FROM THE ARCHIVES: One Year In: 3 Life Lessons from That First Year of Post-Grad Life

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!

In the first draft of this post, I tried to lay out the reasons I feel like an adult now that I’ve been out of school for a full calendar year. The more I wrote, the more I began to contradict myself, and the more I realized I’m really just 22. While personal accountability and Home Depot are heavy on my mind these days, I still fuck up quite a bit. Believe it or not, paying bills and listening to NPR do not always equate to real maturity!

I turn 23 at the end of July, meaning I was the baby of my grade all through my academic career. Being the youngest (among other things) somehow made me feel uncool and likely had an effect on my ridiculous effort to prove just the opposite. Self-expression was key here. I found identity in a flowy skirt, Converse sneakers and a Rolling Stones t-shirt in the 8th grade.

“Woah, Lane, that look sounds way chill already—how’d you manage to make it even chiller?” you ask? Braces and a DIY hemp necklace, obviously! The universe had surely never seen anything this edgy. I remember feeling like a fraud but also a badass when asked, “Can you even name a Rolling Stones song?” and responding only with a panicked “yes—of course!” before fleeing the room immediately.

I can name close to 10 (lmao, boom) Rolling Stones songs now, but in many ways I still carry around that same confidence-meets-self-consciousness. It’s this stupid thing where I don’t care what people think about me so much so that I want them to know just how much I don’t care. I believe “caring” is what that’s actually called. So just to reiterate: sometimes it’s hard to feel like an adult.

Reflecting on the year, it bums me out to realize how hard I’ve been on myself. Whether that meant kicking myself for not living up to an expectation or kicking myself for being “too much” or kicking myself for not being enough, there was always a reason to kick. But the thing is, all we can do most of the time is try to exist as we are.

That said, I’ll keep this short and sweet with three pieces of advice for those entering their first year after college:

1. Stop apologizing.

A good chunk of your late teens/early twenties are spent feeling perpetually in the way—we can thank unpaid internships and not having a penis for that. It starts to feel accustom to attach an apology or explanation to any question, any emotion, anything. But then one day you take a glance at the world around you and realize that secure people don’t do that and that with every dejected “sorry” you are morphing into a human doormat. Don’t be a human doormat. Don’t focus your energy and words on justifying things that don’t need to be justified. You are allowed to ask questions and you are allowed to feel things and you are allowed to exist. We are all equals and anyone who has a problem with that should just do the world a favor and take a permanent nap.

On the other side of that coin, do know when to apologize. We can all be super dick-ish in our own ways. Own up to it and mean it and fix it.

2. That shit’s just gonna happen.

You know what? Let’s acknowledge this “look at me I’m an 80-year-old trapped in a 20-something’s body and I love knitting on Friday nights and it’s adorable and somehow this makes me better than you” movement. I’m not knocking anyone’s lifestyle, but sometimes in your early twenties, it is your civic duty to get into some compromising scenarios. Live a little and don’t let the world make you feel guilty for wanting to do so!

In the aftermath of weirdness, you have no choice but to own it. That’s all you can do. Surround yourself with people who keep you in check if you’re truly going off the deep end, but never forget that having fun and making mistakes in the process doesn’t make you damaged goods or less of a substantial person. Go easy on yourself.

3. Expect the unexpected.

Unpredictable—the blanket term for life post-grad.

Learn to stay leveled during the highs and the lows. One moment something may put you on top of the world, but you’d be silly to think that something else won’t knock you down shortly after. Taking a grounded approach to the good and bad instances keeps you sane. Nothing lasts forever—there is a lot of beauty to be found there if you allow yourself to become comfortable with this idea.

This has been one of my favorite lessons. You wouldn’t believe how much of a relief it is to let go of staunch plans and expectations and just let things take their course. Because if life went according to plan, how boring would that be?

[Photo by Julie Bloom.]

[This post was originally published on June 6, 2016.]

TWO WEEKS TO GO AND WE NEED YOUR HELP!

In support of Windrose issue 2, we’ve launched a Kickstarter!

In issue 2, you’ll find articles like:

"On Heartbreak and Healing"
"The Poison of Perfectionism"
"In Defense of Loneliness"
"How Corporate Killed My Creativity And How I Got It Back"
"On What It Means to Matter: An Interview with Author Hannah Brencher"

And so much more—all real life stories to assure you that you’re not alone as you navigate life in your twenties.

3 simple ways you can support us:

Purchase this dope “Awake My Soul” downloadable print.
Pre-order issue 2 of Windrose Magazine.
Share with your friends and fam who would enjoy Windrose!

Windrose Magazine with Computer + Coffee.JPG

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.

Life, Graduation, CareerLane SasserMarch 20, 2018Featured, From the ArchivesComment