Even Rory Gilmore freaks out sometimes.

It has been three weeks since graduation and I have officially freaked out about finding a job. I didn’t handle it very well. There was a lot of Netflix involved (like, 9 hours of Netflix. The Gilmore Girls theme song will haunt my dreams) and sitting on the floor in various poses to keep certain muscle groups from falling asleep while surrounded by half-unpacked boxes of Christmas gifts from over the holidays that I had sworn would be put away the day after I got back.

But at least it took three weeks to reach breaking point. I was able to relax for the first week, and the second and third weeks were so busy with meeting my boyfriend’s family and driving back and forth between his house and mine that I didn’t have time to freak out. But now I’m back in the apartment with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. Nothing speeds a downward spiral faster than being stuck with your own thoughts. Plus – and this isn’t really a bad thing, in fact I’m grateful for the second chance to get my foot in the door – one of the marketing firms I applied for asked me to create a press release, a sell sheet or copy for an email blast, for which 2 out of 3 are complete mysteries to me. I want to be a copywriter so badly, but without any experience in marketing I’m terrified my writing and basic research skills won’t be enough, and I’ll lose out on a job because I’m not good enough.

Not good enough. Three little awful words. I graduated early, I’ve edited a book, I’ve designed a literary journal, I’ve been a project manager and social media writer and I’m confident in my creativity and adaptability. But what if that isn’t enough for what I want to do? What if, after all I’ve done and the steps I’ve taken, I’m still not good enough?

The one where school starts.

It is my first week of my last semester spent in the embracing arms of university, before the ice demons of debt and struggling workforce tear me away. Just because I’ve had an internship and think I know what kind of job I want after college doesn’t mean I’m actually ready for the kind of job I want after college.

Let’s make a list of all the bad post-university job things that could happen.

  1. I don’t get hired because I’m an English major. No word nerds wanted.
  2. I don’t get hired because I’m an English major and my internship counts for nothing.
  3. I don’t get hired because, surprise, the field isn’t freaking hiring!
  4. I don’t get hired because online communications is basically a job that’s been made up by millennials for other millennials, or by pissed Gen Xers who don’t actually care about online presence and expect millennials to solve all their online problems because that’s just what we do. Either way, it puts a strange level of competitiveness on these kind of positions and there is literally no way to tell how effective one candidate is at social media over another unless one candidate is a complete flop.
  5. I don’t get hired because I just don’t get hired.

Mmm, the sweet smell of anxiety in the morning. Now, let’s make a list of all the good post-university job things that could happen.

  1. I marry rich and never have to worry about work again.
  2. I marry rich and my rich hubby gets me a position at his company because he’s that rich.
  3. I land the job of my dreams! Everything is perfect! I make a steady paycheck and can pay off my loans with minimal stress!
  4. I land a job, maybe not exactly what I wanted, but I still make a steady paycheck and can pay off my loans.
  5. I land a job, probably not in the field that I wanted, and struggle to live under budget so I can pay off my loans.

My most realistic option is #5. Wow, that’s pretty sad, says anyone reading this who is my boyfriend, my parents, or over 40. Besides heaven-bent on providing for me always all the time (my boyfriend) and hardcore supportive in all of my endeavors (my parents) – which I love them all for – there is this ironic belief that college students should be optimistic about employment, despite the fact that most employed persons right now went through some serious shake-ups around, say, 2008.

The truth is this: I know I will get a job, and I know that I will never “settle” for a career. Perhaps I am doomed – blessed? – with a career in freelance. Perhaps I will be a stay-at-home mom and find a career later. But the options are endless, and more pressing every day.

The first day of school, I woke up in denial. The fact that I could have several job applications circling right now, that my budget is shrinking because on top of food I have to buy junk like soap, toilet paper, and laundry detergent, that at any minute my car will need a 50 dollar oil change, and yet I still have to take notes on Shakespeare for two hours feels ridiculous. What will Shakespeare do for me in a high-stakes interview? Tell me that one, Bard!

But I have to swallow it down. I have to settle in. There’s no point in rushing headlong into the craziness of post-grad when I’m not even a grad. I have to find that blessed plane between horrible real-world stress and horrible homework stress. The job market will still be there in December.

I mean, I hope the job market will still be there.

It’s fine.

I didn’t mean to write this, but it happened anyway.

***I didn’t mean to write about the election. It’s just that after being exposed to it for so long, I realized there was some very weird stuff going on in my soul, and some of it had to do with the Trump debacle. So here we go.

This election clustercuss, namely the impossible rise of one repulsive swamp-sucking failed business-wart, has got me all anxious and mad as hell. But that’s fine, right? Everyone gets worked up during campaign season. Anxiety isn’t a big deal.

Except, well, maybe it is.

I always thought anxiety and worry were the same thing: now they feel like two different categories in the same field of fear.Worry overlaps with concern all the time. It can be a signal that something is going on you should pay more attention to. But anxiety is just…bad. It’s just bad. And nobody says, “I’m anxious.” They say, “I’m worried.” Like we’re trying to protect ourselves from panic by masking it with a more gentle, more congenial kind of fear.

Am I anxious? Affirmative. How anxious am I? Hella. Why am I anxious? Besides the collapse of our present political system and the possible election of one of the most repellent, gross men the earth has ever burped up, I don’t know.

A raging hatred of Trump surges through my veins. At the sound of his name, my knee-jerk reaction is to scowl as loudly as the situation allows (and yes, scowling loudly is totally a thing). So I dislike one of the election runners, big whoop. Everyone has a least favorite candidate. I’m more than willing to rant for hours on how terrible, hypocritical, disgusting, sexist, bigoted, financially irresponsible, ugly, wrong that Trump is, and it would be the best hours of my life. Which means I’m just as terrible, just as hypocritical, and just as wrong.

I admitted this to my mom over subs and fries. Mom doesn’t like Trump at all, but she’s wiser and has seen many more elections than I. She shook her head at me. “Hating isn’t going to help. There’s enough hatred out there already, and it’s not making anything better.”

Yes, I’m allowed to care about who leads my country. Yes, Trump’s morals and lack of experience would make him a terrible president, but what politician can honestly live out a moral code and still be a politician? Yes, I’m discouraged by the campaign season so far, but that does not give me an excuse to hate another human. Trump is digging himself deeper into a hole, and if I dug it for him I’d only be digging my own grave.

THIS ISN’T AN EXCUSE TO NOT VOTE. Taking no action is just as harmful as taking hateful action. I intend on voting for the candidate I believe will make the best POTUS, and that candidate will not be Trump. But I still have a responsibility, as a citizen, to try and better my country by voting.

My future, God’s grace and never-ending love, and the Church’s responsibility to care for the earth and those who inhabit it, will not change because of who wins the election. And while Trump-bashing is so, so much fun, acting in hate will only inspire more hate, and more hate. And a world of hate would suck.

So, to finish off this political potluck, here’s some Things I Know For Sure.

  1. Anxiety won’t solve anything. Let it go.
  2. Hatred won’t solve anything. Let it go.
  3. Televised debates are worse than that show about Honey Boo-Boo.

Hardcore gardening.

Last semester was rough. When I say rough, I mean that it was the worst four months of my life, and that I am just now recovering, even though it is late February and the spring semester is almost halfway done.

To other people, I look like your normal college student: tired, short on money, hooked to caffeine but trying to quit, applying to internships like it’s no one’s business. I look like I’m adjusting well to the new semester. And I guess I am adjusted, not that twelve credit hours is much to adjust to. And I’m not stuck in a rut: I’m developing my PR and design skills, researching technology and education for a faculty member’s book, growing in my relationship with Christ, broadening my understanding of the world and where I fit in it, attending bible study with a group of authentic, lovely young women who aren’t afraid to talk about their personal suffering, abusive relationships, and opinions of feminism and social justice.

Bible study, or discipleship group as we call it, is actually where I realized how much I had come undone.

Ever since I graduated high school, my mantra has been “Academics don’t define me.” I was okay with that. But the more insidious side effect of defining myself by academic success was a deep, secret pride in my ability to handle whatever is thrown at me. And why shouldn’t I be proud? I’m a smart person. I’m good at stuff. People ask me for help in lots of things. I am a competent, fast-learning hard worker. Why shouldn’t I be proud?

Answer: I should be proud, but I should not build my identity on that pride. Whoops, too late, seems I already did, even if I didn’t admit it to myself.

Last semester was the long, grueling process of God weeding out that pride. Pride went deep, people. Every day was like being pummeled by sandpaper sacks filled with gravel, and every day I fought back by saying I can do this, it will be okay. To which God replied, Of course it will be okay, but that doesn’t mean you can do this. 

If I wasn’t stressed from 18 credit hours or my PR internship, I was too exhausted to do anything, which made me stressed because of the things I wasn’t getting done. I cried a lot. I developed a tic in my left eyelid which continued for three months straight. I felt guilty because here I was, student extraordinaire, completely crumbling underneath everything. I was weak when I should’ve been strong. I was frazzled when I should’ve been focused. I considered myself a failure – not because I failed any classes, but because I wasn’t thriving.

God worked really, really hard to get the message through my thick skull: who I am does not start and end with success. I am more than success, just like I am more than my academic prowess. The foundation I had been living on was just gone. Poof.

So now I am relearning who I am. This is my big identity crisis. It’s taken a while to get here, and I ignored it for a long time, but it’s time to throw back the metaphorical curtains and let in some good ol’ sunlight.

Which leads me to this blog and why I made it – to work through who I am via rediscovering what I can do. I can’t write poetry, but I can write a blog post. So we’ll end our little soul-baring trip with Things I Know For Sure:

  1. I don’t have to master living to have worth.
  2. Suffering sucks, but it happens, and it will be okay.
  3. I like writing blog posts.