Posts in Dreams
Just Trust It

Coming home from a foreign country is a weird thing, man. You’re picked up by an airplane some 6,000 miles away, and by the time you wake up from a Nyquil coma everyone speaks your language and you can once again get a pumpkin spice latte off the Starbucks menu. Walking through customs at the Miami airport was akin to peeing in swimming pools as a child – comfortable, warm, a feeling of joy quite literally spreading around me. There were Christmas carols playing and decorated trees spotting the lobby, and hearing the words to “God Bless America” played over the loud speakers moved me to tears.

Home is a beautiful thing.

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So This is the New Year

“...and I don’t feel any different.”

As 2015 comes to a close, so does my first year after college. And while I don’t feel any different, I don’t feel the same as when I walked the stage last year either.

Back then, I thought I’d be writing this post with my whole life figured out. A perfectly stenciled career plan in place. Trips around the world and days of jet lag under my belt. Well on my way to finding Mr. Right.

I am here to tell you that one year later, I have achieved exactly none of these things. And that’s fine.

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So This is the Desert, Then, Part II

It’s been a year. I think that’s the best way to summarize my first year after college, because the statement “it’s been a year” is wide enough in ambiguity yet concise enough in simplicity to accommodate both the good and bad. So, yeah, it’s been a year.

Confession: This year, I had become selfish. I mean, let’s be real, I’ve always been selfish (‘Me? Selfish? But I’m perfect!’ argues my ego), but this year I was especially so.

It was always about me. But not in an openly obvious way, as though I consciously made the effort to view myself as the center of the universe. It was just the average “me, me, me” attitude that we so often perpetuate, ya know? Just continually thinking about the things common to someone who has recently graduated: What is my dream job? Where do I want to live? How can I find happiness?

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What to Expect When You're Expecting (to Graduate), Part II

In the first post I wrote for this series I talked about not wanting to leave Nashville after I graduated at the end of this semester. I talked about my fear of losing comfort and the home that I have built in a city I didn’t have to be convinced into adoring. I even emphasized the point by writing three times in italics—I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave. When I went back to read this post five minutes ago, I almost laughed out loud into my mocha.

Since I wrote that post I have decided to stay in Nashville and the voice of fear that screamed loud about not wanting to leave screams even louder about not wanting to stay.

I don’t want to stay. I don’t want to stay. I don’t want to stay.

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Bloom Where You Are Planted

While there were bumps in the road (like having the flu on day 2 or traveling 12 hours from Sheffield to Edinburgh and ending up on a bus because all northbound trains were canceled due to flooding) we really did have a great time and saw some breathtaking “once in a lifetime” sights.  

But this trip had a different taste. I’ve traveled before and never felt like I was far away from home. I’ve always wanted to keep exploring, keep traveling and just keep moving. The flight home is usually a sad one. Once I step on that plane it usually means back to reality and a routine. 

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One Year Later: A Reflection

It’s been a year since That First Year was launched. 365 days. And in those 365 days, more than 30 people (33, to be exact!) have contributed 131 posts to this li’l blog; more than 30 people have willingly put figurative pen to figurative paper to write about just how messy and confusing, yet oh-so-beautiful that first year after college can be. We’ve had posts covering the gamut of topics: from life to love to friends to travel to dreams to some of our favorite things.

“These posts are getting too relatable now.”

Someone said this about a post recently and I wanted to give ‘em a big ‘ole hug through the computer because that’s exactly what I was hoping this blog would be: a place where people can relate to the stories this community has shared. 

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365 Days of Being My Own Worst Critic

It’s been almost a year to the day that I walked across that stage, shook hands with a bunch of university higher ups, followed by six to eight weeks of waiting for that thick, expensive piece of paper proving I did actually earn a degree; it wasn’t all some strange, sleep deprivation dream.

“So what are you doing now?” they ask innocently, not understanding the onslaught of fear and frustration that question brings with it.

I have the same job I had before I graduated college, and while it doesn’t leave me satisfied career wise, it does pay those bills. So I’ve spent my first year outside academia learning to be okay with that. For now. It’s been no simple task, especially when I notoriously push myself too hard to ridiculous goals that I know are out of reach at the moment, but yet I expect them of myself anyway. I came out of college as the worst kind of critic: a perfectionist.

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Real World 2.0

A lot has changed over the past few months. I moved into an apartment, and I have a job where people continue to congratulate me on having a job. (Is it written on my face that I’m an English major, I don’t know…).

It wasn’t a huge, sweeping move. But it takes great courage, I think, to go anywhere new, to separate yourself from what you’ve once known and who you once were.

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What You Should Know About Waiting

Over coffee one weekend, my friend poured out her thoughts in the vein of frustration with her first full-time gig after college. Her angst was stemming from the general discontent of routine and the initial feeling — 3 weeks in —that her job was meaningless and seemingly dead-end.

As I listened, I felt the ping of familiarity with these sentiments — feeling discontent with the present and frustration of waiting for the future.

She asked me, “How long does it take for this to go away?”

I couldn’t give her a concrete answer. What do I tell her? That this will all go away soon? At the end of the month? Year?

And there lies the root of our frustration: there’s no timeline.

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What the Hell is "The Dream" Anyways?

When I first sat down to write this blog post, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted to say.

I was prepared to tell you that “the dream” you’ve been chasing might not actually be a dream of yours at all. I was also ready to say that our dreams can often cloud our ability to recognize alternative opportunities. After much reflection editing, and contemplation, I realized that I had conflicting opinions on “chasing the dream.” Here’s my best shot at explaining my opposing viewpoints.

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9-to-5ing

About a month ago, I got a job offer (miracle in itself that anyone would even consider me for any position…). And I reacted the way I normally would: I ran away.

Actually, the trip I was going on had already been long planned out, and it just so happened to fall on that very same weekend. Since my favorite activity is ignoring all responsibility, it couldn’t have been a more perfect time to go. I won’t get into how obsessed I am with traveling considering I feel like I do this in every post/somehow find a way to bring it up to total strangers I meet in the grocery store, but there is a certain clarity I find that I never knew how to find here, the way I toss and turn all night at home but sleep straight until morning when I’m anywhere else. To me, wanting to see and do so much and knowing there are boundaries to that is heartbreak. Maybe the biggest heartbreak I’ve ever known.

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Don't Quit Your Daydream, Part III

In a short couple of months, I will officially be one full year out of college. There’s still a lot of things I wish I would’ve done by now and a few that I wish I hadn’t done at all. For better or for worse though, this year has happened and it’s turned out to be so different than I anticipated.

One of the things that I’ve really loved doing this past year is just sitting down and taking the time to create something.  I found a pen pal group called #confetticourier that was started by one of my favorite Instagramers, @peytonfrank.  The way it works is that each month that you want to participate, you sign up by a certain date in a private group created by Peyton on swapbot.com. The website then automatically generates someone from the group for you to send snail mail to.  You don’t receive mail from the same person you send to, so you never know what you’re going to get! I’ve received some really amazing packages so far with unbelievably stunning calligraphy from all over the world. My calligraphy was mediocre at best so I recently decided to step up my #snailmail game.

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What to Expect When You're Expecting (to Graduate), Part I

It’s 7 pm. The white Christmas lights that are lined with postcards from my semester abroad and the ones that are wrapped around my headboard are twinkling against their respective walls. There are two kittens curled up on top of each other at the foot of my bed and I have set up camp in the chair that barricades me into my “reading corner.” I just finished a short story I was assigned in creative writing that dug its claws deep down into my writer’s soul and as I type a Bath and Body Works candle spits fumes of vanilla marshmallow out into the air.

I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave.

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The First Fall of Adulthood

It felt eerie because of how familiar the scene was: trying to figure out who was asleep on the couch because they were sleeping face down, everyone coming out of their bedrooms looking for water and answers, eating cold pizza that was left out all night and washing it down with an open Bud Light that was completely flat.

People say that you actually feel like you graduated when you don’t go back to school for the first time in your life in the fall. While I did feel a little off at the beginning of the month, it was being on campus last weekend that I really felt it.

I teared up on my drive home. How could this part of my life be over? Don’t get me wrong, I hate being hungover and am glad I wasn’t in as rough of shape as my friends, but they don’t know how good they have it. The only priority they have on weekends is to eat something and shower before it’s time to go drink all over again. I had to go home to do my laundry and grocery shop (I miss the dining hall) and get my life together.

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