Can I confess? I’ve had this blog post (just the title, nothing actually written) saved as a draft since March.
It’s definitely September, y’all.
I’ve been wanting to talk about this topic since MARCH, people. That’s almost enough to send me on an eating binge. Just slide into Whataburger one day and order every damn thing on the menu. Uhhh, lemme I get a uhhh, number 1 through 16, please. All the damn sauces. All dem thangs. Do y’all sell gallons of sweet tea? No? I’ll settle for five large cups of drank then.
TIME IS MOVING AND I AM NOT SO IMA CHICKEN STRIP MYSELF INTO OBLIVION. That’s what I want to do, yes, but I’ll write this blog post instead. My waistline thanks me.
Remember when I posted that video on Youtube challenging us to sit the hell down and figure out what we want to do with our lives?
Yeah, me neither. Well, my “checklist lifestyle” (vs. climbing the proverbial ladder of success) makes it hard for me to focus. I know I’m a big idea person. I’m a dreamer. I want to do it all, but since I have no ultimate end-all-be-all goal, I don’t know where to start. I’m often overcome by a sense of what if I miss out on something exciting because I’m doing something else?!?!?.
My job search is half-assed at best. Why? Because I got NYC on the brain. Magical Black Brooklyn is calling my first, middle, and last name with perfect pronunciation. The yearning is real. I’ve come to terms with my desires and I know that I can’t move on with my life until I “do” New York (or it “does” me, nawwmean). I’m restless, emotional (I had my first post-graduation crying session for about 8 minutes last night), and it takes me forever and a half to fall asleep because I’m weighing my options, scolding myself, changing my mind, making pros/cons lists, calculating how much monies I need, how and when should I notify the parental units, and what makes me think I’m good enough to do blah blah blah, etc. etc. to infinity and beyond.
Mi cyan tink straight.
My male parental unit is starting to express concern. Doesn’t want me to get stuck. I wish I was methodical and normal and wanted to get a job at a newspaper/magazine/website and get a steady paycheck and move out, and decorate my apartment with
ghetto resourceful crafts off Pinterest, and forcibly pay back the female parental unit for my car (she refuses to take my freelance monies. grrr).
It’s truly my desire to do those things for my well-being and growth. It’s also my desire to do those things for my pride. Full-time employment is a social marker. First comes
love college then comes marriage a gotdamn job, right? But I have a chance to travel the world first. I can go back to The Motherland, y’all. The. Motherland. Let me hit the ancient dance of my ancestors right quick –
I’ve been so obnoxiously torn between my desires and my responsibilities that I’ve taken no action. No forward movement. Just stagnant as all hell. Collecting dust. Blink. Blink. Eight months post-college graduation. I can’t believe I just typed that has it really been that long oh god i’m throwing up everywhe–
I remember telling myself “Oh I’ll get a real job after SXSW!”
Then SXSW ended. Didn’t really look for a reporting job. Then I said, “Oh I’ll apply to this program in Phoenix to get my foot in the door!”.
So I did. My foot’s kind of in the door I guess? And now…
I’m here staring at JournalismJobs.com and mediabistro.com searching for a job description that remotely describes what I’m into and actually wants newbies. Even 30 minutes scouring the job listings is draining. What if I don’t find what I’m looking for? Or worse…what if I do? Then I have to make a decision. By going to New York, I’m trading stability and monies for adventure. Granted, working as a reporter guarantees I learn something new and speak to different people everyday, so my “stable” option isn’t exactly a drag. I just don’t want to disappoint my parents, yo. I want to give them something concrete to talk to their friends about when everyone’s chatting about What The Kids Are Up To. I feel like validation comes from other people hiring you, to be honest. Self-starters git no love.
Did I already say it’s almost been one year since I graduated oh no you guys I don’t feel so good all of a sudd–
My stay in NYC would still relate to my field and use the skills I’ve learned over the years, but I need to buy some equipment and figure out some steady freelance opportunities in The Concrete Jungle. WTF is a subway? Is a borough a freakin city or not??? Do they have Targets over there???? So many questions. Some laughable, most not.
I just need to grow a pair (of ovaries) and do the damn thing…right? I don’t necessarily need permission from the parentals, but I would like their blessing. Moving forward and not having it be what you expected is better than not moving at all…right? Why aren’t you answering me?????
I’ve turned in my blog posts and invoices for the week (see – I’m not a total bum! I still keep busy) and once I click publish on this post, I’ll retreat to my room and continue plotting, writing, proing n’ conning. My goal is to clue the parental units on my plans this week. Yeah I know it’s Wednesday already.
No idea what the point of this blog post was, but I’ve released it to the internets now, so maybe someone out there feels the same? Let’s go to Whataburger and be all in our feelings some more.