Lucky for me, I had a relaxing trip to Cabo San Lucas scheduled for right after my quarterlife crisis hit. It turned out to be exactly what I needed...and for two reasons.
First of all, it gave me the time I needed to recover from the shock of admitting to myself that I need to choose a new path for my life. I completely removed myself from work, trying to talk about it as little as possible and using my boyfriend, Scott, as a reality check whenever I had to work via email (as much as it pisses me off, he's usually right when he tells me I shouldn't get so upset about work).
Secondly, returning home was a reality check in itself. When I landed and powered up my cell phone for the first time in a week, I already had a message from work asking me to come in at 5am the following day. Yep, vacation was over. I had to laugh. It was such a perfect reminder of why I'm not cut out for doing what I do. I couldn't even bring my rejuvenated self to my job because I had a work hangover from day one.
I don't know if it was the messed up sleep schedule or the feeling of mental and professional disorganization, but I was really depressed last week. I felt really lost and found myself acting really moody. Luckily, I have the best friends a girl could ask for...albeit 600 miles away in LA. I talked to them more about my worries and they all had some sage advice.
From Britta, I heard my job is crazy...I'm young and deserve to have a life...and I could probably enjoy a career in public relations much like what she does. Would I like to have an informational interview at the SF branch of her firm? Um YES! Not only is she networking for me, but she totally snazzed up (holy mom phrase!) my resume and cover letter. BFF power!
From Danielle, I got a message that all leads are good leads,but that I shouldn't forget who I am. I shouldn't slack off or give up on the chance that I may afterall get the job I moved to the Bay Area hoping for...and that I won't necessarily end up ever losing my job, either...or NOT getting laid off in another related field.
And from Megan, I got a summer reading recommendation: "What Color Is Your Parachute?" We both laughed. She's having a similar problem and her parents recommended the book. We'd both kind of written it off as 70s me generation BS, but she read me an exerpt and I think the soul-searching questions it asks are helpful. Megan also just landed a really great job that she's excited about, so I think she's on the right track. Even more touching, she shared some Bible verses with me.
Now, I'm not religious at all. In fact, I'm with Karl Marx on this one. But Megan is one of those truly good people who takes things to heart and wants to help in any way she can. Her faith is something that's very personal to her, and the fact that she would share it didn't seem preachy or imposing to me. It was actually very moving and meaningful. I think that was the turning point at the end of last week. I read what she sent to me and started to view this confusion I've been feeling more as a challenge to be overcome than the loss of an uphill battle.
So Britta is forwarding my revised materials on to the SF office tomorrow. Normally, I wouldn't let myself get my hopes up, but I'm trying to believe that what I want can become a reality. I'm crossing my fingers that I can make my transition at the end of August, take a long vacation I have scheduled, and start as soon as I get back. It's kind of a lot to ask for (I'll be gone for much of Sept), but here's hoping!
Recently, I've become confused and angry at myself for sacrificing so many of the ideals that helped to define who I was earlier in my life. And what really bothers me about it is that so much of it is in the name of cold hard cash.
When I was 17, I was in a hardcore band. I was the singer. Yes, that's kind of funny looking back, but if I would do anything to (temporarily) be 17 again and hanging out at band practice writing lyrics and making music I loved. We had one song that we all considered our best. And I can't for the life of me remember the name of it, but I DO remember the chorus:
"I won't be a slave to the almighty dollar --
I find value
IN THE GOOD THINGS THAT I DO
In unshaken convictions...
I know I'll always
PRACTISE WHAT I PREACH
I need to come down
and find some faith..in..me"
What the hell happened to the girl who wrote those lyrics? I feel like I've grown so much more confident in so many other areas in my life...but that's one part that I feel is slipping through my fingers fast...and I really hate that it's happening. Is it too late to do something about it? Or is it just an inevitable reality in a society where success is measured in dollars and cents?
Then again, it's easy to be idealistic when you live in relative opulance. I grew up in a half million dollar home, mom and dad paid for my college education...and yet they were unhappy and I came to hate the way they used their outward success to masque everything that was wrong behind closed doors. Looking back, I think I figured that pursuing the American dream ultimately leads to a Death-Of-A-Salesman-style existance...and all the misery that goes with it.
So I decided to be a journalist and change the world. It wasn't going to matter that I'd make $18k as an entry level salary. I wasn't going to care that I worked on holidays and would miss out on spending time with family and friends. The work was what was important. Not the money or anything else.
Moving to LA and having to live of that $18k was quite another reality. I soon found myself deep into credit card debt, as my desire for making new friends drove me to buy too many $10 cocktails and too many new outfits for nights out. I didn't realize as a kid that when you're only making $18k, chances are you don't have health insurance. And I couldn't anticipate that a minor illness would drive me to pawn jewelry to pay for the treatment. Nor did I think that would make me feel so dirty.
I thought getting a better-paying job and being recognized for my hard work would change things, but instead that financial hole just turned on its side and became a tunnel. Although I knew I was making progress, the light at the end of it just seemed to get farther away. So I began to focus increasingly on what I wasn't able to provide for myself in spite of my apparent success. I couldn't afford the nice purse, a new car when the lightly used one I worked so hard to buy went to crap... facials...name brand clothes. Suddenly, I'd begun to covet all the status symbols I'd reviled and rebelled against as a teenager.
It's only gotten worse since I moved up North. I can't tell my neighbors apart when they drive down the street because all of them (and I'm not exaggerating -- ALL of them) drive either black or grey European luxury cars. What makes it worse is that I see women all around me with their hands out...like they DESERVE these things from their fathers and husbands without working for it. Meanwhile, I feel judged (and to be fair, a lot of that is probably me judging myself) because I work my butt off and no matter what I do, those things seem completely unattainable by my own right. My anger at their prevailing sense of entitlement is rivaled only by my admitted jealousy coupled with a near crippling sense of failure at being unable to provide these things for myself.
How do I reconcile this woman I've become with the girl I used to be? I understand how I got here, but I think I liked the old me better. Can there be a happy medium between the two in an adult world? Or have I just become a total sell out?
I didn't think it would happen to me. I thought figuring out what I wanted to do for the rest of my life at 15 years old got me an automatic get out of jail free card. But I guess I've been ignoring the signs for a long time and now it's all caught up to me.
I'm a journalist. At least for now. I was editor of my high school newspaper, majored in journalism, and have worked for different media outlets for the past four years now. I knew it was going to be a struggle, but with the help of an amazing mentor at my job in LA, I powered through the worst part. I've worked two weeks straight of 3am shifts in a row just to pay my bills. I've produced hour-long commercial free broadcasts with just hours noticed...I've even won awards for doing so. These past four years have been an almost constant struggle...whether it was to make ends meet, or against my own perfection and will to succeed...whatever "success" means. And now, just as I felt like I was about to break through and score my dream job, I'm thinking about throwing in the towel. But when I take a hard, honest look back, I'm starting to see that this was a long time coming.
Here's the abbreviated version:
About two years ago, I was producing a news talk show. Myself, a technical producer, a host, and an assistant producer who was only allowed to help out for two hours a day were responsible for booking, writing and voicing 3 hours of timely programming five days a week. I couldn't sleep. My stomach was always in knots. And then my hair started falling out.
At first I thought it was just me, but I had my doctor take a look just to be safe. Sure enough, she said it wasn't bad, but I was "definitely experiencing some thinning." Not exactly what a 25-year-old girl wants to hear. The cause? Stress. I think that was the first time I began to wonder if I was really cut out for the whole journalism thing. Working at 3am was one thing....making $18k a year and living off Ramen noodles was expected...but losing my hair?
I began seeing a therapist, and that helped a lot. But the seeds of doubt had already been planted.
The second blow came last August when my show got cancelled. The station kept my job, which I was very grateful for, but I guess I hadn't allowed myself to believe that MY show could be cut. After all, it was one of the most successful on the station. Why would they want to chance their programming? I shoved that one under my mental rug...but I knew they couldn't keep me on forever. I had too little to do to be bringing home the healthy paycheck I was earning. And with union troubles on the horizon, I left and moved in with my boyfriend in San Francisco, hoping the Bay Area's healthy economy and need for web writers might be my salvation.
I was in for a nasty surprise. I quickly discovered that a weaker union system (yeah, in SAN FRANCISCO) coupled with a smaller market meant my hourly wage would be about half of what I was making in LA if I was going to work in network news. So I stayed freelance, took on two other jobs...convinced myself that my unhappiness had to do with the fact that I was working in radio and not in TV. And over the last few weeks, I'd finally started to feel like I had it made. One of my jobs paid a rate comparable to what I'd been earning in Los Angeles, and I felt like perhaps I might be able to expand my hours into a full time job at that particular company. Sure, I was working 50 - 60 hours a week...I worked ALL of Memorial Day weekend...but I felt like I was moving closer to another full time job and that I'd soon have benefits, paid days off, and be able to start feeling like an adult again. (So much of how I define adulthood deals with career success...but I'll save that for another time).
Then today I found out that the job I was depending on for about half my income was going to get cut by 75%. I just got that damn job 6 weeks ago. I was producing two shows for an online company that was just purchased by a big network, and as everybody scrambled to cover there asses, they decided a bunch of things needed to be cut just to make sure the new bosses would come home to a clean house. The two shows I was working on were out.
My supervisor was very nice when she told me. She asked me if I would be okay financially, told me she totally understood if I quit the job entirely (I can't -- it pays for the private health insurance I took out because none of my three jobs offer any kind of benefits), and told me this didn't reflect on my performance. Then she told me the story that launched my quarterlife crisis...
It turns out this woman has had breast cancer several times. While it was never anything life-threatening, it's been persistant. She told me how she worked for another big media company and that she lost her job when it was bought out. There she was...an accomplished journalist with no health coverage. So, because she can't afford to take that risk right now, she's having an elective double mastectomy.
Suddenly, I wanted to run out the door and never come back again. Here is this bright, talented woman with tons of experience...a woman who is DAMN good at her job and who I respect...and she's about to have her BREASTS removed because she's afraid that being laid of could literally KILL her!
My gut reaction was "I can't let that be me." And I think that's why she told me that story...it was a coded warning. She probably meant it to show me just how iffy things are at that particular company so I wouldn't get my hopes up, but let's be honest: it doesn't matter which media company you work at. There is NO SUCH THING as a stable job in mass media...okay unless your Barbara Walters. And Babs I am not.
I'm done working at 5am. I don't want to work on Christmas. I'm sick of working 60 hours a week just to make sure I can put a little money away at the end of every month.
This isn't worth it.
I vented these thoughts and feelings to my best friend, and she had some sage advice. She works for a big PR agency and has offered to get me an informational interview at their SF office...and not because she doesn't think I can eventually get a job in journalism I can be happy with, but because this is just going to keep happening again and again and again. The crazy hours are killing me...and I can't afford to work part time. It's time to try something different. I just hope I can be happy giving up the dream I've had since I was 15 years old...
