five steps ahead

In a week and a half I'm going to board a plane and zoom across a vast and expansive portion of the United States before I touch down again in Montana.

 

I'm going back to Montana for the second time in three months. My fourth time visiting.

 

Why?

 

Because I made it through the initial application phase and onto the interview phase of my graduate school admissions crusade.  

 

Which means at this point, my dreams are still alive. Which is nice.

 

I wasn't going to say anything here because I didn't want to jinx what I see as good luck and I don't want to have to report back if I come this far and get turned down.

 

But I need to say something, because with a prospective possibility as large as moving to Montana looming large on the horizon, it's almost impossible to think about anything else.

 

As it stands, I only sent in two grad school applications. I still have two more on the back-burner, awaiting submission. (They're not due until May 15th, which seems ridiculously late, but whatever.) Both of the schools I applied to have granted me interviews, which, quite frankly, was more than I was expecting. The first one is via skype, on Monday.

 

It's hard to put into words in any sort of productive way how frustrating, difficult, stagnant, and stuck the past two years have made me feel, although I've bitched and complained and tried to make sense of it often here. Now that there is once again that flicker of possibility and change and growth, I'm ready to shout it from the rooftops.

 

Except it's not time yet, and now that I've grown up a little there are so many things to consider all of the sudden.

 

Before, when choosing a college or a summer job, or a new place to live, I just went for it. I'd take it. No problem, no questions, no matter the distance.

 

But now, my sister is having a baby, I'm going to be an aunt for the first time. My brother is playing college football here. My grandma is suffering from Parkinson's and is within driving distance. My boyfriend's family lives here. Hell, my boyfriend lives here.

 

But that doesn't change that I don't want to be here.

 

It doesn't change the fact that I still feel pulled to wild places, to mountains. To the next great adventure into the unknown, something just outside my reach. I wouldn't be myself if I didn't hold those yearnings at the core of my being.

 

Maybe it's a little early to be thinking this way, I haven't even interviewed yet, after all. Maybe only time will tell and in the end it won't even be my choice to make. 

 

But I've never been able to stop my mind from jumping five steps ahead.   

going places.

Time for a break from my tawdry dating past because it's not really all that exciting and it makes me feel like a cold hearted bitch. Also thinking about it makes me realize how long I just kind of swept myself through life on the tails of everyone else's expectations. I'll probably come back to it at some point.

Instead I present you with some news.

In two weeks, I'M GOING TO MONTANA. To look at two schools and meet with some current students and professors so I can see if I think I'll be a good fit... also my best friend may live out there sooooo, win-win. I just booked my flight on Wednesday. Actually I just decided on Wednesday that I should check out these schools before I spent another 10 hours a piece on their applications.

So, thanks to the fact that my father travels four days a week, I benefit with a free flight ala frequent flyer miles.

BUT THAT'S NOT ALL.

Next weekend I'm going to check out two schools in Michigan, my favorite state in the nation despite the fact that my college football allegiance will of course always remain deeply faithful to The Ohio State University. I'm allowed to love both. My heart is big enough. As I've mentioned before, I spent every summer in Northern Michigan growing up, so getting my next degree in Michgan would mean probably praciticing in Michigan and since I want to live there, it's kind of logical.

I'll actually be in Michigan anyway since my grandparents live in Ann Arbor and so my family will flock there like we're migrating toward a food source. Which, we kind of are.

All I can think about now is mashed potatos.

In conclusion, I'm finally attempting to take a step foward in my life and better my future.

Please hold your applause.

Happy weekending!

Sara

a conversation regarding the future. part 2.

"Well, it's hard to say I'd want to pick up and move anywhere just because it sounds good." States the Man that moved out to Wyoming at age 18 to work on a ranch... because it sounded good.


I guess someone has matured since 18, touche.


"Yeah, I guess so," I replied, not ready to concede the point that we should be discussing our preferences for future locales. "But I'm leaning heavily toward a school in New York City, and I've literally never in my life had any interest in living in NYC. I don't know if I could pick the school for that reason alone." I added.


I'm thinking I definitely had him there. This is also the man that referred to driving to the grocery store in the suburb where we live as going 'into town" before he moved out of the house surrounded by miles and miles of fields and we moved into together closer to civilization.  Surely he doesn't want to move to THAT big bad city either.


"Yeah, I can't say I wouldn't like it though, because I've never even been to NYC," he stated diplomatically.


And now I'm confused because I thought we were going to be closer to the same page on this. The man hates big cities. Or so I thought. So then I pull out my little pearl of recent self-discovery.


"Hm. I don't know. I really think I may be over the whole 'big city' phase in my life. I went chasing it and I wasn't happy with it. It was overwhelming, like I was trying to eat a whole steak in one bite every night. I got tired of being shoved around. There's just too many bodies. Everything is so close together that it's supposed to be more convenient, but really, it was harder for me to navigate and the public transportation made getting anywhere more difficult for me. I felt swallowed up."


And again, I'm surprised by his response.


"Yeah, but there's something about big cities. I'm not saying I want to live in one forever or raise a family in one or that that I love big cities more than the country. But I don't really love the suburbs. I think it would be cool to live in a big city for a while while I'm still pretty young. People that live in cities seem to just build some sort of pride after a time, I mean look at Philly and Chicago. Hell, people even have a sense of pride about being from Detroit!"


"Yeah, and Cleveland! People from Cleveland FUCKING LOVE CLEVELAND. What's up with that?"


And so on.


All in all, I'm glad we had an honest conversation about where we'd both like to live. Where I assumed Matt would hate basically anywhere that wasn't surrounded by trees and fields, he's much more open to trying a different landscape than I thought. We both agreed that we didn't want to live in Florida. However, When I stated that I'd rather live in California than New York City, he vehemently disagreed. Probably because he's extremely republican and I'm extremely the opposite. Oh, imagine what confused offspring we could produce!


I still don't really want to move to a big city. I lived in Chicago for a while after a series of poor life choices and bad luck, and as much as I love it there, like deeply deeply love it, I honestly wasn't happy there. This unhappiness was probably a result of a lot of things going on in my personal life and the fact that my job there was shady and paid almost nothing, but it was more than that. I felt crowded and swallowed and in constant over stimulation.


I guess in the end, we'll have to wait and find out which programs I get accepted to in the first place, and make a decision from there. Who knows? Maybe we'll end up in Big, Bad, NYC.


Sara

a conversation regarding the future. part 1.

Last night Matt (AKA Manfriend, but I'm tired of calling him Manfriend so from this point forward he will be referred to by his given name, Matt) and I were dicking around, our regular Monday night activity, and one thing led to another, and before I knew it we were actually discussing The Future.

These are not the sort of conversations that I normally pursue for a myriad of reasons, one being that the future freaks me out, man. And another being that I have trouble making decisions and all I see in the future is an endless string of crucial choices and opportunities for failure.

On the flip side I also have a great deal of hopes and passionate interests that I intend to pursue to The Future, which excites me greatly.

I just don't really have a plan, hence the fear. Every time I try to force myself to formulate some sort of plan, something shifts and sends me into a tailspin that changes even basic groundwork in my plan. Which can be good, but also just keeps me fixed to one spot because I'll never actually follow through with anything if I keep changing the plan before I take a first step.

*#&$#*&$

All I really meant by that convoluted mess is that I'm trying to formulate a plan for The Future and it seems like something always gets in the way of the all-important first step in the right direction.

Now though, I've finally actually picked a concentration for my Master's and I'm shopping around for programs and doing copious amounts of research. I'm a nerd. I crave information. As much as possible.

This is all pretty recent and sort of causing me to panic because I want to pour my entire self into applying for grad school right now, but I've also got my little sister's wedding in three weeks and another good friend's wedding in December. Both require a fair amount of attention, time, and money. Especially my sister's wedding. I'm throwing a bridal shower on Sunday and I STILL don't know how I'm decorating.



And that brings us up to speed with last night, in a candlelit room decorated with background music and hot oil being massaged into my back by the man that spoils me constantly. That is the time that I chose to pose the following question:


"So.......ehhh... Where do YOU want to live?"


I know, romantic. But it's a conversation I can't believe we've never had. We literally cannot pick a fucking restaurant to eat at on a Friday night because neither one of us wants to choose something the other person isn't in the mood for,  but I've been researching programs and getting ready to go balls-in with whatever schools I feel like pursuing and I never even asked Matt what he thought.

Whoops?

I mean, I realize it's my future and I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR and I shouldn't let someone else influence my decisions for the life I've dreamed of and blah blah blah.

But, honestly. In all likelihood Matt's in for the long haul. He's been in for the long haul way longer than I have. He wants to come with me and that's good for me because omgz back rubs on the reg. And also all that other mushy stuff.


So I asked him. Because I want to know that wherever I decide to move us all over God's green earth doesn't cause him to resent me for the length of our stay.

And an interesting conversation it was.

To be continued.

Sara

sniffing out my 'calling,' first installment

If things around here seem to have taken a sudden divergence from color-me-hateful-of-my-life-and-this-dreadful-winter-nonsense to isweartogodi'mgoingtoimprovemylifeandbecomeadownrightCHEERFULpersonnomatterwhat, then good, because that's exactly what I have kabrewing in this little psyche of mine.

I'll elaborate.


Every once in a while day, I ponder at great length what my calling in life really is. I wouldn't say I get into that meaning of life bullshit, but more, what will suck least for me in the long-run?

You see, one of the things that I value most about myself is the fact that I have A TON of interests. Maybe two tons. I feel genuinely pulled, like hundreds of thumb-sized people with tiny ropes ala Gulliver's Travels pulled,  to things that force me to step out of my comfort zone. I like to think that makes me adventurous, but the truth is that I get bored exceedingly fast.

YAY, ME!

So, thus far, searching for a means of livelihood that will suit me for the duration has proven elusive and frustrating.

However, based on the past year of cruel and unusual medieval punishment cubicle dwelling from 8-5, M-F, I've concluded that traditional office jobs don't hold the answer to my occupational satisfaction.

Thus I've decided I need to compose a list of potential winner with an accompanying inventory of pluses and minuses. (That will come tomorrow)


So, out with The List:

Camp Director
Speech Writer
NGO Coordinator for International Women's Groups
Bartender
Great American Novelist
White-Water-Rafting Guide
Antique Store Owner
Interior Designer
Astronaut... bummer.
Landscape Architect
Master Gardener/Green House Owner
Museum Coordinator/Docent
Professional Traveler/Travel Journalist
Freelancer
Community Organizer
Grant Writer
Drug Dealer-- kidding! totally... kidding........
Award-Winning Actress
Labor Lawyer
Owner of a Dog Bakery
Greeting Card Designer
Food Critic
Beer Taster
B&B Owner
Snorkeling Tour Boat Captain

So, there's my list. Thingsthat at this point in the game I think I'd be extremely good at, or would be willing to learn more about in order to excel.


Sheesh, I hope I didn't leave anything out.


Xo Sara

the lies we tell ourselves.

An old, dead white dude great American novelist once wrote, "The worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves."

Whew, it's heavy.

Richard Bach goes on to say "We live in denial of what we do, even what we think. We do this because we're afraid."

Well man, thanks for pegging that whole spectrum of human emotional coping mechanae. 

It's likely old Mr. Bach was talking about love, but I think this little nug of free wisdom I found on the interwebz can really relate to all walks of life, about pretty much any facet of our existence.

After all,  I'm a 24 year old, I'm working a job I hate, I'm happy maybe 30 percent of the time and usually that's just because for about half of that, I'm under some sort of inebriant. Perhaps this man has a point.

Life isn't designed to be easy, we know that. 

BUT, you know what is?

RATIONALIZING!!!

...Rationalizing everything to yourself that you possibly can, no matter how convoluted it gets or how ridiculous it sounds to everyone else around you. After all, we've got to live in our own skin forever, who are we if we can't at least do that? Self-loathers, I guess, but even they've got their rationalizing thought stream... the world is out to get them no matter what, right?

From the little disappointments to the things that would just as well crush us if we didn't find a way, at least in our own narrow hallway of conscious reality, we have to find a way to make it okay for, at the very least, ourselves. Sure, wallowing in the dark is easy, sometimes easier than anything else, but sooner or later, usually sooner for me and my over-achieving bladder, you're going to have to pee and want to switch on a light, however dull, to make it to the loo without stubbing your toe.

Blah blah blah, let's apply this to real life, shall we?

Let's see.... remember when I took the GRE over a month ago? Well, I got my score. And I was semi-put-off by it, because I feel like I'm smarter than what I got.

Regardless. I took that step, that mini-leap, and didn't like what happened so I just kind of... dropped off with the whole grad school effort. I somehow explained to myself that it would be better if I waited until next fall to apply, and wait a whole year longer until I go to grad school... so that I can..... get this..... make my application look better, get things in order, really wow the admission hacks.

Right.

In other words, I've convinced myself that I'm ok living in limbo and being miserable for another year instead of at least trying and learning from my experience to better my life and my mental attitude. And actually take that chance to be told NO, or, to actually succeed and start liking my life and feeling like I'm back on track for where I'm trying to go.

It's fucked up, people.

And I'm kind of mad at myself, because the more I really examine what I do in my daily life at this point, the more bullshit I have to call on myself.

Because not only have I let myself get physically lazy,  but I've let myself get embarrassingly lazy in my convictions and opinions as well.

And I'm starting to hate it.

Just like I hate seeing one of my best friends buy a pile of horse shit from her dead-beat boyfriend, on whose phone she found very incriminating text messages on FROM THE NIGHT OF HER BIRTHDAY... when he had 'other plans.'

Maybe she'll make herself believe those lies because right now hearing his stories and having him treat her well for a couple of weeks will feel better than being alone for the time it takes to get over him, and I can fully understand that. Maybe we decide what crushing blows we're going to let ourselves take... and when we're ready for them.

But I know for a fact she never would have been perusing his texts if she didn't think she was going to find something, because she's not that kind of girl.

What can I say? I'm just as bad at any number of things, I'm just as guilty at taking the road that looks more appealing, or rather less like it could maim and kill me emotionally or physically if I somehow manage to screw up my route. But that also does a great job of keeping me standing in one place, unmoving, unable to just. make. myself. do. something.  

So fuck it, I need to stop hanging out in a waiting rooms of life, even if the waiting rooms are sometimes disguised as two more hours of sleep in a warm Manfriend-filled bed, a handle of Jim Beam and a couple of laughs on a Thursday night, or even a test score that I don't feel is up to my full potential. Because I could wait forever that way, not unhappy with those situations necessarily, just not happy with my life as a whole, either.

I realize a large part of life is picking your battles and knowing when to lay low and when to go for things, but I'm done waiting. I'm tired of lying to myself out of necessity, just so I can live with myself. I'm tired of looking back at the times I felt like a force, like something internal was driving me along without me really having to work for it- in the past tense.

It could be now? Couldn't it? NOW works for me.

There's only one way to get from point A to point B, you've got to make your body move.  

I'm off to move mountains. XO Sara.

my body is at war.

So, hey.

There is such a thing as having zero dignity left, and I've been there. Recently.

It's called a 24 hour 'bug', and it always wins. You see, even the strongest of intestinal fortitude can't stand up to such a formidable foe.

This little virus proclaims "I will fuck with all of your plans, and there is nothing you can do about it until I'm finished!" And it's right and it's serious and it makes even seeing a picture of any sort of food item make you scamper to the bathroom to kneel to the porcelain god.

Without going into all the details, I've been expelling bile from every viable hole in my body for the past 36 or so hours. Neon yellow.

It's ugly.


ANYWAY.

Since I actually have less than a second of spare time this week to deal with illness, I'm back at work today. Partially because I discovered yesterday that daytime television is teeming with commericials for the elderly, unemployed, uneducated, and those in need for personal injury lawyers- None of which is my own personal demographic. And partially because if I didn't come to work today, I'd be burning ALL the PTO time I've managed to accrue. ALL OF IT.

Nothing bums me out more than realizing that I actually give one good goddamn about accruing PTO. Ok, well maybe a couple of things, like when someone eats the last granola bar and leaves the box in the pantry. But, nothing about my own character.

But, um, no way I'm wasting my precious few hours of paid escape on being ill.

So, yeah. Awesome.


Also,


I'm taking the GRE in the morning.

I should definitely be freaking out about that right now, but it turns out that slipping while you get out of the shower because your center of gravity is out of whack and falling on your ass, causing you to puke all over your soaking wet, naked, miserable self is sort of distracting.

Here's hoping I make it to the exam.

XO Sare

I'd rather set myself on fire than sell myself in a letter to an admissions committee.

Well folks, I've finally had it with myself. I've been standing completely inert in the same place for so long, I'm genuinely surprised my wittle feetsies haven't grown roots and settled in for the duration.

You get that I'm being figurative, right? I actually really have a problem with standing still. In fact, my nine year old brother, Charlie, once diagnosed me with adult ADHD because I'm "So fidgity all the time."

Ok, sweet.

We'll say it's been about .....a year and a half, since I was "dismissed" from my post-college cash-cow job with no severance package. Not 'fired,' I was explicitly informed, just not welcome to spend all my waking hours driving around god's country eastern Kentucky and having more meaningful conversations with my gps than actual human beings for days at a time on their dime, anymore.  This was directly after working my ass off for a straight week on a 20 page report, that basically told our "director," and I use that term very  loosely, everything I'd been doing for the past year... which made it REALLY easy for someone else to just step in and pick up where I left off. Did I mention that I had spent the last year living from hotel to hotel from a suitcase in my car? And that the closest thing I had to a place to lay my head at night was storage unit somewhere in Ohio that was basically just housing all my beer-stained possessions from college until I could find somewhere else to schlep them? Foiled, again.

Maybe if I was actually being a slacker per usual and NOT putting in 70 hours a week towards a cause I actually cared about, I wouldn't have spent the next year or so after my dismissal walking around with a total chip on my shoulder about it.... but I mean, it's ME, so I probably would have done that no matter what.

So whatever, I ran into a hardcore bitch in a position of undue power that had it out for me no matter what I did (Probably because I was younger and better liked, and I like to think, way more competent), I'm sure it happens to a lot of people- but that kind of shit absolutely doesn't happen to me, so I've been a bit.... lost at sea... ever since.


Basically, I've been waiting for the magical job-fairy to come and offer me everything I've ever wanted in a job (aka getting paid mammoth amounts of cash to read books, kayak, and/or eat bacon, not necessarily at the same time) and know I deserve, for a while.
 






And..................................... I don't think he's coming.


FUCK.


Sooooooo..... In an effort to get myself rolling again, I've decided to look towards the ever-welcoming doors of academia to get me back in the general direction of the path that may or may not lead to the road that goes though some other moderately shitty places but eventually winds up at my own personal OZ, whatever that may be.

Basically, I'm lost, so instead of cowering in the great forest of unknown or wherever the fuck I am I need to get it together and start moving in one direction or another.

Damn. I feel like Dorothy or Alice. Or something.


DOWN THE RABBIT HOLEEEEEEEEE.

That's probably the last thing I need, really.



Anyway, I'm thinking about getting my masters, just like every other motherfucker my age that can't find a job they like, which kind of makes me feel whiney and bratty, but whatever. I've been out for almost three years and guess what, it's only going to get harder to go back from here. Plus, I've got this current joke, I mean, job, where I sit in a cubicle and spend the majority of my time surfing the webz and fielding passive-aggressive emails and basically, as my father so eloquently put it yesterday, it's "killing my spirit."

Plus, I have to stare at this boner who sits directly across from me for eight hours a day, five days a week. He holds his mouth half open when he types like he's in awe of something. I just want to be like "Dudeeeee, did you find a way around the porn domain blocks over there?! share the wealth!" But, seeing as how he's a pastor for a tiny rural church in the middle of nowhere who depends on his wife to pack him healthy snacks in little baggies in case he gets hungry during the day,  I'm doubting old boy would see the humor. A GROWN ASS MAN. Heard of Hot Pockets, dude? Live it up. Plus, he homeschools his kids. UGH.

I have beef with homeschooling, and although it may have to be a subject for another day, I just want to say this. Most kids are already painfully socially awkward. Actually, for that matter, so are most adults.  Why the DEUCE would you further risk socially crippling them by completely removing interaction with their peer group? Shit's WHACK.


I NEED graduate school and learned minds and banter that actually contains something resembling wit. On a regular basis. Like, daily. These jokers are simpletons.

So Grad School, I'ma comin' ATCHAAAA. 


And true to Sara-form, I'm doing it all dangerously rushed and last-minute.

I've spent TONZ 'o time on the interwebz researching programs, because obviously, that's the easiest part. And boy, do I love to shop around. I've finally norrowed my search to one program. I'm serious. I'm only applying to one school, but that's just how I am, if I can't have exactly what I want, then you can count on a horrendous attitude and me basically not being willing to try anything else. I only applied to one school when I was looking at colleges and that worked out, soooooo... yeah, this will too.

I've also put in some hours studying for the GRE, even though I detest standardized tests and the idea of being forced to concentrate on a task for five hours with TIMED BATHROOM BREAKS sends me into panic sweats. I can't control my bladder, honestly. One minute I'll be dicking around, completely fine, and the next I'll be overtaken by the urge to urinate so badly that I literally can't concentrate on anything else but holding it. This happens frequently. I'm serious. It's probably an undetected health problem I'm carrying around or something. 


Um, yeahhhhh..... Now you know about my bathroom issues. Cool. Awkward. Cool?

As I was saying before I so rudely interupted myself, I've been 'studying' for the GRE.

Basically, that leads me to the following remaining steps:

1. Requesting my transcipt from Ohio State. And praying there was another person with my name that didn't almost flunk out her freshman year,  and they accidentally send her transcript in the place of mine, and it goes undetected for several years until after I've already got my masters and by that time it will be TOO LATEEEEE. Chances of this are slim so I'm just going to have to be kick-ass on the remaining steps to make up for my pitiful 3.2 GPA.

2. Conning a few suckers from my past into talking real sweet about me on paper for the admissions lackeys. I'm hoping I don't have to bribe people, but I'm not above it.

 ........and 3. My personal statement. ( cringe) ..................(visible shutter).............. complete and utter hope loss.


What I mean to get at here is that I have no idea how to write a personal statement. Most of my writing about myself falls into the category of "self depreciating attempts at humor." I can't brag about how awesome I am, isn't that for the "professional references" section? How do I go about convincing a panel of people that have never had the pleasure of meeting me in flesh and blood that I care enough about the fact that I'm going to drive myself into upwards of $100,000.00 of debt that I'M NOT GOING TO FUCK THIS UP?

I mean, how do you let people know on paper that despite how much I drink and curse and generally allow myself to act a fool, I'm finally "maturing" and I promise I won't go back to school just so I can use and agree with sayings like "Wednesday is the new Thirsty Thursday, is the new Friday is the weekend?!!!! OMGZZZ." Because, I've grown. I've gotten most of that out of my system and now I think I'd really like to do something with my life that doesn't make me want to sneak back to the office at night and burn the whole dream-drowning building to the ground.

I mean, they want to know why I, of all people, want to choose their hallowed walls as a depository for my blood, sweat, and tears for the next 2+ years?





......I.....don't.....know......

 


If I were being honest, I'd say something like this:
 

Okay here's the deal, guys. I don't really have any heartwarming stories of hardship or overcoming adversity. Actually, I've had a pretty badass life, and I'd like to keep it that way. So I'm asking you to please, pretty please, let me into your program.

I understand that in life you have to work hard and put up with loads and loads of bullshit, sometimes on a daily basis, both of which I do in spades. When I decide I'm doing something I work damn hard and do it damn well. I understand that if you let me in to your program here, there will be expectations of me, I'm willing to be held accountable for all of them. I'm a dependable, semi-responsible adult. I have my shit together. Kind of. I'll do the readings, I swear!

I want this. I want this possibly more than I have ever wanted anything in my entire life. I'm staking over $100,000 on myself in your tuiton costs to succeed, and that's a-god-damn-lot for me because not only is that a mountainous amount of money, but also because my parents aren't going to be helping me with all. those. dollars.. It's all on me. Trust me, I'm not going to let myself fuck this up; I've only got one life and I'd like it to remain awesome, or possibly become even more awesome. And with your help, it can!

Choosing your program was a decision I actually spent time and researched. Uhhhh, aka I could have been googling pictures of Robert Downey Jr and instead I pored over hundreds of curiculums to find the right one for me. And this is the right one.  It's the only one I am considering. If I'm not in, I'm going to have to continue working a mindless job with a bunch of losers. I'm in love with this, and I want to do it and do it well, so let me, please.

K, THX!!!!!

Sare.

(Not actually a mispelling of my name, but a phonetical spelling. "Sar" kind of looks like SARS and I think that would give them the wrong idea, plus when it's read, I think people typically pronounce it as the rhyme of 'car' which is definiitely not what I'm going for here. Anyway, I like to keep it casual, familiar, so I'd like them to think of me as "Sare.")



wish me luck!

XO Sara