Go At Your Own Pace

I wake up each morning (well, more like late in the afternoon, thanks unemployment!) and this is usually what happens: I sit in my bed for what feels like forever, just warm and toasty wrapped in a duvet, playing on my phone for a bit—well—more like a while, seeing as I don’t have to go anywhere. I then make my way out to the kitchen and have a nice breakfast, sometimes accompanied by a cup of coffee depending on how early it is. I go about the rest of the day doing whatever I please, which mainly revolves around trying to find the perfect job. And then, the rest of the day is history.

So, as you read this, you may think to yourself, “Wow, she seriously needs to get out more” or, “Doesn’t she have things to do?”

I know I’m not the only young person in this situation. So many people in their twenties, sometimes thirties even, are completely unsure of what they want to do with their lives—myself included. I’m used to hearing certain thoughts creep into my head, such as, “Why am I even here right now? Shouldn’t I have my own apartment, a job, and some sort of really amazing, glamorous life by now?” This especially happens after I see updates from my friends (and former classmates) on Instagram, Facebook, the whole shebang.

It’s kind of difficult to say this, maybe a little obvious, but people out there just do things at a different pace than others. So many young people feel the need to start their careers at the same pace as their peers, buy a house at the same time as their peers, get married and have kids at the same time as their peers, all because they believe it’s what you’re supposed to do. Well you know what? Screw it! How about we each do our own things, live our own lives, and just be happy with whatever we’re doing. I know I am, and it feels so liberating!

No matter what you see on Facebook, or Instagram, or Snapchat, no matter how many of your friends have important jobs, or partners, or kids, those things don’t take away from what you’re doing with YOUR life whatsoever. We are all unique, interesting, and making our mark on the world in such amazing ways. Some people help others, some people create things for the rest of the world to enjoy, and some people do other amazing work. We just have to accept that some people will enjoy their biggest accomplishments at different times than everyone else.

And as for me, I just work at my own pace. Even though I don’t have a full-time job, I know that the best thing for me will come along soon. All I have to do is keep this in the back of my head, mainly during the times I’m hard on myself, and next thing I know, I’m doing okay.

FRIENDS, WE CAN'T DO THIS WITHOUT YOUR SUPPORT!

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.

2 simple ways you can support us:

Pre-order issue 2 of Windrose Magazine or pledge for another great reward tier!
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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.

Career, LifeAbby ProwantMarch 22, 2018Comment

Go At Your Own Pace

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