Some scenes from a wonderful weekend – most people enjoy a few days off. In preparation for grad school and unemployment, I’ve traded in most of my weekends (and lunch breaks, and happy hours) in for design projects.
Not that I’m complaining. Hell, I handed over my social life to grad school apps and freelancing months ago. But the last month at work will probably be the longest one of my life.
I did take a nice break yesterday to visit Annapolis, where we sat on the Naval Academy campus and sipped cocktails on a bay-front dock. It was quite the summer day.
Reader, stay close. I’ve missed you so, and I’ll be back in a month or so.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been rereading what I’ve written in the last year or so. It’s a strange thing, to revisit something you created. Some of it seems so unfamiliar, yet much of it reignites the emotions that came and went, both happy, and sad. Some of it gives me pleasure, some of it makes me laugh, and some of it reminds me of the pain and frustration of not yet being satisfied.
But then again, let’s be honest. If you’re 24 and completely satisfied with where you are in your life, you’re probably lying to yourself, or were born into too much money.
When I was twelve and thirteen, I pictured the perfect age being 17. I’d drive a red convertible, have a boyfriend, and would go to the beach everyday. Reality? I drove my dad’s 1995 F150 (with a camper shell), wasn’t completely out of my awkward years, and wasn’t even close to being ready for a boyfriend.
When I was 18 and 19, I pictured the perfect age being 25. I saw myself still living in California, as some sort of successful business exec with a red convertible. And probably, I would have a serious boyfriend. Reality: I don’t want to live in California ever again and I’m too broke to own a car (let’s be honest – I can’t even afford a gym membership), which is one of the many reasons I’m looking for more than my current job can actually give me in terms of personal satisfaction. But then again, if anyone in the world is perfectly satisfied being an assistant, then they were either born into money, or hired for the wrong reasons. And then there’s the boyfriend thing… let’s save that for another day.
The past two weeks have been the craziest weeks of my entire independent life. I know I’ve been saying that a lot lately, but I passed out Sunday night (afternoon?) around 4 PM, which should say something about my week and weekend.
About a week and a half ago, I got into the graduate school program I applied for – for those of you who are wondering, it’s a joint program between the Johns Hopkins Carey Business School and the Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA). I’m signed up to get an MBA from Carey and a Masters in Design from MICA – it’s going to be intense stuff.
A day or two later, I had a conversation with someone higher up in the organization I work for about what my post-grad plans were. I mentioned wanting to work in design and/or art direction for magazines, ideally, [insert favorite food magazine here].
A day or two later, I got a call from the company that owns my favorite food magazine, who asked me to come to NYC for an interview. I still can’t believe that happened.
Anyway, I went up to NYC for six hours on Friday to pursue a dream. Came back to DC, spent two nights at the bars for birthday parties and concerts, and Sunday morning hosting brunch.
I passed out at 4PM and woke up Sunday morning around six. I need a weekend from my weekend.
Anyway, when I woke up today, I was twenty-five. It should be a promising year.