That First Year is looking for writers to share their post-grad stories!
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Let’s all take a step back down memory lane of what was our lives just a few short months ago, shall we? In college you are blessed and cursed with being constantly surrounded by friends: living with them, sharing the same classes, working with them and enjoying Friday night shenanigans together. We are just floating along on a social high and maybe even yearning for some alone time.
Fast forward to present day: My daily social interactions consist of yelling at other Dallas drivers on my hour-long commute, chatting with my co-workers in the office (S/O to the cube), hanging out with my family when I return home around 5 pm each evening, and nightly snuggles with my cat who I’m fairly certain suffers from severe attachment disorder.
I’ll be completely honest: I have been throwing quite the pity party for myself.
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I cried in the backseat of an Uber the other night.
Somehow our conversation steered into the dangerously-open territory of life stories, wherein our driver shared with us that her husband of 21 years had just left her.
"Your 40s are the roughest," she explained.
"Our 20s don't seem much better," I responded. "What about your 30s?"
"You'll spend most of it sacrificing everything for your kids and husband who will later get bored of you and leave. It'll be somewhat happy."
So this is life, then?
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I’m over-the-top ecstatic to share my love for Cold War Kid’s latest album, Hold My Home, as I’ve been waiting to brag about my obsession with this musical gem since its release last year. It is the fifth studio album by trio of baes Nathan Willett (vocalist, guitarist, pianist), Matt Maust (bassist), and Jonnie Russell (guitarist).
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I have many friends who recently graduated and have taken jobs, internships and opportunities far from home. I, on the other hand, recently accepted a job working in a kindergarten classroom as an assistant at a private school in my Louisiana hometown, Shreveport.
I have to be honest, though: I’ve been struggling lately with wondering if it was the right decision.
Not because I don’t think I’ll like what I’ll be doing. Not because it’s one of the best schools in this area. Not because the people who work here seem to be professional, helpful and wonderful people whom I can’t wait to work with. No, it’s none of those things.
Really, it’s because I’m afraid of getting stuck.
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Dear friend,
I flake out easily on plans. I know I do.
Most of the time I really do have every intention of going out, but I just don’t. It’s something I need to work on: just say no from the beginning and quit giving you hope.
I’ve been trying to figure out why I have been extra flaky these past few months - I mean like Parisian croissant flaky - and I still can’t put my finger on it. I’m not going to sit here like I have an excuse. I make the conscious decision to go somewhere or not, but I know there’s a root cause to it all.
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I’ve devised 4 reasons why I still choose Kate Spade and why every 20-something should have Kate Spade in their life too.
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But I quit that, too. “Too hard” was my excuse. Again.
In fact, I’ve quit - or put off - pursuing a lot of things because I’ve deemed them too difficult: learning French, improving my art skills, learning to cook, following through with my goal to write daily.
So instead, I relegate these things to my “wish-I-could” category and carry on with the easy stuff instead.
We always go for easy, don’t we?
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There are three photos of me at my college graduation.
1) I’m coming in with the rest of my class, capped, gowned and wearing my mother’s pink and black polka dotted sunglasses. Everyone else is marching with gravitas, but my arms are high in a victory V, my mouth wide open and excited. I love that picture.
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“Guess what I just did.”
“What?”
“Passed out lolololol”
Laugh out loud.
I’m okay. See that lol? It means I’m okay.
This is me, building walls with AIM-inspired acronyms.
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Since this is a blog about the year after college I figured it's best to be honest. I have no summer job. I have no car. I sit at home with my 14 year-old brother Monday through Friday. But, hey, I'm not complaining. I've never been more relaxed. I've made some positive changes so far - and it's only June! I decided to go gluten-free, discovered I needed glasses, and embarked on an 18-hour road trip with my best friend. In case anyone was wondering - and I highly doubt anyone is - here's my life. (You're welcome.)
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This is it. You’re done with school. Now is the perfect opportunity to get the wild hairs out of your system before you get settled into a typical "adult" routine.
There are a lot of outlets for young people to gain real-world experience in non-traditional ways after college, like teaching abroad, becoming an au pair, or volunteering across the world.
I took the teach abroad route for my first post-grad adventure, and you don’t have to have any teaching experience to be accepted. You generally only need a four-year degree from an accredited university and speak English as your native language.
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When I was in elementary school, I desperately wanted to be a teacher. For hours on end, I would stand in front of my four-legged whiteboard easel, writing out various math problems for my imaginary students to solve. When friends came over to play, they'd sit at my feet with a pile of coloring books and puzzles, ignoring my every attempt to teach them the vocabulary word of the day. To put it bluntly, I was a nerd. The kid who begged their parents for a pair of reading glasses and read the Children's Dictionary for fun. (I still remember the first word on Page 1—aardvark—because I was fascinated by its ridiculous double-A spelling. Why not just name it an ardvark?)
I might have been a bit eccentric as a kid, but by the time I was ten, I had found my calling.
At least, for a little while.
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A few weeks ago, I stood on a sidewalk in New York City at 3 AM, smoking a cigarette.
I watched the glowing ember and smiled.
Sometimes, after long stretches of a remarkably steady life, I forget this part of myself. The part that tastes like gin and dances so very close to complete strangers. The part that lets her hair spill over her shoulders and sways to the rhythm of twenty-three. The part that gets her phone stolen and--when offered a cigarette to cope--laughs. Says yes for the first time.
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I am just a writer.
My elementary school teachers always commented on my natural knack for writing. I was the token essay editor in my apartment in college. I laced bits of lyrics together in my schoolgirl notebooks. I imagined miles of dialogue for characters who had yet to see the light of page.
But I have a confession to make: if you ask to see my writing, I’ll show you my “best material” that was written almost a year ago. And please don’t ask to see my recent material or you will be severely disappointed, because there isn’t any recent material good enough to present, because my recent material doesn’t exist.
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