FROM THE ARCHIVES: Get Out Of Your Own Way

We've published hundreds of stories from 100+ writers in the last three years, so we're highlighting some of these timeless posts in our new From the Archives series. Enjoy!

Have you ever had those moments when your thoughts unexpectedly go from a slow, Sunday-driver pace to an absurd, Fast and Furious velocity? This, of course, often happens to me just as I’m peacefully drifting off to sleep.

The most recent time my mind-engine revved was a couple days ago on International Women’s Day, which, to my chagrin, I just found out was a thing. The Google Doodle for the occasion showed women of various cultures and backgrounds finishing the sentence “One day I will…” with their career and life ambitions, and it made me feel inspired and proud, yet simultaneously panicked. After watching the Doodle, the souped-up hot rod in my brain—a Lamborghini, obvi—skipped the first several gears and squealed out of the driveway.

What is my "one day I will" dream? Why don’t I know all of these languages? What if I’ve missed an opportunity—or several— to really pursue my dreams? Am I living up to my potential as a human and a woman? Am I even adulting/womaning correctly?!

Although I’m constantly speeding farther and farther past that getting-to-know-yourself-in-the-real-world first year after college, I still have to come to terms with my insecurities on the reg and remind myself that I’m the only one in my way. I’d love to blame anything and everyone else, but alas, ‘tis my doing.

For instance, by some stroke of luck, I recently landed a gig as a public relations intern at a local creative agency. Although I’m currently holding down two part-time jobs and I have to dash from one to the other right around lunchtime, scarfing down food and switching the mental dial over to the proper channel mid-drive, I’m extremely grateful for the career opportunity. It’s thrilling to perform a job that points you more directly—however slight the degree— towards where you want to go.

But, before I delve too much, let me downshift and tell you a story that only became funny to me, like, 20 seconds ago.

Sometime late last year, a friend of a friend told me that there was a job opening at this small ad agency, and she thought I should apply for it. It was for a copywriting position, something she knew I was looking for and that I knew I needed with every fiber of my being.

I did all the research I possibly could into the company: stalking all of their social media, combing their blogs, taking notes regarding each of the clients and services they had posted about on their site, and reading each of the employee’s “about me” blurbs. I ecstatically polished my résumé, wrote half of the cover letter… aaand then had a mini freak-out and scrapped the entire thing.

Yeah, WTAF? I(still)DK, y’all.

Despite the fact that I had been nerve-rackingly unsure if my lack of experience would hinder me, in retrospect, I should have trusted my instincts and abilities and allowed myself to try for the job.

I was the only person standing in my way, because (go figure!) the copywriting position at the agency my friend had recommended to me (you guessed it) was the same agency at which I’m now working. And during the interview, they complimented my copywriting skills.

Well, shit. *FACEPALM*

Let this be a lesson to you in retrospect: don’t sell yourself short. Sell yourself tall—like, approximately 8’ tall. If there’s something nagging at you, something you know you need to or should do, don’t waste anymore time. Don’t dance around timidly like a squirrel deciding whether or not to cross the street. Get out of your head. Get out of your own way.

Get to it.

[This post was originally published on March 13, 2016.]

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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.

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.

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.

A Song for the In Between

It may be over.

Despite its nature, the concept is definitive. The body is better at preparation than action, so the concept invokes an uncontrolled reaction. The sweaty palms; the rusted coils in the stomach; the feeling of teetering on the edge—my body thinks I’m dying.

It tries to save me from myself. It transforms into a spring to weather elements. Or a boulder. I am hunched, prepared for the event.

But there’s nothing to save me from. My life isn’t in danger. I’m not being chased by a wolf. I sit on the couch. I sit in my chair, still. I am, in theory, perfectly healthy.

Yet my mind paces.

A Song for the Nocturnal

I woke up again and knew I wasn’t going back to sleep.

The alarm wasn’t even close to waking up. The cracked light through my drapes showed the indigo sky—a shade I’ve come to refer to as “you’re not sleeping tonight” blue. I looked at my phone but already knew what it would read before the screen turned on: 3am.

It was the third night in a row I’ve woken up at this time. In the past, options to tackle this insomnia were aplenty: I could go back to sleep after a drink of water. I could read and drift off. I could even play some video games until sleep lulled me back. But lately, my mind pulls the body along a joyride of thought. It starts and doesn’t stop. It has become loud and uncontrollable, like a child. In dead silence this time brings, my mind wakes before my body can at 3am.

3am. Historically, I’ve gotten along with this time.

One could say I’ve preferred the night in my life.

A Song for Embracing the Present Moment

Despite the sun’s rays and the heightened sense of joy in the air that wafted like perfume, I was feeling gray. Over the year, COVID-19 made me uncertain about my future. In my life, like most people, the pandemic revealed certain aspects of life that weren’t previously apparent. Maybe for some it was relationship issues. Maybe it was cabin fever or job uncertainty.

In my case, my career path was no longer clear. I was increasingly aware of this fact as the days dragged on in isolation. Throw in the economic flux of the job market, a splash of consistent restlessness, and you have a cocktail of underlying anxiety.

Caught in a web of thought and analysis-paralysis, I often spent more time pondering the future than acknowledging the present day.

Is This Everything You Wanted, Now That It's Everything You Have?

Is this everything you wanted, now that it’s everything you have?

This question haunts the intro of a song by singer/songwriter Noah Gundersen. At just 2 minutes and 16 seconds, the song is short but packs power like a summer thunderhead. I’ve listened to this song so many times in the last six months, and yet every time I hear it, it does that thing that all good songs do, making your heart feel like it just might burst from an inflation of emotion.

Is this everything you wanted, now that it’s everything you have?

On the surface, yes.

You Can Do Hard Things

“Would you rather be comfortable?” my roommate, Chelsey, asked me.

Work has weighed heavily on me these last several weeks, and on this particular day, I felt like I was on the precipice of a cliffside drop into a panic attack. As I boiled noodles and browned ground turkey, I shared my stresses with my friend as stray tears tried to make a quick getaway from my eyes.

Would I rather be comfortable or challenged?

Unwritten: Overcoming Fear and Doubt

You know that feeling when you first discover something and that something new-to-you suddenly appears everywhere? It happens to me a lot with words, the once unfamiliar expressions jumping from each subsequent page I read or floating through the air, only to rap on my eardrums.

Lately, I’ve felt that way about writing.

Keep Going: Thoughts on Celebrating Four Years of Windrose

I have given up on so many things.

Keep going isn’t exactly my life motto. I’m an instant-results girl, which is why cooking and 5-o’clock traffic bring me such mental anguish.

But today Windrose is celebrating four years of existing in this li’l Internet space—four years of stories told of navigating the challenges and triumphs of life in your twenties.

Waiting for Happy

For my entire life, this has been my dream. Freezing cold, sitting on the roof of my apartment, staring out at New York City in all its glory, at 2 o’clock in the morning, listening to Billy Joel. It really, truly does not get better than this.

But at the same time, it could.

Because there’s something that no one tells you about getting your dreams: Sometimes, it’s not what you thought it would be. Because sometimes, dreams change.

Career, DreamsChristina BergerJanuary 30, 2018From the ArchivesComment