Getting Back Out There

Last Saturday, I had my first real job interview. Somehow I had gathered up the courage to drive all the way downtown to drop off a resume at a coffee/sandwich shop and they called me back for an interview. I told myself I'd be grateful even if they didn't hire me, because it would feel great to even have an interview after an entire summer of nothing, and that was true. I also told too many people about my interview, and they got excited for me, and I got excited too, and I somehow ended up telling myself I basically had the job already.

It's been a week now and I haven't heard back from them, so I think it's safe to assume the "couple of days" passed and I will not be talking to them again soon, as one of my interviewers so confidently told me I would. I think it's safe to assume I didn't get the job. And how does that make me feel?

On Monday or Tuesday, my dad suggested I call them and ask because it would show initiative or something. It would show that I wanted the job. I waited until after a reasonable lunch period so as not to call during busy hours, and then I got nervous and shy and didn't call. I put it off until the next day. Again, I waited until after lunch, and then I waited a little more, and then I freaked out and didn't call. It's after midnight on Friday now and I still haven't called, but I'm telling myself maybe I'll call on Monday just to ask what exactly it was they decided they don't like about me. I'll probably chicken out again. 

One of the questions asked of me at the interview was what my plans were with the company. I told the guy I care about coffee or something and that I'd probably be in it long-term if they did hire me, and afterwards I kept beating myself up about that answer. Why did I say that if it wasn't true? Wasn't this meant to be a temporary job while I get on my feet and try to find something relevant to my degree? Yes, it was. The problem is, I like this place where I interviewed, and I like the people. If they hired me, I'd have a hard time letting go. If they hired me, I'd probably let my writing dreams slip away. And I think maybe that's why I was too scared to call. Maybe I was afraid I didn't get the job, but maybe I was afraid they'd give it to me after all, and I'd never be able to let go.

I'm sad that I had this opportunity and lost it, and I'm sad and a little terrified that the thing I've been looking for these past five months is something I now realize I don't want. But some small part of me is glad I got back out there. I even came up with a weird analogy for it that I don't quite understand on a personal level:

It's like you've been through a divorce and you told yourself you'd get back out there so you browsed dating profiles online with a vague idea of what you were looking for. You saw some that looked nice every now and then, but you found little excuses not to contact them. "He lives too far away, " for example, or "I'd have to give up my weekends if I started dating again." Then one day, you saw someone familiar and you got a little excited. You'd met him before, just briefly, but you'd enjoyed being around him. You made the extra effort to contact him, and you were thrilled when he called you to set up a date. It didn't matter that you had to reschedule another engagement because that person would understand you were finally getting back out there. You thought the date went well. You liked him, and you even thought you maybe saw a future with him, but why had you told him that? You start to realize a future with him isn't the kind of future you really imagined for yourself, but you said it and you're not about to go back on your word. If he calls, you'll be with him for the long haul. And then he doesn't call. You're disappointed, a little hurt, and curious to know whom he considered a better candidate than yourself. But yes, a part of you is relieved that you're open to pursue a better future for yourself, and yes, you're darn proud of yourself for getting back out there. So the question is, does it all get easier from here, or was that the tip of the iceberg? 

I'm Pathetic. Specifically, Empathetic.

This is at least a decade late, I'm sure, but that's sort of my style when it comes to pop culture... I had Smelly Cat stuck in my head all day today. You know, the ridiculous song from Friends. Here, see how long you can keep it stuck in yours:

Terrible, right? Ridiculous? Stupid? If you don't think it's any of those things, you can definitely call it silly, right? Even I can agree to that. But do you know what else? I think it's brilliant. And, brace yourself... It's incredibly sad.

When I asked my parents (after belting out the chorus four or five times at the dinner table), "But don't you just feel a little sorry for the creature?" my mother's reply was something about its not being real, and Dad said the reason for the cat's being smelly is that it is actually dead. Proving not only that my dad is hilarious, but also that I can empathize with anything. But think about it...

It's not your fault.
The cat's flaw is that it is smelly. That's quite obvious. But there's nothing the cat can do about this, much like most of us people can't do a whole lot toward repairing our own flaws. It's not my fault I don't like being around people, even people I like, for too long or too many days--I'm just an introvert. It's not the smelly cat's fault its owners are feeding it something horrible and refuse to take it to the vet to resolve the issue. You probably have flaws that aren't your fault, too.

Maybe you still have a hard time empathizing with a cat that everyone avoids because of its smell. Maybe you say, "Yeah, but it's still a cat." Yes it is. But what if I tweaked the lyrics of the chorus (I haven't put enough time in to figure out a verse) just a little bit? How would you feel about a song that goes a little more like this: "Chubby kid, chubby kid, what are they feeding you? Chubby kid, chubby kid, it's not your fault." Oh snap. Things just got real. Now it's a song about childhood obesity. Now it's about parents' responsibility for the appropriate diet and exercise of their children. Maybe it's even a little bit about the bullying the kid has to endure because of his/her size and weight. Now that hits home, right?

In my mind, the smelly cat is a symbol for all of that. The song is sad because it's not about a stinky feline, it's about being rejected for the flaws we can't change.

And that's what happens when a literature nerd takes something entirely out of context. Seriously, this was a silly song written by Phoebe about a smelly cat. That's all.

But, like I said, I can empathize with anything. And I'm a little bit more like Jules from Cougar Town:
(You have to click the link because this one wouldn't embed)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OUCdzmFe8XU
I wanna write music that matters, Jeff.

Knitting a Sweater: 365 Days of Me

I'm listening to the music of this beautiful lady as I write this post. If I could marry a voice, I'd choose hers.

If you caught my last depressing post, I'm happy to report that I have since received my diploma. It even has a fancy "Magna Cum Laude" stamp, which I didn't know was even a thing, so that's my favorite part. I haven't gotten any of the other things I listed in that post, but having the diploma is nice. It confirms my time and money were worth something in the end, maybe.

So you may know that almost a year ago, I ended a relationship with a guy I'd been seeing for more than two years. It was difficult and so painful and I struggled with the decision for probably more than half the length of our relationship, but it was right. Since then I've sometimes missed the way things were and had doubts every now and then, but never truly regretted letting go of a thing I loved that wasn't the best thing for either of us.

He had been my seventh boyfriend, which is a number I'm not proud of even if it is probably lower than the average (I know nothing of the average; I just know how I feel personally). I thought about where I was and who I had been, and I calculated that I hadn't been alone for a period of more than a few months within the past six years or so. When I thought about it, I was certain there was a pattern: as soon as one relationship ended, I became painfully lonely and jumped into a relationship to escape that pain, and then none of the relationships worked out because the guys were all wrong for me for one reason or another (Some were more wrong than others, like the one who was an atheist or the one who believes in dragons and the zombie apocalypse). I even had a stupid formula: If I was sure I was happier in the relationship than I would be alone, I'd stay in the relationship. If I was miserable enough in my current relationship that I knew I'd be happier on my own, I'd end it. This formula helped me out of my first college relationship, which was truly miserable, but really got me stuck in the most recent one, because he was mostly a sweet guy who was completely devoted to me, and I believe I really did love him, so of course leaving him would devastate me.

I decided my formula sucked. It was time for a new one. It was time for me to decide to be in a relationship because I wanted to be with that specific person, not because I was lonely and this guy seemed available. It was time to stop letting loneliness control me, and most importantly, it was time for ME. So I resolved to spend 365 days with me, to stay out of relationships and start to find my own identity so as to better prepare myself for finding the guy who is truly right for me. I'm about 355 days into that year, and I think it's been easier than I expected, in some ways.

By November, I decided to make a my goal into a countdown so I could focus on it better. I fashioned a countdown out of index cards, glitter glue, and binder clips, and affixed it to my dorm room door by Command hooks. Inspired by early seasons of Grey's Anatomy (which I'm not supposed to admit I watch), I called it "knitting a sweater." Every day when I woke up, I would remove one day from my countdown and remember why I was doing this and that the loneliness simply could not win. The countdown made me stronger. The countdown made me proud as I removed a number each day. I was doing this, and I was doing it for me.

It's been about 355 days, so what have I gained from this freedom? Sometimes I think it was pointless because I haven't had any opportunities to be in a relationship, so I would have remained single either way. I know that isn't true, though, because there have been guys who showed interest. Unlike in the past, however, I was smart enough to avoid them. If I gained nothing else from this year, I could at least be proud of that.

Sometimes I think it hasn't been long enough, because I'm still not ready or mature enough for a stable relationship (I become a crazy person when I have a boyfriend, and I know I haven't seen the last of that crazy person yet), but then I remember that wasn't the goal. The goal was for me to take the reins and make sure loneliness was no longer in control. And I'm proud to say I've accomplished that. I'm still lonely, yes. Yes, yes, and yes. Some nights I'm so lonely I can't sleep. I've had multiple dreams and daydreams about multiple ex-boyfriends, and it all sucks. But, unlike before, I'm not letting that loneliness push me into rash decisions or stupid relationships. I'm in control now.

In conclusion, I am 355 days into a year of deliberately being single, and I have gained strength and respect for myself in that time even though I still don't trust myself to be a rational half of a couple anytime soon. So next week, on day 365, I'm taking myself out on a Me Date (which is where I dine and drink coffee by myself and feel good about it instead of feeling awkward about being out alone) because I've had a great, though emotion-filled, year with me, and I deserve a reward for allowing myself this personal growth.

How to Walk Across the Stage and Never Receive Your Degree

Maybe it got lost in the mail. Maybe some idiot sent it to my school address which, since I graduated, I am no longer able to use. Maybe I missed some detail on the requirements page and they decided I didn't graduate, then decided they'd better not let me know. Whatever it is, I walked across the stage when my name was called six weeks ago and received an empty red folder, and still haven't received the piece of paper to put inside it. My best friend got his in the mail two weeks ago.

I already have self esteem problems (that's a giant understatement), so it hurts a bit not to know whether I've actually achieved this milestone in my life. If I don't have that stupid piece of paper, what did I get out of those four years of college and the overwhelming amount of debt I'll have to begin repaying in a few short months?

I'll tell you some things I didn't get.

1) A job. My department doesn't really have a job placement plan, and I don't know anyone in any relevant field, so I'm reduced to constantly checking Craigslist for barista positions that don't require me to use my body to sell a cup of coffee. It's weird how much those outnumber regular barista openings in my area right now.

2) A relationship. I went to a Christian school, so getting a degree is really just an excuse to be there so you can find what you're really looking for, which is a spouse. I screwed that part up and focused on my education. Oops. Guess I'll just never get married, right? Can't be that bad.

3) A sense of pride in my accomplishment. Everyone is going around telling me, "Congratulations!" and my mom's like, "My baby graduated Magna Cum Laude, I'm so proud!" and acting like I did some incredible thing like fly to the moon or whatever, but I don't see it as a big deal. So I walked across the stage when they called my name. Anyone can do that. This girl who went to my high school did that, and she had been wheelchair-bound for her entire life. Now that's something to congratulate. Not what I did. What I did was meaningless.

4) Respect for myself. This one is pretty simple. I "graduated" college, but I don't have any of the things listed above even though most people I know do, and then there's the self-esteem thing I mentioned before, so this is the result of all that mess.

5) The one thing I actually wanted. During orientation we had to do an activity where we would write on a piece of paper one thing that we wanted to leave behind us during our time at school, and on the other side we were supposed to write one thing we wanted to gain in place of the other. Then we buried the papers and the old thing was supposed to be buried and the new thing would grow as we grew. All of my friends said they forgot what they wrote and that was the point of the exercise, but I think it just didn't mean anything to them, because I remembered what I wrote and that piece of paper meant more to me than anything else I could accomplish in that place. On the first side I wrote, "doubt" and on the other, "faith." As long as I could leave my doubts behind and learn to have faith, I'd be in a better place. After all, that was the reason I chose the school I chose. I could have chosen any college (almost), but I chose to be there because I wanted to learn something I couldn't learn at a public school. And I failed. You see, even though I spent four years in a community of believers, I failed to strengthen my own faith. At the end of my journey, I have no job, no husband, no sense of pride in my so-called accomplishments, no respect for myself, and most of all, no faith that I will ever have any of those things. I actually don't even believe they'll ever mail me my degree.

This might sound silly, but it almost feels like my school watched me drop that paper into the dirt, they knew what was written on each side, and they monitored my spiritual growth (or lack thereof). Until I learn to have faith, they can't give me a degree, because I failed to learn anything while I was at school. I passed everything else, but I failed this test, and that means I didn't earn my degree. Yeah, it definitely sounds silly. But it sure feels true.

Where Is Rock Bottom, Anyway?

About a month ago I asked this rhetorical question of my 6 Twitter followers: "What does rock bottom look like and how fast can I get there?"

I asked because I've attended a Christian university for almost 4 years now and I'm really disappointed with my failure to rely on God for basically anything. I thought, "Hey, if I can get to rock bottom, if I can just have nothing left at all, I'll have to turn to Jesus, right?"

A week later, I totaled my car on the highway in rush hour tragic. It made for an interesting spring break.
A week after that, I found out my application was declined for the internship that was the only post-graduation plan I had.

Losing my car should have meant giving up four hours of work per week, among other things, but what the accident really taught me was that I have a support system. People were there for me, people who wouldn't let go of me easily. And I thought, maybe rock bottom isn't a possibility. Because wouldn't rock bottom mean no support system? Wouldn't it mean so much more than no car, but also no job, no place to live, no idea where I'm getting my next meal? And I'm convinced I won't ever have to deal with that, because I'll always have someone.

So either "rock bottom" means I would have to become a horrible person and push all of my loved ones away, or I have to think of it in relative terms. Rock bottom for you might mean living on the street, begging for change, but for me maybe it's wasting away at my parents' house, not applying for jobs at all because I can't convince myself that any of it matters anymore? I don't know.

I guess what I was really thinking was, "God, please just take everything away from me, take me all the way down to the worst circumstances possible, because as long as nothing can possibly get worse, I'll know it has to get better."

But did I really mean it? I can't believe I wished this upon myself. I allowed a stupid moment of self-pity to make me forget all the good things I had going for myself, and then I willed those things away. I don't even remember why.

Before the accident, I was dealing with a lot of self-hatred, and I don't even remember why. I don't remember what about myself I hated so much. I know what I hate now. I hate the stupid girl who drove my car into the back of a pickup truck because she was in a hurry. I hate the girl who only applied for one job because it just would have been absurd to have options. I hate having absolutely no way to get from here to any kind of future I might have been able to hope for.

I guess I'm in the same place I was a month ago: sitting here, knowing I'm falling, waiting to finally fall far enough that I can finally start going up again.

Metamorphosis 101 ("Everything is okay.")

A couple weeks ago, I found out Fall Out Boy has a new single and their new album is coming out in May, and the giddy little fangirl inside me started freaking out. Immediately, I hopped over to YouTube to check out their new single, "My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark (Light Em Up)." Here's the video if you haven't seen it yet. (You don't have to watch it; I know it's Fall Out Boy.)

The video basically makes a big production of the whole process of lighting Fall Out Boy's old music on fire. The fire is obviously a symbol of purification and new life, sending the message that the band wants to reignite their career without being tied down to any of their past work. They want us to know they've changed.

Here's another band that used fire as a symbol of change, and you have to watch this video because it's my favorite band and because it's not just a music video.

This one is a little bit more intricate, even if it is a couple years older. Here we see others getting excited about the change, saying things like, "I can't wait to leave here," and, "It's going to be so much better there." They're excited about what's going to happen, but some of them are unsure of what to take with them and what to leave behind.

And then they face some obstacles on the way out of town, and one of those is a wall of fire. Brendon and Spencer quickly realize they can't continue with their baggage weighing them down, but the others can't find the strength to let go. Only Brendon and Spencer have the courage to leave it all behind and face the fires of change.

I think we can relate to the others in the video. Change sounds exciting at first, but you really want me to leave my whole life behind? "It's easy, just drop it," says Brendon. But it isn't easy.

There's a movie I recently fell in love with called Liberal Arts and it contains a scene that really sums up the experience of change. Zac Efron's character shows up and offers some philosophical insight in the form of a parable about caterpillars. To paraphrase, what happens is that suddenly these cells appear in the caterpillar, called imaginal cells, and they start to tell the caterpillar it's butterfly time. Because these cells are different, the caterpillar's immune system attacks. But they keep showing up, and the caterpillar's immune system can't fight them off. They take over, and the coolest thing happens: the caterpillar becomes a butterfly. And isn't that so much better than being a caterpillar forever? "Everything is okay," says Efron.

The story about the caterpillar has stuck with me for the last couple of weeks because I'm in a season of change. I'm a senior in college, and that means something big is coming, but I don't know what that is. I'll probably do what I can to fight this change, like the caterpillar fights the imaginal cells, like the characters in "The Overture" fight to keep their things. But the caterpillar has no way of knowing it's going to become something as amazing as a butterfly, and I don't know who or what I'm going to become.

All I know is, fire can be destructive, but it makes way for new life. All I know is, change is scary, but it works out for caterpillars. So for the next couple months, I have to keep telling myself, "Everything is okay." I can't see what's ahead, but that doesn't mean it isn't beautiful.

Myself 101

It's crazy how much you can learn about yourself just from writing things down. Today I found a folder in my documents titled "Personal Journals" and I thought it would be fun to explore some of my thoughts from two years ago. It was insane. There were things I wrote about that I definitely remember happening but completely forgot I had them documented. There were thoughts that, when I look back at them, seem entirely crazy to me, and others that still make perfect sense or still ring true, such as "I'm always afraid of something." And, best of all, in the middle of a rant about why I wasn't looking forward to Valentine's Day, there was this, "THEY ALWAYS GO THROUGH THAT DOOR. THEY HAVE TO OPEN THAT DOOR. AND THEN THE STUPID THING NEVER SHUTS UP ALWAYS CREAKING CREAKING CREAKING NEVER CEASING CREAKING CREAKING CREAKING."

Yeah. That's me as a college freshman.

So I learned some things about myself tonight, including that I really have grown. That's a thing that's really nice to know.

Yet Another Snow Day

I haven't done a thing today because they cancelled classes again due to snow. I feel like a lazy American because that's what I am.

Actually, I helped some people dig their cars out of snow earlier and that felt pretty good. That felt like purpose, like I had discovered the meaning of life.

But then I didn't get any academic work done, so I'm mad at myself.

This is why I can't be in a relationship right now. Because the other person would always have to say, "No, you are worth something," and I'd be like, "No really, look at what I've done." And then they'd just be really frustrated that I would never get it, and we'd both be unhappy.

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Identity 101

It's my senior year in college, so now I'm more anxious than ever before about not knowing who I am, whatever that means. Sometimes I think it's because I'm always so connected to other people that I don't get enough time to be a person all on my own. That might be partially true, but I also know it's okay to be influenced by others, so that's not the whole issue.

It's my senior year in college, so I'm closer than ever before to being thrust into the real world, whatever that is. It's time to start looking for jobs, start really living on my own, stop eating nearly all of my meals in a cafeteria. I'm not sure where I'm going or what I'm doing or if I will even find a job, but that's not the worst part. The worst part is, I don't even know what I want to do or where I want to be.

I'm an English major. What do you do with that? If I were an education major, I'd become a teacher. If I were an engineering major, I'd become an engineer. If I were a nursing major, I could be a nurse. I'm an English major. It's so open-ended. I have options to consider and decisions to make. Have I mentioned yet that I'm terrified?

I have felt for several years now that I'm a little different from what I consider to be "most people." The way I see it, most everyone else is afraid of dying. Nobody really wants to believe their time on Earth will end one day, especially not young people like me who should have their whole lives ahead of them. Right? But I was kneeling at the alter one Sunday several years ago thinking about eternity and I thought, "Forever? Who wants to be around forever? Who really wants to never stop existing? Isn't that so much scarier than knowing we'll all die one day?" And I haven't reached the point of shaking that feeling yet. The difference between me and others is that I'm not exactly afraid of dying. I'm afraid of living.

Like I was telling a friend today, life seems like so much more of a risk than death. To me, death is more certain than life. Everyone knows we all die. It's the one thing that equalizes all of humanity; that no matter who you are and what you do in this life, you will end up in the grave. We all will. But what about life? Some people find happiness, like my parents and their unusually healthy marriage. Sure, my mom doesn't like her job, but she has a man who cares for her and that's not going to change. That's awesome, except that most people these days are getting divorced, and I definitely don't want that. I'm afraid of marriage because I don't know if I'll end up like my parents or like everyone else. And I haven't met anyone yet who makes me want to take that risk.

Of course, marriage isn't the only uncertainty in life. The other big one is career choices. I should probably try to tell myself I won't end up with my dream job right out of college and that's okay because I have time. But the truth is, I'm so afraid of life I can't allow myself to have a dream job. Any time I think of something that sounds fun, I tell myself, "That's not a reality. Pick a different dream." My first dream was to be an author, but the starving artist role doesn't really suit me. Then I dreamed of being an advice columnist for a newspaper, but I keep telling myself newspaper is dying. I thought about writing sitcoms, but I would hate to live in a big city like New York or L.A. Yuck. So now I'm supposed to be looking at my options, but I don't even know what I want. Because what if I put my heart into something and it doesn't turn out? If I don't decide what I want, I can't be disappointed when I don't get it.

But what if I don't decide what I want? Well, then I'll be stuck living with my parents and flipping burgers just to make a few bucks, struggling to pay off the loans I took out on an education I won't even be using. And that's my dilemma. If I know who I am and what I want, I could end up with a lot of disappointment in the end. But if I don't decide who I want to be, I'll never be anyone.

My identity crisis doesn't come from spending too much time around other people and letting them influence me. It comes from being afraid to know myself. Because if I know myself, I might not like myself. Because if I know myself, I might know my dreams, and I might not achieve them. Because if I know myself, I will have something to live for. And I can't think of anything more terrifying than wanting to live.