The best days of your life have yet to come
but it’s okay, it’s alright to open up…

Closing the door, closing your eyes,
You’re only closing yourself off.
So much to see, so much to try,
Don’t be afraid of what you want.
Trapt, “No Apologies”

Over the course of the past few years, I’ve realized that there are a lot of things I’m good at: I can communicate effectively, my empathy helps me to connect to and appreciate others, and I’m pretty good at taking an idea and finding ways to spin it into something better.

But that one thing that I’m really good at? The one thing that I’m pretty much an expert on?

Holding myself back.

Over the years, I fought through that instinct because what I wanted to accomplish outweighed any fear, my desire to achieve my dreams — no matter how simple they seem — was marked by fierce determination to see them through.

And I did.

Despite my anxiety, I went away to college. Despite my homesickness and fear of the unknown, I flew to France. Despite uncertainty that I could do it on my own, I bought a house.

Despite all the excuses not to do something, I listened to my heart and trusted my instinct that told me these dreams could come true, that they were meant for me, and that they would irrevocably change me.

When I want something, when something feels so natural, so right, when I can’t imagine anything else, when I know it’s meant to be, nothing can stop me, not even myself.

College. My parents and I had toured three campuses across the state, all with good, promising programs, all ones that, sure, I could see myself attending. But in my senior year in high school I reached the height of my anxiety, and with each mile that passed, the further from home we drove, the more I wondered if I was making the right move or if I shouldn’t stay closer to comfort.

It was raining the day we pulled off the highway and drove through town, tracing the route by the river. The clouds were dark and a storm was threatening to break; usually, this would have hampered my view, stirring up old anxieties, but all I felt was excitement.

I remember a smile spread across my face as I caught sight of someone walking down the sidewalk with their umbrella in this quaint town, that smile widening even more as the tall brick buildings of the small campus came into view. In an instant, I knew that this would be my school, my home, my Haven. Those four years were some of the best and proudest of my life.

* * *

France. Jersey friend and I were sitting in the Barnes and Noble cafe, flipping through magazines as we wiled away a summer afternoon — his a tech magazine, mine on writing. Our conversation was casual and easy — one of those conversations where you don’t remember specifics but you do remember the company — my eyes skimming over the ads and contests that dominated the back pages. One ad caught my eye — just a few simple words that seemed to flash importance:

Writers. Artists. Retreat. France.

I continued flipping through the pages, but something stopped me; I interrupted our conversation, reached down to pull my phone out of my bag, and sent myself a text message of the URL. I needed to check this out, something told me. That afternoon at home, I did. A week later, I put in an application for the barter program. About a month later, I received an email welcoming me for a stay during the month of November.

As I sat alone in the airport waiting for my flight to board, I was an absolute wreck. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling as I tried to convince my parents and myself that I was great, that I was excited, that I was fine; I couldn’t help but be afraid even after a call of encouragement from my best friend. I could turn around, I thought. I didn’t have to board this flight.

But I did.

Eight hours later, I collapsed in a corner of the CDG airport in tears. Missed flights, missed trains, having no idea how to call the owners of La Muse Inn, and a pat-down by security had left me feeling defeated. But I was there, in the country that I loved, ready to embark on what would become the most important, incredible personal journey of my life.  Little did I know, that the journey had started the minute I put in that application.

After hearing about the nightmare that was my travel experience, my best friend said that she would have turned right around and gotten on the next flight back to Philadelphia. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I wanted this. What’s more, I needed this. Something told me to write down that web address, intuition led me to submit that application, and fate (or maybe just Kerry and John) saw to it that I would be accepted, that I would be spending a month nestled in a tiny village in the south of France, working on my writing, working on myself, and meeting incredible friends. I just had to trust myself and see it through.

It has been the greatest experience of my life.

* * *

Lititz. Less than fifteen miles from where I grew up, this small town always held a place in my heart for its charm and history, and after spending more and more time there as friends moved in, I decided that this was where I wanted my next apartment to be. But I hesitated. My friend called me all the time, telling me about apartments he had seen for rent when he was walking his dog, and though I put in a few calls, they were half-hearted attempts at moving out of my parents’ house and back on my own. I didn’t know what I wanted, I didn’t know where I wanted to be. All I knew was that I wanted something of my own, a place to call home, a place where Riley and I could be happy. And another apartment just didn’t feel right.

I was sitting in the den with my parents, the two of them on one couch, me on another, as we watched whatever was on TV. I talked to them about my situation — how I wanted and was ready to move back out on my own, but I wanted a yard for Riley, and something that was affordable for just one person.

“Renting just doesn’t seem to make sense,” I said.

“Why don’t you look into buying a house?” My dad asked.

It was the question that changed everything. I submitted an application with guidance from my dad and sent an email out to a real estate agent I had met on Twitter. ReMax became my obsession as I poured through the pictures and descriptions of houses in my ideal location of Lititz. A week later, my mom accompanied me to see some of the houses in person, and while one or two were beautiful, none felt right, none felt like home.

Back to the listings. One house in particular caught my eye, but as it was at the top of my price range, I kept passing it over until one day I finally decided it couldn’t hurt to check it out. We set up an appointment to view the home a few weeks later. I couldn’t stop smiling as I saw the front of the 1926 house, saw the fenced in backyard that would be perfect for Riley to run and play in, saw the spacious front porch where I could imagine spending warm summer evenings outside reading or writing or talking to my neighbors and friends. We stepped inside. In an instant, I knew this was it.

Think logically, I tried to remind myself. I knew that I tend to let my emotions run away with me, and I tried not to get too excited for fear of being disappointed, but everything was telling me that this house would be my home. The beautiful old staircase, the renovated kitchen, the wood floors, the sunny rooms, the converted third floor — it was everything I could have ever asked for and so much more.

That was a Friday. There was a showing on Sunday and I wanted more than anything for my parents to see it before I made the very big, very real decision. My real estate agent suggested putting an offer in right away, before the open house, as that could otherwise mean more offers from interested others. I hesitated. It was a huge jump, and I suddenly began to wonder if I was ready to take it. Everything was happening so fast, after all.

I wanted to wait; I knew I couldn’t wait. That evening, we made an offer.

A counter-offer, many inspections, and some minor maintenance later and I was signing the papers and shaking hands and smiling with  more happiness than I have ever felt before. My mom was waiting on the porch as my dad and I pulled up to the house — my house — and we stepped inside. The rooms were empty, our footsteps echoed, but I knew, without a doubt, that love and laughter would fill that space between the walls.

It was the biggest decision I’ve ever made, guided by a dream, intuition, and a realization that I could find happiness again.

Three huge events that have changed my life so profoundly; three times I could have hesitated and held myself back as I so often do out of fear or discomfort or uncertainty of how it will all work out. I’m realizing now how I tend to push through on the big things, but I let such little, simple things get in my way — small insecurities that feed on each other until I’m consumed with self-doubt and a lack of self-worth and wondering what anyone could possibly see in me, wondering if I really am as alone as I feel, wondering if I’ll ever be good enough.

Look at what you’ve done, I try to remind myself. Look at who you are.

You’re more than good enough.

And you’re the only one holding yourself back.

It’s with this reminder that I start again with a dream that has been with me ever since I was a little girl, a dream that I have shelved and then taken back out to admire and dusted off before deciding that it wasn’t time, it wasn’t time, it just isn’t time…

A dream that I’ve been so afraid to pursue…

Because it’s the dream that I’m most afraid of not coming true.

I’m writing again. These past two weeks, I’ve been writing feverishly, building a world inside my head and transposing it to the page. Writing. Creating. Imagining.

Doing.

For years, I put my writing off, the screen blank, the files hidden away in a computerized folder betrayed by promises that I would take them out and write again. Oh, I’d written a few pieces here and there, created a series that spoke to my heart and that I believed in, but there was something missing.

I didn’t believe in myself.

Not in my ability as a writer, a storyteller. Not in the fact that I could ever see my words published in print. It’s possible — I’ve written for a magazine and some newspapers — but that writing wasn’t where my heart is, it isn’t where my dream is.

To cloak truth in fiction, to understand humanity through writing for these characters, to create a world so possible, yet so decidedly different from our own…It’s the imagination, the creation, the questioning and seeking answers which stirs my soul, which whispers its longing, which lights that fire.

Finally, I’m listening.

I’m going with it. No holding myself back, not anymore. No promises of later, no excuses, no turning back.

Write now, edit later. It’s the mantra that most writers go by, the practice that’s so hard to actually facilitate. As I work on this new piece, not knowing where it’s going, I realize that this first draft is complete and utter crap.

And I’m loving it.

I edit my work, I edit my life. I think and analyze and question too much, lose myself inside my own mind, looking too far inward; this is where the seeds of doubt are planted. It’s what had led me to put down the pen; it’s what could have stopped me from going to college, from flying to France, from having this home: What if?

That’s right: What if? So what if what I write turns out to be fodder for the garbage? I’m finding the joy in the art of writing again. So what if I don’t see my works published? I’ll find the success in having completed something personally meaningful.

So what if I don’t see this dream come true?

I’ll know that I tried.

I’ll know that I trusted myself, that I didn’t hold back.

And I’ll know that there are many more dreams to choose from.

Write on.

Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard.
I’m going back to the start…
Coldplay, “The Scientist”

These past two years have been tumultuous, to say the least, although looking back, I don’t think I regret one bit of it. It’s been a roller coaster ride of slow uphill battles and fast declines, filled with anxiety and thrills as I coasted on an uncertain track. Tomorrow, I return to the beginning of the ride as I begin a new full time job at my old place of employment, in my old department, in my old position.

I’ve come full circle.

In 2007, I left my job at a local bank because I was determined to find a job in my field. I was fresh out of college and eager to use my degree in English, eager to return to my love of writing and find that creative outlet that I thought had been lost amid numbers and data-entry.

I was ecstatic to move into a new position with a company’s corporate communications department, a job that, ultimately, had a greater negative affect on me than I had realized at the time. My decision to leave was one I had questioned for months before handing in my letter of resignation, and though the next two years of temp jobs was both exciting and discouraging, it was the right one for all that I had learned, all I had met, and all I had rediscovered within myself since.

These past two months had been difficult, as even temporary work was hard to come by. And while I’ve been a huge advocate for this type of employment, I had recently become discouraged. I craved some type of permanence and stability; I wanted responsibility and a challenge. While being in-between assignments afforded me time for creative projects, I found myself less productive than ever.

I longed for structure, longed for work.

I actually found myself longing for a traditional 9-5.

A friend and ex-colleague told me about an open position at my old job. I hemmed and I hawed and I questioned myself. Could I return to my old job? Was that even possible? Would it seem like I was taking a step back? Would it be a positive decision or would it feel desperate?

The more I thought about it, the more the pros outweighed the cons. I loved my job while I had been there, but I left because I was young and stubborn and ambitious, because that next opportunity had been so enticing and, in many ways, though it ended negatively, it had been a learning experience.

And where I’ve been and who I’ve become since is something I will never, ever regret.

I’ve since realized that the fixed track I’d been following was laid out all along, leading me here: right to this moment, to this experience, to this second chance. Interconnected, it has brought me back to the beginning but with lessons learned, a knowledge more profound, a sense of self better realized.

One thing has led to another, and that has all led to a balance of structure and creativity that I hadn’t even realized I had been seeking, that I never believed was really possible.

Once upon a time, I may have dreaded returning to an old job for fear that it was a step back. Now, instead, I have butterflies of excitement as I think about friendly, familiar colleagues and the challenges and responsibilities that await me, realizing that it’s not so much where you’re going, but where you’ve been and how far you’ve come that makes the difference.

A new ride is about to begin. And for the first time in a long time, I’m excited to see what this one has in store.

It’s been a bit over a year since this blog first debuted — a year of ups and downs, highs and lows, tears and laughter. I have changed, I have grown, I have learned. Along the way, I’ve met some incredible people who are traveling this leg of the journey with me — as other young professionals, as other twenty-somethings.

I’ve said before that I believe things are connected — I believe that there are events in your life that make other events possible. I once likened it to a game of connect the dots, but I think that there is more than one puzzle here, all of it connecting to form a much larger picture. So maybe it’s more like a quilt, with each thread forming a patch, and each patch making up the whole of the quilt.

Over the past year, I’ve followed a lot of threads. Some I thought were wrong and I wanted to go back and take out the stitching, to completely redo it. But even mistakes can be beautiful, I’ve come to understand; mistakes mean that you have the chance to learn, grow, and meet people who might have otherwise passed your way, unnoticed…

When I resigned from my job in communications and decided to work as a temporary employee until I found another job, I didn’t expect the places it would lead me. The stress of the job hunt, the desire to express myself and rediscover a passion (and myself), led to the creation of this blog as an outlet. And this blog led to a community of bloggers on Brazen Careerist.

That network on Brazen Careerist led to a community where I could share my own experiences and learn from others, valuing their perspectives, their insights, and even their friendship. It connected me with other young professionals and career strategists who showed me the importance of managing my own career; it was a blend of ideas coming from all angles. It was more than a place to explain your past experience, more than a place to paste your resume and look for a job — it was a place for community and conversation, learning and debate as you began to build your own career and showcase your potential.

Brazen Careerist has expanded upon these ideas, along with the foundation of community, with the launch of their new site. The site implements groups that furthers connections and encourages discussion based on interests and locations, while profiles illustrate your potential by highlighting your ideas and experience. The new homepage features the “Fan Feed,” similar to other social networking sites, which streams ideas and blog posts from other members you choose to follow — your chosen community — and if you’re looking to meet new bloggers and expand those connections, the Featured Posts section is still available on the sidebar.

So many of my own recent threads are all inter-connected, making up the whole of the past two years and experiences I once may have only dreamed of, culminating to bring me to where I am now, all linking back to the starting point of the blog and the people that Brazen Careerist has brought into my life. For me, it goes beyond readers, beyond the blog. It’s a community of professionals that has the ability to turn personal and become such a positive force. Like a neighborhood where people with similar goals but a wide spectrum of interests step onto their porch and share bits of wisdom gained from experience, pieces of their lives that they’re open enough to share so that others may learn and grow as well.

My threads have led me here, making up this community patch in the quilt that might represent my life. Where have your threads led you?

All of my regret
Will wash away somehow
But I cannot forget
The way I feel right now…
Rob Thomas, “Little Wonders”

I wish I could say that I’m proud of what I did today. I wish I could say that I stuck it out for at least awhile. I wish I could say that I would do it any differently.

But I can’t.

I started a new temp assignment today. Six and a half hours later I was driving on my way to meet with the employment agency after having a conversation with my new boss, explaining the best that I could that I wouldn’t — couldn’t — return.

My temp agency had called me two weeks ago asking if I would be willing to do dictation work for a social services agency. It was a job, it was income, it was something that would continue to keep me busy and my skills matched the position, so I readily agreed. This morning I went in as enthusiastic as ever; I was eager to meet new people, eager to learn about a new industry, eager to play with that pedal thing that controls the tape recorder. I had about a half hour of training before my new boss excused herself for a meeting, and so I decided to just jump right on in and start typing up the case.

The actual job itself was easy — listen to what the caseworker was saying and transcribe it into a word document, formatting it in accordance with previous sessions. Simple. Three and a half hours and two tapes later, I was finished with the case. No problem, right?

Only, yeah. There was.

I swallowed back tears as I ate my PB&J sandwich and gulped down a bottle of water. I breathed in, I breathed out; I tried to distract myself by counting how many different colors made up the cubicle paneling (answer: not enough.).

Later in the afternoon, I was handed some copy work and another case. I barely looked at the pages I was copying as I fed them through the machine. But that other case? That couldn’t be helped. I tried to hold back tears as my stomach fell and my heart broke and I shook my head, ashamed to be human. I gathered up the completed file and crossed the building to where my new boss was located. Handing her the file, I asked if I could speak with her privately, to which she guided me into a secluded conference room. I tried to keep my wavering voice steady, tried to remind myself that I was a professional, tried to separate from the situation and become unfeeling, uncaring…Tried to become not me.

I couldn’t. I apologized profusely, explained that I was trying to be professional and that I was here to help them. But she nodded sympathetically and said she understood. She had been at her job for 31 years and cried every single day in the beginning. Even now, she said, she couldn’t do what those caseworkers did; not everyone can. And I nodded and said that I respected and admired every single person in that building because I couldn’t do it. Not even as a temp, not even for a relatively short amount of time.

I’ve never quit anything like this before; usually, I would have looked at it as a learning experience and stuck it out for what it could teach me, for as long as I possibly could. But this wasn’t a bad job, and it wasn’t what the work itself entailed. It was everything else behind the work. I just couldn’t do it. Every single part of me said that I wasn’t strong enough for this. Not this time.

She said that she was sad to see me go because she thought I would fit in perfectly and that I had been so personable that morning, but I could see sincere sympathy from her and I knew that she understood, possibly better than anyone. So I apologized again and we bid each other good luck and best wishes and I gathered my things and drove to the temp agency where I sat down with them, where they were, gratefully, just as understanding, if not a little surprised.

I could have handled anything else, I think, because I’ve learned and I’ve grown and I’ve experienced all of that before. I could have handled the tough boss, the catty co-workers, the challenging workloads…But I couldn’t handle this. And I’m still not entirely sure why.

Suffice it to say, I feel very weak right now. Very much like a failure, a disappointment. Though through it all, I also know that it was the right decision for me. Yes, I would have learned. Yes, I would have developed a thicker-skin. But with where I am now, with where I’ve been the past few weeks, I know, beyond reason, that it would have done more harm than good. Because I would have wanted to help. And I wouldn’t have been able to. And I would have taken it all to heart and I wouldn’t have been able to handle that.

I did learn from today, though. Possibly more in six hours than I could have ever realized, and maybe that’s the point. So much was placed into perspective for me, and I feel almost ashamed that this is what led to it.

I have no right to complain. I have no reason to cry. I have been blessed with a beautiful life and I should thank my lucky stars for everything that I have and be grateful every single moment for every single day for every single piece of it.

Because there are those who are hurting and not comforted. There are those who are alone and not loved. There are those who are vulnerable who can’t speak up for themselves.

These children are in circumstances where they are tested every single day, and they live every single day with a quiet strength at which I can only wonder and admire. And then there are the people who help them realize that strength, help them find that voice. And I can only watch them in awe and be grateful for who they are and what they do and wonder if I will ever have the strength to be able to do the same.

I can almost see it
That dream I’m dreaming…
But there’s a voice inside my head saying
“You’ll never reach it…”
I may not know it
But these are the moments that
I’m gonna remember most
Just gotta keep going…
Miley Cyrus, “The Climb”

I started up the full-time job search again. I’d been working with a temporary employment agency for about two years as a means for income, opportunity, experience, and learning while I continued the search for something in my field. But then I became satisfied with where I was and what I was doing and that all came to a halt.

Truthfully, I think I began to believe that anything was better than where I had been a year or so ago. So what had been something to temporarily hold me over while I looked for that job match — you know, that one position and company that fits you perfectly and you can imagine many happy years together — slowly began to transform into complacency.

I will advocate for temporary employment every chance I get, especially if someone is in the position that I found myself, but especially if someone is a freelancer or looking to start their own business. Temporary employment is flexible, it’s a (fairly) steady stream of income, it allows you to meet new people, and you’re constantly learning and expanding your skill set. I love being a temp for all of the opportunities that it has afforded me.

However, lately I’ve been wanting something more. I want the challenge, I want something that can sustain my ambitious and driven nature. I want to explore my interests and work in my field.

I want to love my job, what I do. Like perhaps all human beings, I want a purpose.

This past year has been a whirlwind, though that might be an understatement. After such a long time of frustrating stagnation, things picked up and began to move forward at a steady pace. I was grateful, I was happy. But now?

I’m ready for overdrive.

Let me pause for a moment because I have a very strong feeling I might regret saying that.

It’s never been more true, though. I’m ready for things to happen, and for everything I’ve been working for to keep going forward. I’ve been working hard, and while I can’t quite be sure what it’s for, exactly, or where I’ll end up or what it all means, while I may not know where I’m headed, I do know that I’m headed for somewhere.

I’m on my own path and that path belongs to no one else. It’s a reminder I have to keep telling myself as I face confusion and frustration and my mind begins to play tricks and whispers words of inadequacy and comparison. And the road I’m on is still young, still new, still freshly paved. But it’s a long road.

So I’m starting the full-time job search again, willing to relocate and explore if the position calls for it; perfectly content with staying where I am if life takes me on that route as well. Part of the adventure, I’m finding, is the unknown. It’s a scary place, but the best things have happened when I’ve been most afraid. And I know that this will be no exception.

I’m continuing down the road I’m on, in the meantime finding the motivation to all the while move towards my dreams. I’ve never felt more certain that this road I’m following is the right one. And I may have veered off course for awhile, but I’m back exactly where I need to be.

Just a little patience. Just a little faith.

It’s a long road…

But we’re just getting started.