INTRODUCING: KAT

“I can admit now that I was afraid to be alone.”

Five years ago: My AmeriCorps year with Habitat for Humanity was ending, and I had no idea what I wanted to do for work. I loved that job—the manual labor, the opportunity to teach, the people—and I didn’t know what type of job I could find to capture those things. I fell into my current non-profit desk job because that was familiar (it was how I made my living before AmeriCorps), I needed an income, and I wasn’t sure how to find something else. I considered moving back to Seattle; however, I decided to stick with New York City and the more traditional type of job that my parents wanted for me.

Three years ago: I was still thinking about leaving New York, still wanting to be somewhere else. This time, I was considering Australia. I could get a work visa, and I’d been interested in living there since I first visited in 1997. My job was boring me, I couldn’t get the promotion I wanted—and believe me, I’d been trying—and I was feeling very stuck career-wise. Then I met a guy and fell—hard—and I chose to stay to see where things that went, even though it didn’t feel quite right. I can admit now that I was afraid to be alone.

One year ago: I’d moved in with my boyfriend and finally gotten promoted at work. Saying that sounds like life was great, except I felt like a shell of myself. Every little thing had me on edge; I would literally cry over spilt milk. It was awful, and it got even worse when just before my 29th birthday, my boyfriend started saying completely horrible things to me. I cried, sobbed, and screamed, and finally, I told him to move out. I was left with the overwhelming desire to get rid of everything I owned and leave New York for good, except I knew that at that point, I couldn’t be happy anywhere. I needed time to rebuild myself first. I breathed. I stayed. I proclaimed on my 29th birthday that the upcoming year would be my year of courage.

Let me tell you: when you make a declaration like that, you’d better be prepared for what’s coming.

Six months ago: Three important events:
1. a management training for work, which led to the realization that I didn’t want my boss’ job;
2. the beginning of my yoga teacher training, which helped me find myself again; and
3. finding a (fortunately benign) lump in my breast, which reminded me that I want to be living life on my terms.

Those three things finally propelled me to acknowledge my quarterlife crisis, to make the type of change that had been on my mind for the past few years. When my boss asked me in a meeting if I was happy at
my job, I simply replied, “No.” That startled both of us, and I knew then that I needed to go for it. I realized that there would never be a perfect time; this was the moment to say yes to myself and figure out the details later.

One month ago: I turned 30, and declared it my year of flourishing. I don’t know what’s coming; all I know is that the traditional path—the desk job, living longer-term in one city, settling into a relationship—hasn’t worked for me. In five days, I’ll no longer be employed. In two weeks, I’ll leave my apartment in Brooklyn one final
time. I’ll head to Seattle and then Europe, traveling for several months, and eventually making my way to Sydney—or maybe Melbourne—to be a photograph-taking, gluten-free pie baking, knitting, tattooed
yoga teacher and blogger.

Watch out, world. I’m coming for you!

Anxiety, Variables, and a Clean Slate

posted 15th February 2011 Written by: Amanda CATEGORY: Amanda, Family, Job/Career/Work, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 4

When folks find out they’re going to be having a baby, it’s time to set up shop in an appropriate dwelling somewhere in the suburbs, far away from the hustle and bustle of a busy metropolis. After all, isn’t that the ideal place to raise a baby?

I’d been dreaming of a life in the city since I was little, and considering I’d been waiting out the last three years in the suburbs, I wasn’t about to let a little thing like a baby stop me from achieving that luscious goal. And so, instead of running away from city life, I decided to run towards it.

It’s immeasurably difficult to determine the needs of a growing family before the family has, well, grown. As is, the best Mike and I can do is plan around finances and more visceral, immediate needs. The most immediate being that I needed a maternity doctor that I could trust and breathe easier knowing that she (or her team) would be in the delivery room with me for the birth of my first baby. ‘Cause, y’know, I’m terrified of that whole bit.

I couldn’t do that while stuck in the suburbs as bureaucratic red tape threatened to strangle our little family before it even got started.

With that in mind, we started looking for a two bedroom dwelling that was in a good neighbourhood and had room to grow a bit. Real estate prices in the City of Glass are the highest in Canada (yes, even including the sprawling cities of Ottawa and Toronto) so purchasing was out. Even renting was going to be a doozy with those kinds of prices.

We looked.

We looked and we looked and we looked.

By the time the middle of January hit, we despaired. The deadline to get our information into the hospital I wanted to deliver at was fast approaching and we had nadda to show for it.

Panic ensued.

I had problems sleeping.

What in the hell was I going to do if I didn’t have a baby doctor? Get a midwife and deliver the baby at home? Truth telling, although that option works for some women, I sure as shit knew it wasn’t going to work for me. Something about being firmly entrenched in science and having a deep and profound respect for highly-trained professionals? Nah, more like it makes me nervous not to know all the details.

So, as I sat up at night, afraid of all the x’s and y’s in my baby birthing equation, I contemplated and, some would say, brooded (lends credence to my claims of being Batman). Part of me craved — no, needed — answers. The other part of me was so paralyzed with fear that inaction became my middle name. I wanted to embrace this anxiety of unknown variables and, if it was a problem that would only affect me, I would’ve been more inclined to take a deep breath and plunge.

But this… tiny creature needed to be protected, which meant that I needed to be proactive instead of reactive. It also meant that I had a lot of undue panicking under my belt while Mike picked up the pieces and, y’know, found a place for us to live. Panic stopped choking me. I could sit back and sort out some of these things called priorities. Well, in theory.

I’ve let a lot slip through my fingers over the last four months while I adjusted to this whole pregnancy bit: projects (both personal and work-related), people (did I mention that I became a temporary hermit?), and places (for the love of cupcakes, will you look at the state of this apartment?). I’m in the midst of rectifying the plethora of screw-ups that went about masquerading as pregnancy haze.

New dwelling. Clean slate. Tally-ho and sally-forth, Jeeves. Onward.

Photo Credit: Pope Jon

For Marian, Forever Ago

posted 6th January 2011 Written by: Marian CATEGORY: All Posts, Inspiration, Job/Career/Work, Life Lesson, Love/Relationships, Marian, Season 3, Travel, What I've Learned

Dear Marian,

You’re a funny one, aren’t you? I know high school is being a bitch and a half right now and your boyfriend is a crazy person and you pretty much hate everyone, but I promise: College classes are better than high school classes, you will not be with that boyfriend forever and, trust me, it isn’t you; the people in Greenwich actually do suck.

You may attend a certain college for the wrong reasons, but it will end up being the right place for you. There, you will find a group of friends who adore you more than life, you will find out who you are without your high school sweetheart AND you will end up traveling to 13 countries in the span of a year. You will switch your major from Spanish to Gender Studies, just because it’s more fun. And that’s one thing I crazy admire about you, Past Marian, you don’t stress about what you should be doing. You just do what feels right.

And so far? It’s played out pretty well. There will be a period after graduation where you’ll feel 100% stressed and frustrated about what you’re supposed to be doing. You’ll make a huge effort to get a “real” job and you’ll end up quitting it anyway to go solo. It’s not particularly scary, but don’t stress when you end up having to leave New York. There are bigger and better things to come. Also remember that you kind of always knew you weren’t supposed to be at a desk so when everyone starts congratulating you about your “new life” and how exciting it must be, don’t freak out when you just smile and nod and don’t actually feel any passion towards your cubicle and phone extension. It’s not you and I hope you celebrate that.

While I’d like to give you some grand advice to help plot your way through breakups and travels and horrible grades and great grades, everything you do leads to where you are now. Which is in sunny New Zealand with the greatest person on earth. And while you still may be floundering with the whole “What the hell am I doing” part of your life, you are with the right person and you have the amazing flexibility to do and go whatever and wherever you want. You never succumbed to what was popular; you never pretended to be something you weren’t; you never listened to anything but your heart.

Make sure you never lose that quality. Make sure you don’t let other people’s failures and bad advice get in your way. Writing this now, though, I know I have nothing to worry about. While life doesn’t get any less stressful in the next ten years, you’ve managed to kick so much ass. For this, I am completely and brilliantly proud of you.

Love,

Marian

It’s All About The Little Things

posted 12th November 2010 Written by: Alisha CATEGORY: Alisha, All Posts, Family, Life Lesson, Money, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 3, What I've Learned

I gotta tell ya, these happy pills have been pretty amazing. My body no longer aches. I laugh. I talk. I smile. Hell, even on those rainy Chicago days that I used to groan about so much, I walk on clouds. It is amazing! Now that the fog of depression has lifted, I am able to see just how wonderful my life is. It isn’t perfect, but wow. I can not believe how much of the good I could not see.

Even if you are not depressed, I think you can agree that it’s really easy to throw yourself pity parties. Like, life sucks because you have to buy beer in the cans instead of beer in the bottles. Or you think you might as well just stop leaving the house because all of the shirts you own are unravelling. Or maybe you would rather get fat and sick eating off the McDonald’s dollar menu because shopping at Whole Foods is not an option right now. Perhaps all of your best friends are married and you still spend Saturday nights cuddling your cats. But that’s all petty shit, ya know? You probably have about a zillion amazing little things to be grateful for in this life.

And life is as much about the little things as it is about the big things.

Take this cup of coffee. To the plain old person, it’s just a plain old cup o’ joe (Kirkland’s Columbian Roast) in a plain ol’ mug. But for me it’s something bigger.

We moved here almost two years ago. We thought it would be a good opportunity: a chance to travel on a different career path and be near family. It was a huge sacrifice. We gave up a lot of money, a lot of stuff, a lot of security to make this leap. We had no idea that my side of the family would move–taking their free daycare offer with them. We had no idea that the job we thought would be so great would be so bad; that my father-in-law would be attacked (and finally killed) by that damn cancer; that the winters would be so long, so gray and so lonely. We didn’t know that money would be so tight that I would have to spend last spring, summer and fall selling my clothes, my purses, my shoes, my children’s toys to make ends meet. And that when they still didn’t meet, we would go to the food pantry.

Despite how depressing many of those months were, I am happy for the life lessons I learned along the way. I learned how to use a sewing machine. (I made some pretty awesome pillows and pants.) I learned how to bake bread and cook dry beans. (My chili kicks ass!) I learned that appearances are decieving. (The grass is always greener on the other side, isn’t it?) I learned that it actually takes very little to survive. (VERY little.) I learned how to dissociate my self-worth from my possessions. (This was a hard one. But I finally got it. I am NOT my things.) And this led to me being even more appreciative and grateful for all the little stuff.

Like this cup of coffee.

I am so grateful and so happy that I can sit here at my desk and drink this cup of coffee.

(photo credit)

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INTRODUCING: KAT

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For Marian, Forever Ago

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