Today is my birthday and I should be excited about that. Childhood birthdays are an excuse to eat cake and ice cream until you collapse into a sugar coma, and college birthdays are an excuse to drink until you vomit. But my birthdays since earning a bachelor's degree (in the exciting field of who-gives-a-shit-cause-it-won't-get-me-a-job) seem like opportunities for taking stock of my life so far.
Yum, a big ol' slice of my impending mortality!
If I sneak a look at LinkedIn, it's obvious that someone in my peer group, upon reaching the ripe old age of 28, should be partway up the corporate ladder or managing a non-profit. Instead, the only thing saving me from the millennial's curse of moving back in with my parents is that my girlfriend has decided, for some reason, to help support me until I get a job.
Clearly I express my appreciation in cake. This is red velvet, by the way. That's real love.
It's not like I've been relying on a sugar mama since college. You know how some people find their passion, their calling, that career that just seems right? Well, I thought teaching was my true calling, and I became a teacher in New Orleans. But then reality kicked me in the face like an angry Chuck Norris and I realized teaching wasn't for me. I stuck with it for five years in various positions, getting a masters in education, hoping I'd find the right role and improve enough so I wouldn't be running around like a chicken with its head cut off. They say the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again expecting to get a different result, so...I guess after five years I decided to stop being insane.
Ok, I'm still insane. And yes, that is a giant crossword puzzle behind me, why do you ask?
I can't say that I regret moving to Mardi Gras central to teach like a not-champion: I fell in love with New Orleans, and I fell in love with my girlfriend there. But when you're trying to NOT be a teacher anymore, a resume full of teaching experience is about as helpful as roller skates on an ice rink: you're not going to get anywhere, and you'll probably fall flat on your ass.
This is about how well my job search has been going. Except without the smiling. Why are you smiling, Stock-Photo Girl? You just fell!
So girlfriend and I moved to Denver, which has less charm than New Orleans but also fewer hurricanes and murders. We're living in an apartment whose best attribute is its affordability (ok, also there's a second bathroom for our cat, that part's pretty great too). At 28 I've definitely gotten somewhere great in my personal life and most of the time, I'm very happy, but there's nothing like unemployment to heighten the existential angst of an adult birthday.
So as I blow out the candles on my bowl of fresh berries (we haven't quite gotten the hang of baking at an altitude of 5,000 feet), I'll be wishing for a job that's fulfilling, or at least one that fulfills my need for food and rent money. Here's hoping my 29th birthday will find me bragging about my exciting career as head cat picture curator for Buzzfeed or head rainforest-saver at National Geographic...and getting angsty with my cake about something else entirely.
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