Setting Post-Grad Goals

I can hardly believe that I graduated from college five months ago. I think to myself, Wow, that is nearly two-semesters worth of time. This new season of life is unnerving, exciting, and moving at lightning speed. Days flow into weeks and suddenly I find myself having trouble remembering what it was like to live quarter-to-quarter/semester-semester.

Being thrown into the post-graduate stereotypical chunk of millennials is jarring, especially after spending the last 18 years of life in the regimented schedule of school. I liked the routine. I liked waking up at the same time everyday, catching the same bus, knowing what my day would have in store. Therefore, I thrived in the American public school system (ironic, right?). The rigidity of school presented me, and many of you, with tangible goals that could be measured against time.

Collegiate goals manifested themselves in an inner monologue that resembled something akin to, Okay girl, you got this week, just take your bio exam Wednesday, meet with your advisor Thursday, and cruise into the weekend.

In college, time sets itself up for you nicely as it is broken down into quantitative blocks and memories become, “Remember first semester when we went to that brewery for your birthday?” or “Spring Junior year was that semester I decided it would be a good idea to take six classes and then pierce my septum out of rebellion.”

This method of measuring life changes once you graduate, and that change is hard to deal with. It’s hard to not compare yourself to your peers, scroll through social media and think, “He already has a full time job, volunteers and is getting engaged… I should be too…” Here you’ll find yourself in a stepping stone sort of game where you look ahead on the path and see that you are no longer on the same stone as your peers. College placed you all on the same spot and now the stones are scattered and you’re struggling to keep pace. The beauty is found in the day when you realize that you no longer have to keep jumping stones.

Instead of living my life by assignments, I now live my life by way of goals. Post-grad goals are extremely important, especially if you are only working part-time, like me. Let’s be real, no one sets out to be a barista and work at the gym, but it pays the bills (somewhat) and refocuses my priorities. I have to live with the fact that this is what it is right now, and I’m oddly happy about it all.

But priorities and goals in post-grad life call for some perspective.

As I’m pouring coffee before sunrise my mind wanders, almost overflowing the cup in front of me, and I think to myself, “This week is about rock climbing and blogging and researching that proposal and making plans with Kevin.”

Every week has categorized goals that propel me into the next week and prevent my soul from being consumed by mochas and macchiatos and allow me to consider far off adventures (sounds cheesy, I know).

“Categorized goals” sounds clinical, removed and way too “adult” for a post like this. What are categorized goals? I have different parts of my life now. For instance, instead of biology, calculus, and English literature, I have work, fitness, love, and friendship. These categories are organically born as I look at my schedule and think, Olivia, your time is not limited, but rather allotted. Monday is work and gym. Tuesday is work and gym and doctors appointment. We all make our way to Friday, but getting there does not have to be a harrowing journey if you break it up into parts.

In reality, everything is not as easy as having a calendar of goals. What I mean is that my life is not this perfect Cosmo article broken down into a tabular fashion, but having goals and to-do lists make the struggle of finding myself this year a lot more manageable.

Just for some necessary perspective, I’m sitting in a Starbucks, having just paid for my iced coffee in nickels, writing this piece on my day off and my ex just texted me from 3,500 miles away. My afternoon here in Starbucks may seem out of place, but this is only because it is so much along the lines of categorizing my priorities that it is hard to discern. Starbucks has earned itself a permanent spot on my to-do list for two reasons now: work and writing. In other words, in order to get this blog post written I had to go back to the category of “work” and insert time for this. Life is weird and confusing, but it’s so good and I’m crazy in love with this life.

Management is a big word. Ten whole letters long. You know what’s longer? My to-do lists. Do I feel overwhelmed? Yes. I ask myself every week, Is this really happening? “And by “it” I mean, Am I really trying to work 35-hours, go to the gym twice, write, call my best friend that lives five states away, go to the doctors and see my boyfriend at least one night? The answer is always yes.

Post-grad goal setting has to put you in a place of yes in order to be successful. Yes means ignoring the thought in your head that says “You should have a ‘real’ job by now.” It means sometimes prioritizing your own mental health over that of your friends. A place of yes means openly communicating about the difficulty in scheduling your life and the life of your significant other. A place of yes is about both realistic and unrealistic goals that keep you chugging along, happily. To put realistic and unrealistic goals into better perspective, these are my current goals: 1) Find a permanent full-time-big-girl job 2) Master the V3 in the rock gym 3) Pack for this weekend’s camping trip 4) Find a new Netflix show to binge. Which of those are realistic and unrealistic for this upcoming week? That depends on how I categorize my goals and my time and how much I want to sweat (both physically and mentally).

I’ve found that without daily goals in this post-grad whirlwind I become complacent and complacency is the end of all goals.

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The End of An Era: Saying Goodbye to Windrose

Hi friends,

Announcement (sounds so formal, doesn’t it?):

It's the end of an era.

I’ve decided that, after nearly 8 years of telling stories of navigating life, this season of Windrose is drawing to a close.

Even Here: Words for When You're Wandering

When I was 22 years old, I visited the desert for the first time.

A metaphorical desert, if we’re getting technical.

I was fresh out of college, starry-eyed and eager to begin my post-grad life. I had big ‘ole me-centered dreams: a shiny, brag-worthy PR job in the music industry! An apartment with an exposed brick wall that (somehow) would fit an upright piano! A committed relationship with a kind, goofy man!

I got exactly none of those things.

To summarize an entire year’s worth of emotion: I was devastated.

What is Home?

Late last night, I flew back into town after a week away, the city lights covering the Valley like a blanket of incandescent flowers. I’ve flown into Phoenix at least a dozen times at this point. Usually, I can identify a handful of landmarks, like my antenna-scarred South Mountain or the twinkling lights of the bridges spanning Tempe Town Lake.

Flying into Nashville, however, was always different.

I Don't Live Here Anymore

I recently returned to Nashville for the first time since moving to Phoenix five months ago.

Before my reunion, I often said that the word “home” could apply to both Nashville and Phoenix. Nashville is my home. Phoenix is my home. I could find that home-sweet-home feeling in both cities.

During my 8 days back, I frequented my old haunts. The brickwalled coffee shop still serves the meanest mocha in town. The hillside winery still proves to be a worthwhile spot to sip away a sunny Sunday afternoon. The hip burger joint still offers a lovely evening to dine with friends, new and old. The lime-green Mexican restaurant on the corner of Whitebridge still feels like a queso-soaked refuge.

There were many “stills,” but there were changes, too.

Why did you move?

A cardstock print sits propped against the lamp on my desk: a taupe watercolor swipe outlining a peakside Saguaro, the sun a tiny ring above. Beneath this minimalist illustration are these words in typeface: “I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

I happened upon this notecard-sized print on the way out of a shop last weekend, after already having completed another purchase. It was the last print of its kind in the pile. I had to have it. I returned to the cashier: “This one, too.”

You see, this verse has been a thread weaving through my story, simple words spoken by a prophet long dead, a passage of comfort I’ve returned to again and again since my pilgrimage to the desert four years ago, when I inked a cactus on my wrist.

The Good Old Days

Last week was National Margarita Day.

I did not, however, celebrate the holiday. Truthfully, I’ve yet to find THE Mexican place here in Phoenix. You know the one: gaudy decorations, cheap food, even cheaper margaritas.

But there’s a Mexican restaurant at the corner of Charlotte and Whitebridge in Nashville, TN.

You may have heard of it.

Witching Hour (or, Fighting Off Demons at 3 am with a Box Cutter)

Between the hours of 3 - 4 am, I find myself awakened by nothing in particular. The room is silent. There is no sound outside. No loud car horns. No dogs barking.

I’m upset.

I wish it was something other than just me. Then I could stop it. Nothing is to blame. It feels like moments have passed since I closed my eyes. The moments of a long dreamless sleep last about 4 hours.

10 Life Lessons This Cross-Country Move is Attempting to Teach Me

There are a few lessons life has attempted to teach me since my move — all things that I haven’t yet spiced up into a full essay, but deserve to be memorialized by my metaphorical pen nonetheless.

So I present a collection of lessons I’ve learned — and am still learning — in the last 3 months.

What Will Your Life Look Like?

Tomorrow marks 3 months.

Three months here, sharing a zip code with Saguaros.

“So how is Phoenix?” a friend asked me over the phone as I sat on my balcony beneath glowing string lights, a pour of raspberry wine in my hand. The sun was setting, painting the eastern mountains with rosy swipes of redemption.

How has Phoenix been these last three months?

What is it Trying to Tell You, if Only You’d Listen?

I went on a date recently. Two glasses of Riesling, pleasant conversation, and a perfectly amicable guy — it was an altogether fine evening.

However, I wasn’t interested in a second date.

Not because of any run-for-the-hills red flags. Not because I didn’t think he was cute. Not because we didn’t get along. I simply — wasn’t interested.

There’s no better way to explain it. No fear-based avoidance of the potential for a healthy relationship. No disdain for commitment that needs a heavy round of therapy to work through. Nothing deeper than the inner sense that a second date just wasn’t necessary.

But, I said yes to getting dinner again with him.

The Other Side of Yes

I’m a No Girl.

In many ways, this is a good thing. I’m able to confidently decline invitations that disinterest me.

“Want to go whitewater rafting?” No thank you, I’m comfy right here on the bank.

“Want to do a shot?” No thank you, I’ll take my liquor with lime juice and Triple Sec, plz.

“Want to try this carrot cake?” No thank you, Harry, I can’t eat gluten.

“Want to go to Broadway?” No thank you, I’d prefer to go to bed.

In many ways, however, being a No Girl originates less from personal boundaries and more from fear. Fear and I happen to be pretty tight; we talk on the daily. Fear has been the primary consultant for many of my life decisions, in fact.

A Song for Growth

A year ago, a friend of mine got a job at a well known tech company. He had been slogging through the interviews, and he finally got an offer. Obviously he deserved it. He was a hard worker, and his attitude for success and life was admirable to say the least. I knew he was beyond qualified.

But at the time, I was on a career path I couldn’t see myself being happy in. I had made the mistake of staying in the industry mainly for the money. Every month in the industry was a reminder of how much I did not want to stay. It created a nasty cycle of overthinking and career angst. Feelings of inadequacy and existentialism rooted themselves deep inside me. I couldn’t focus on anything and was utterly disconnected from the work I was doing.

I admit I wasn’t happy for him.

CareerOlivia PannoNovember 7, 2016Comment

Setting Post-Grad Goals

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