The Reminder We All Need

[This post originally appeared on Her Story Goes.]

Six months ago, the founder of That First Year (and one of our own talented contributors), Ally Willis, emailed me about a very special project she had in mind: A print magazine chronicling the terrifying and wonderful adventures of post-college life. She was reaching out to a small handful of fellow TFY writers to gauge interest in the project, and I was beyond grateful to be one of them.

Normally, I don’t jump at the chance to write for just anyone. I’m a lazy writer, someone who tends to only put pen to paper (so to speak) when the mood or motivation strikes. And honestly, the mood doesn’t strike nearly as often as I’d like it to. But I’d been an avid reader of That First Year since 2014, and I knew if I dug deep enough, I could come up with something (hopefully) worth contributing.

Turns out, I didn’t have to dig too deep.

The week that Ally reached out to me was significant for two reasons: It was exactly one year after I had made the difficult decision to quit my full-time job in pursuit of becoming a full-time blogger; and consequently, it marked the first anniversary of the conception of Her Story Goes.

Both good things, it would seem—unless you’re like me, and have an annoying habit of second-guessing yourself at every turn. As if on cue, March saw me entertain an unhealthy measure of introspection regarding my chosen career path. The same question reverberated around my brain and consumed my thoughts for a whole month: Did I make a huge mistake?

As confident as I had been in my decision at the time, walking away from my glamorous magazine job—and along with it, my lifelong “dream” career—left an emotional scar that refused to heal, no matter how many times I told myself it was for the best. A year later, I was still feeling an incredible amount of doubt. Perhaps, even, a tinge of regret. And because I was scared of what people would think, I refrained from talking (or writing) about it.

That is, until Ally presented me with the perfect opportunity. Honestly, her timing was impeccable. Sorting through my own conflicted feelings and opening up about my personal experience was never going to be easy. As vulnerable as I felt about my whole job situation, if I was ever going to share my thoughts with the world, I needed an outlet separate from this blog to do so. Ally graciously provided that outlet in the form of a community-crafted, print publication composed of reflections similar to mine.

Windrose is everything you (and I) could hope for in a magazine. It is a collection of real stories we can all relate to in some form or fashion. It’s for those currently in the throes of adulthood—facing new challenges, covering uncharted territory, grieving past phases—and learning to carve out a life all their own. It’s a unifying, uplifting work of words and art that continues to remind me of one very important thing: Despite my endless doubts and fears and insecurities, I’m not alone. And neither are you.

Windrose Magazine is all of those things. And it’s here for the taking.

***

People say that life has a way of working itself out. I’m not sure if this is always true, but what I do know is this: Six months ago, I was lost—completely unaware of my purpose in life and, as a result, struggling with low elf-esteem. It wasn’t until I put those struggles down on paper that I was able to let them go and move on. Now, incidentally in the same month of Windrose’s debut, I find myself on the cusp of a new chapter in my career. I finally understand what I’m supposed to do and what I want my future to look like. And with that revelation, I’ve received long-awaited confirmation that the path I’m on is the right one—and the decisions I’ve made up until this point, small stepping stones guiding me to where I need to be.

While I’m not quite ready to divulge where that is just yet (I don’t want to jinx it!), it’s about time I share with you the humbling experience that led me here. If you’d like to read my story—along with numerous other tidbits and tales from beautiful humans sailing through the same tumultuous seas of adulthood as you—order your copy of Windrose Magazine today. It’s the reminder we all need that everything really will be okay.

Who is Windrose for?

These are words for those who are wandering and wondering through the open spaces of young adulthood, words for those navigating the unchartered seas of a life all your own. Whether starting a new job or investing more in your current one, moving to a new city or creating a home where you already are, making new friends or feeling the loss of your old ones, booking that trip to Europe or only staring at a calendar void of vacation days, Windrose is for YOU.

Where do you ship?

We can only ship within the United States. Sorry to our international friends! We still love you!

When can I expect to receive my copy of Windrose?

You can expect to receive your Windrose copy (or copies... order more than one!) by mid-to-late October. We will update you if this changes.

How will you be shipping these magazines?

We will be mailing your magazine via United States Postal Service. You will receive a tracking number once your magazine has been shipped.

Anything else I should know?

No returns; all sales final.

I still have questions...

Just shoot us an email at info@thatfirstyearblog.com and we'll respond as quickly as we can!

Featured

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.

Career, Dreams, Life, RelationshipsEmily BlasikSeptember 3, 2017FeaturedComment