#aspiringPRgirl/fashiongirl/wannabeemployedgirl/interngirlproblems

Gut Monday, my fellow fashionistas.

As you all read this, I want you to reflect back on your ten year old self. As you sat in your fifth grade classroom, in between listening to your teacher drone on about The Giver while trying to remember the difference between the moon’s waxing and waning, what did you dream about your future holding? What did you want to be when you grew up? A veterinarian? An entrepreneur? A rockstar? Whatever it was, I’m sure your ten year old brain didn’t do much consideration of how you would get there or what it would take to edge your foot into the ever-closing crack in the door.

When you left the comforts of your parents’ homes for that vast and foreign land called college in order to obtain the higher education which society has convinced us is necessary to land the job that will make us happy, financially comfortable, and intelligent society contributors, you believed in yourself. You knew that if you went to class and delved into extra curriculars and completed a few summer internships, you would move on from college and into the perfect graduate program, medical school, or six-figure paying job. Because that was your dream, and that’s what you wanted, and, hello, of course everything will work out, you just knew.

As a dreamer myself, I’ve never had a shortage of delusions of grandeur. Hell, I still have them. But now I have something else as well. A slight reality check. Though not as harsh as many others’, in the seven months since obtaining the ever-coveted sheet of paper declaring my competence within a field that I don’t plan to pursue, I have been brought down to size in only the gentlest of ways.

In the many hours that I have spent pounding the pavement of the City of Dreams in the past 4.3 months, soles burning as my package-laden arms balance garment bags and Starbucks coffees, schlepping to and fro on errands, rain and sweat and soot soaking my wannabe designer garments, Metro Card smoking from overuse, frustration building as I stare at racks of fabulous high fashion clothes that I am nowhere near affording on my unpaid budget, I’ve had the opportunity to repeatedly ask myself that overwhelming question – “What the FUCK am I doing?”

That is, what the hell is a college educated, competent, and (I like to think) decently intelligent girl doing running errands and walking dogs and getting coffee FOR FREE?

And then it hits me. THIS. This is the journey. This is the part you don’t consider when plotting your life’s ambitions. This is the part that gets you where you’re going. This is when you do what you need to do in order to get where you’re going. When my 10, 15, and even 20 year old self dreamed up the fabulous life I would have as an actress, a model, or a fashion PR girl, I had no way of knowing anything other than what I hoped the end result would be. But this is what is going to get me there, and this is what is going to make me grateful to be there. And for these experiences, I am grateful now.

So what is the point of this post? Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe I just want to give you all, as well as myself, a bit of encouragement. Because though you might have yet to be where you ultimately see yourself, there is no reason to despair. You have the opportunity to get there, and though the dreamer in you might have neglected to warn you what it would take to do so, it doesn’t mean that you aren’t still on the path to greatness.

All of these experiences are going to write the book of your life. And when you take a pen to paper yourself, you’re going to have a freaking funny novel.

Chins up, my 20’s and 30’s fabulous friends and fashionistas. We’re gonna be alright.

-S