cold morning air
• Took a shower and soaked up the hot water
• Got out and got dressed for work
• Turned on my One Direction playlist
• Did my hair and makeup for the day
• Caught the bus to campus for class
• Went to class and discussed our Euro Disney case study (which was pretty interesting to me)
• Went to breakfast in the cafeteria
• Read today's issue of the school newspaper
• Went to work (for almost two hours longer than I intended)
• Caught the bus home while Skyping my little brother on my phone
• Laid down for about five minutes, which was long enough to start to doze off
• Got up and went to dinner in the cafeteria
• Stuck around after dinner to socialize with some friends for about an hour
• Left the cafeteria and drove to campus to attend a Spectrum meeting
• In the meeting, we played LGBT Trivial Pursuit and laughed quite a bit
• Left the meeting ten minutes early to come home and catch the new episode of Scandal
• Watched Scandal and managed to fall asleep once during a commercial break
• Crept through social media for fifteen minutes straight before I realized what I was doing
• Took off my makeup and took out my contacts
• Made myself a cup of tea
• Sat down to write this blog entry

That's a day in the life of Alyssa!

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 13 (Your Commute To and From Work/School)

Day 13: Your commute to and from work/school

I live and work on campus, so I don't have much of a commute to either location. However, since the addition of the shuttle buses last year, I will say the commute has become much easier for me than it used to be (when the buses are running as they're supposed to).

On Mondays and Wednesdays, I catch the 9:15 bus to campus and ride it three stops to go to class in Clinton at 9:30. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I catch the 7:45 bus and ride it the same distance for class in Clinton at 8:00. On both days, I leave class and walk less than five minutes from the building my class is in to the building where I work.

My commute home is even simpler. I walk across campus about ten minutes to the last bus stop before the one at the dorms where I live and ride the shuttle for about five minutes to get across the busy intersection. The time at which I return home differs from day to day. I don't have class or work on Fridays, so I usually don't make any commute to campus.

I recognize how convenient this commute is for me, even in comparison to the commute I had when I worked a summer job a few months ago. Even living in a city the size of Wichita, I still had to drive 20-30 minutes each way. I know bigger cities require a much longer commute, and that both excites and inconveniences me. (What a privileged problem that is to have.)

While I was in Boston for less than a week this summer, my commute from the city's center to my Airbnb house was about an hour, requiring I change trains twice and then ride the bus to one of the last stops before walking another two blocks to get home. I liked it and disliked it at the same time, but regardless, I've certainly improved at navigating public transportation.

I remember my French host dad telling me that when my host family lived in Paris, he used to have to ride the métro an hour to and from work every day. The métro terrified me the handful of times I used it, and it was always overflowing with sweaty strangers, packed in tightly like a few hundred French sardines.

For now, I've got a commute which is extremely easy, and I'm careful not to take it for granted. But at the same time, I welcome new and exciting changes with open arms.