Category: Job/Career/Work

Money Worry: It’s a Family Thing

posted 26th August 2010    Written by: Marian    CATEGORY: All Posts, Family, Job/Career/Work, Marian, Money, Season 3

A recurring argument in my family is that my dad will go to the grocery store and buy things we don’t need. Now, my family is big. There are six of us total and when everyone is home we’ll go through something like three gallons of milk per week. The weekly shop is epic, but my mother has now taken to accompanying my father to Costco so he doesn’t go overboard. Not because he’s an over spender, but because he is so crazed about sales. He’ll drive miles out of the way to save a few pennies on gas. He’ll buy a pound of shredded cheese that will go bad in a week because even three boys can’t eat that many quesadillas.

My grandfather was also a hardcore coupon cutter. He bought things he didn’t need. He hoarded. He bargained. He penny-pinched. He passed those traits on to my father.

In terms of my own spending habits, I’ve always worried about money. I haven’t always saved or budgeted, but the worry has always been there. Even if I have enough, I worry. For this I blame my paternal side.

To be fair to my parents, I was one of the few people at college who had worked all through high school; who had my own bank account with my own money; who understood the concept of a credit card. To be honest, I always felt a little smug because of this. For this I thank my parents.

However, much to my family’s horror, I didn’t take the traditional career route. I quit my safe job in favor of freelancing. I have yet to be properly insured, have no idea where the next check will come from and my boyfriend’s the one that forked out the cash for our crazy expensive flight to New Zealand.

My father was surprisingly supportive when I quit my PR job, saying I should always follow my dreams. Despite his support, however, there was a undertone of doubt. “Hey, you’re young and can make mistakes and be poor now before you have a family to support and bills to pay.” Basically meaning he didn’t expect me to make it big on my own. Frankly, I think both parents are holding their breath for the day I’ll finally throw in the towel on this whole self-employment thing.

Maybe because neither grew up particularly wealthy but are incredibly successful now, they feel the only way to actually make a living is the traditional way. That in terms of money the only way to make it is the way they made it. And since I’ve only been freelancing for a year I’m still not rolling in dough so I have yet to prove them wrong.

The thing is, I have a surprisingly awesome relationship with my parents. They are smart and supportive and raised me to be independent and strong-willed. I am proud of how they raised my brothers and me. That said, I harbor a small amount of resentment towards them because money is always on my mind. I figure 50% of that is The Curse of the Entrepreneur. That other 50% though is due to the fact that every phone call I have with my parents they bring up money. My dad tells me how much he made in overtime or my mom will say how little some newspaper is paying her. But I figure it’s rude of me to say “Hey! I don’t want to know this! My own money issues stress me out, I don’t want in on yours.”

Because then I feel guilty. I feel guilty for the amount of money my parents have spent on me in my 23 years. I look back on the $160,000 college education that I’m not really using, my hospital bills from a bout of surgeries my sophomore year. My trip abroad. My prom dress. I worry about money because they talk about it. I worry about it because I don’t have any. I worry about it because I worry about it and I still don’t really do anything to fix it.

That’s the thing. I stress about money all the time. I woke my boyfriend up at 3 in the morning a few weeks ago sobbing because I had no idea how I was going to pay him back for that plane ticket. A few days later I got emails from three potential clients and stopped worrying for a bit, but now I’m at it again because I don’t know what will happen when these projects are over.

I hate worrying. It consumes a huge chunk of my life, but what are my options? Take a “real” job? Go back to the 9 to 5 I hated so much? Play by somebody else rules? Give up on my idea of what I want my life – my freedom – to look like?

No. I think I’d rather worry.


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Dreaming in the City of Angels

posted 25th August 2010    Written by: Nikki    CATEGORY: All Posts, Inspiration, Job/Career/Work, Nikki, Season 3

I gotta be honest with y’all, I’m having a really hard time writing this post.  Even though I’ve been incredibly open in my last three posts, this, somehow, makes me feel more naked.  I have to tell you my dreams – dreams I’ve wanted since I knew how to dream, dreams I’d thought were dead and then were rekindled, dreams I’ve recently discovered I have.  I find myself gauging your reactions – will you think my dreams silly?  Stupid?  Selfish?  Boring?  Generic?  I’m showing you a little hidden piece of my heart, so please, be kind.  Here goes…

I dream of being onstage, with an audience’s adoration roaring in my ears and lights glinting off my eyelashes.  Of standing ovations and acceptance speeches.  I dream of sitting in a dark theatre and forgetting it’s my face onscreen, sharing a cathartic moment with a  group of strangers.  I dream of collaboration; long, long days on set or in the wings, knowing we’re making something amazing and working through that giddy sense of exhaustion to an explosion of creativity.

I dream of creating everyday.  Of the freedom and discipline in sitting down and writing, every day.  I dream of the perfect words to describe a feeling or a place, and the perfect reading of a line.  I dream of a book jacket with my name on it.  I dream of a paycheck earned in ways that make me feel more alive instead of less than human.

I dream of a home that is mine in a city I love.  A home that is cozy and colorful and full of sunshine.  One that welcomes laughter, music, and comfortable silence.  I dream of an ever-blooming garden with twinkly lights in the trees and cocktail parties in the grass.  Of soft puppies and snuggly blankets.

I dream of a big big love.  A man who thrills me beyond reason but has all the reasons to justify that thrill.  My partner in every sense; balanced in respect, love, trust, and passion.  I dream of knowing it’s right beyond all my doubts and fears and stubborn independence.  I dream of an ability to communicate honestly and a shared view of life as much more than the white picket fence.  Of a marriage where we choose to be together while both retaining our sense of self.  I dream of a loving healthy little family that explores together and is not limited by money, location, or outside expectations.  I dream of best friends and family being much closer than a plane ride away.

I dream of adventure.  Of traveling the world and stepping foot on every continent, in every ocean.  I dream of eating with locals and learning languages, of getting lost and proving to myself I can find my way again.  I dream of scuba diving caves and wrecks, of stomping grapes and exploring pyramids, of total immersion bringing me totally present in the moment.

I dream of the self-awareness, clarity and balance to pull me through whatever lies ahead, and keep me grateful for the joys in my life.  Of self-confidence and complete comfort in my own skin.  I dream of eliminating “should” and “settle” from my vocabulary.  Of re-cultivating my inner 5-year-old and her imagination.  I dream of costume parties and cartwheels through sprinklers on hot days.  I dream of goofy grins and laughing till my sides hurt, and then laughing more.  I dream of sweet tea and hammocks and watching for shooting stars.  I want bubbling, tear-inducing, uncontainable joy.

“Nothing happens unless first we dream.”  -Carl Sandburg

[photo source]

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Confessions of a Hollywood Dropout (pt.2)

posted 18th August 2010    Written by: Nikki    CATEGORY: All Posts, Job/Career/Work, Love/Relationships, Nikki, Season 3, Travel, Travel/Adventure

Last spring, I was burned out.  I was a frustrated actor who felt like a zombie, going from uninspiring day job to hours in traffic to uninspiring auditions.  LA had me convinced that it was the only place that mattered & if I couldn’t make it here, well, I’d failed.  I was majorly unhappy and just going through the motions, bottling it up so I wouldn’t have to admit my unhappiness and therefore make a change.

Then, one day, I cracked.  And that crack let so much light in, it was stunning.

Except I didn’t notice it at first.  I was tightly blindfolded by feelings of failure and fear.  But light has a way of seeping through the dark and finding you, even when you’ve got a hangover headache & have buried yourself beneath the sheets.  Especially then.

So, I declared myself done with acting.  DONE.  Its success was too out of my control, too intangible, too taunting.  I came to a standstill.  And I was angry.  I was mad at the industry for being so fickle, I was mad at my teachers for telling me I was talented, I was mad at myself for even trying; I’d become the Hollywood stereotype, one of the locusts swarming off the bus seeking fame & fortune, and leaving without a penny or a credit to their name.

I couldn’t even stand to listen to people talk about movies.

At the height of this pessimism-party I was throwing myself, some friends convinced me to join an artists collective that was creating an original play.  I was skeptical and creatively barren, but attending the meetings started to shift something inside me.  These people were seriously inspiring.  After a few months of contributing nothing and feeling useless, suddenly all my frustrations and fears and passions poured out of me, uncontrollable and raw, in the form of a monologue.  It was sad and funny, and when I tentatively read it for the group, they insisted it be the opening piece of the show.  It had been born not in spite of my crisis, but because of it, and reminded me I am still an artist, no matter what. I contributed two original pieces to the show, which ended up being one of the most amazing projects I’ve ever worked on, with one of the most inspiring groups of people I know.

And I was back!  …Somewhat.

I still was crisis-ing, still boycotting the film industry, still single, and I still had no clue what I wanted to do with my life, but at least I was creating again.  The light crept in and I started to feel alive.

During all of this, I was planning & saving for a trip to Australia.  For years I’d talked about going and this seemed like the perfect time; I wanted to run away, where better than the other side of the world?  Everything fell into place – I got a temporary job working an arts festival there, got my visa, ticket, and couldn’t wait to see my old college roommate who’d gone to London with me years ago & had been living in Australia since.

I needed this change, I was ready to go & not look back – and then The Ex re-entered the picture.  He’d been around, after 5 years together we had a lot of the same friends, and we’d done the whole messy “hook-back” thing, but this time was different.  This time we were honest.  We talked about why we broke up, what we needed in a relationship and who we were now, after 4 years apart.  It was intense.  He wanted us to try again after my trip; I left feeling confused.  I’d had such a hard time letting go of him and I still cared about him so much, but… but…

I got on the plane with a head full of the past and a heart fighting to understand the present.  I needed to get away.

I could write an entire blog solely about Australia.  (In fact, I did.) How being alone in a strange city, in a strange country, on a strange continent helped me find the freedom in lonely.  How making friends comes easily when everyone’s the new kid, and how conversations with strangers can be oh so fulfilling.  How much easier it is without the burden of things, of history, of expectations.  How much stronger I am than I knew or remembered.

And I met an Aussie boy; while it wasn’t quite love, it taught me more in 2 months than my 4 years being single.  He showed me what I was worth, after years of not valuing myself much.

Little by little, I let go of all the anger, fear, and “what ifs” that had been shadowing me for years.  Little by little, I let the hot Australian sunshine in.  Between the bright red earth and the stunning blue sky, I realized my life was so much bigger than I’d imagined, and I let go.

After four months (twice as long as I’d originally planned to be gone), I wasn’t ready to come back home.  It felt like I had just experienced a whole other life in the short time I was away.  But in that life I’d grown & achieved some clarity; I’d realized no career or idea of success was worth giving up all the other things in my life that make me happy.  And nothing was worth sacrificing my own self-worth.

I decided to move to DC and live with my Mom for a year to bring some balance into my life, save money, and figure out my next step.  I sold my furniture, got out of my apartment lease, and threw myself a goodbye party… and then got the call that I’d been cast in a feature film.

It terrifyingly changed all my plans, but I took the part.  It was one of the best things I’ve ever done.

Now I’m still crisis-ing, still single, still in LA, and still have no clue what I want to do with my life, BUT I’m trusting.  I’ve pulled off the blindfold, woken up blinking in the bright morning of this new chapter of my life, and I’m letting the light pour in.  I honestly have no idea what will happen in the next week or month – I don’t even know where I’ll be living in October – but I’m OK with it.  For once in my life, I’m not trying to plan or control anything.  I’m letting life happen and I’m trusting that I am exactly where I need to be, right now and always.

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When Long Weekends Aren’t Enough, You Up And Move

posted 17th August 2010    Written by: Doniree    CATEGORY: Doniree, Job/Career/Work, Season 3, Travel/Adventure

I’d decided sometime in the middle of a jet-setting summer (nine trips between Memorial and Labor Day) that I needed to spend longer than three days at any given time in the cities I was exploring. You just can’t do Colorado in a weekend. You can’t do Chicago, LA, or New York in a weekend. You can’t spend all of the quality family time you want to spend in Alabama in a weekend.

Turns out you CAN do Vegas in a weekend. Any longer than that and you’ll end up perma-glittered and hating life.  Or at least hungover, broke, and sunburned. And that’s pretty much the same thing.

The New Local

So I knew three days at a time wasn’t enough, and the seed was planted to actually physically move to some of these places – even for a short period of time – to really experience life there.  To know what coffee shops the locals frequent, which restaurants really *are* the best, and how to not get lost.  This idea of a career that allowed me to be mobile wasn’t going away.

It was November 2009, and I’d just graduated from yoga teacher training. I felt more capable, self-aware, and empowered than I had in my entire life. Little things mattered less. Placing ad buys wasn’t doing it for me. The promise of extra zeros on the end of my paycheck wasn’t doing it for me.  At this point, I didn’t care about money. I cared about depth, about relationships, about learning and connecting to myself and the world I existed in.  Two hundred hours of immersing myself in everything yoga over an eight-week span would do that to a person, I suppose.

I decided that if I was going to move around and explore the world, now was the time to do so.

My top two choices were easily Denver and Chicago.  However, being that it was November, and I was making this decision from Minneapolis, I ruled Chicago out almost as quickly as I’d considered it. I love the Windy City, but the idea of similar winter temps to those of the Twin Cities without the magical skyways that keep us insulated and warm? Not ideal.  Not at first.

I started looking west and had Denver map-dotted in my mind, and I visited in December with the intention of finding a cute pseudo-downtown studio apartment near coffee shops and city parks.

Turns out  my aim was about 30 miles southeast of where I was really supposed to land.

When you know, you know

I’d met Grace Boyle through our blogs and mutual connections and she invited me to come up to Boulder for an evening and an event.  That event happened to be Ignite and brought together over 1,000 of the city’s finest minds, best drinkers, and funniest presenters I’d ever seen. If you haven’t heard of Ignite, check it out immediately (and if it’s in your city, go, present, and toast your new friends).

I fell in love with Boulder immediately.  From the pedestrian mall on Pearl Street, to the balance of start-up and tech company rich culture with outdoorsy croc-wearing hippies, and the amazingly bright and like-minded people who lived there, I was hooked.  I also loved that Boulder seemed to draw a lot of wanderlusters like myself – it seems more likely to meet someone from somewhere else than meeting someone Boulder born and bred.

My plans quickly shifted from Denver to Boulder and the plan was in motion.  Six weeks later, I arrived in Boulder, moved into the first available-for-sublease condo I checked out, and started pouring every ounce of free time into earning back that relocation budget that had quickly hit sub-zero.  I wrote $8 articles for content mills, and my blogging gig for a Minneapolis media agency was my only “real” income until I took a contract job in February.

Turn the page

Since moving to Boulder in January, I’ve accomplished a lot:  yoga, volunteering, hiking, additional contract work, lots of wine, built relationships with some of the most open and genuine and intelligent girlfriends I’ve ever known, picked up a Boyfriend who blows my mind in terms of what I ever thought was possible in a relationship, taken a full-time job, and re-committed to training needed to really start teaching yoga. Yet the story doesn’t end here.  In fact – this is where it begins again.

I have plans for the fall that include even more changes and a crazy amount of learning, writing, mentoring, and yoga in a very real way.  I’ve been making some big decisions that you’ll literally be experiencing with me as they unfold over the next six months. So, get cozy because the next chapter literally begins now.

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How it Unfolded

posted 14th August 2010    Written by: Renee    CATEGORY: Job/Career/Work, Quarterlife Crisis, Renee, Season 3

Looking back, it’s possible that quitting my job with the United States House of Representatives wasn’t the best decision I’ve ever made, but I’m starting to realize it was one of the first authentic decisions I’ve ever made.

I was the classic surface-level over-achiever. I knew what it took to look good on paper. I knew when to flash my pearly whites when meeting the right people. I knew how to think out loud to those who could make something happen for me. And all of that landed me a job managing the schedule of a freshman Democrat in Congress who represented a Republican agriculture district in a state that produced a controversial black President in an election that produced a volatile social and political climate. Yeah, I was on the front lines of political assault.

Day in and day out, I’d answer the phone to angry constituents, outraged over the first inklings of universal healthcare. There were injured veterans who couldn’t afford the gas to get them to the VA hospital. There were lobbyists demanding five minutes of my boss’s time. There were weekend events at fundraisers, schools, and legion halls. There were conference calls during evening hair appointments. There were orders coming from too many chiefs. And did I mention I was commuting 90 miles round trip?

Six months into it, I knew not even the student loan payback was making my “dream job” worthwhile. I was not happy. I started looking into getting my teaching certificate, was offered a job at a coffeehouse closer to home, gave my two week’s notice, and barely looked back.

That was July of 2009 and is nowhere near the end of my story.

I started working at the coffeeshop 5:30am-2:00pm five days a week. It was wonderful at first. I was even promoted to manager in September. But it went downhill quickly. I was told my teaching certificate would take six years part time. The hours and social environment of the coffeeshop became toxic.

I broke down.

In January 2010, I demoted myself and cut back my hours to focus on freelance writing. I was crushed when writing didn’t pay my bills immediately so I started waiting tables at a cute little Italian restaurant… and again, I found myself working seven days a week. Stressed. Unhappy. Worn thin. After nearly a month straight without a day off, I knew I had to make a decision before yet another meltdown.

I finally said goodbye to the coffeeshop. I now work weekends at the restaurant while I wait to start my graduate studies next week (!!!). I have rediscovered a love for cooking and a surprising devotion to bikram yoga. I ride my bike to the farmers markets and catch up on feminist literature in the sunshine. I play video games with my husband late into the evening. I plan real and fake vacations. I enthusiastically look forward to football season. I listen to way too many podcasts. I ignore my messy kitchen. I am learning to sew, to bake, and to love myself authentically. It seems I’ve found all I need but I know my journey is only beginning. But, for the first time, I’m excited to continue down this path because it finally feels just right.



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