My kind of town...

As I'm sitting here on my kitchen floor listening to the outdoor metropolitan noises, trying not to type too loud so I won't wake my mom, dad and cousin sleeping in the other room, I'm getting rather emotional. I remember this time last year I was excited to begin the "next big chapter" of my life in Chicago... Somehow, although it's only been a year, I feel a little older, not much wiser and a little more cynical.

The year I've spent in Chicago can only really be described as a roller coaster ride. I entered thinking I could settle for a PR job - only to find that my first job experience was horrendous and did little to help me learn the field. So, after a several-months long search, I found something else I thought would be better. And it wasn't.

Living here has been both wonderful and trying. Despite living n a city filled with diverse, talented, wonderful people, finding my own niche was difficult. I cherished the few friends I had here, but longed for relationships of substance (Don't fret KA - I will miss you terribly!).

Now that I'm moving yet again to start another adventure I put off for a year... I'm finding it more difficult than I thought it would be to leave a city I felt overwhelmed by constantly. I suppose that is because I can feel some satisfaction in knowing that I did accomplish something - I survived my first year out of college, working in a job (no matter how awful) somehow related to my degree, and made my own home in a big city miles away from my parents house - in today's age, some college graduates can't claim those facts.

So, Goodbye Chicago - you gave me a good year. A year of your best winter weather, a sweltering summer, too many cranberry and vodkas at Clark Street bars, some of the most heinous waits for the redline El... butabove all, you gave me the confidence I needed to move on.

I thank you for that.

Save a penny for a rainy day...

At the ripe old age of 14, I had far too many dreams I hoped to fulfill, a naïveté about how I was going to fulfill them, and a sense that I could do anything I set my mind to. That was, after all, what they taught us throughout my childhood, right?

Now, when I spend my days in my corner cubicle, staring at walls that serve as both a sound barrier and a cork board, I can't help but wonder what the hell happened to my dreams.

Somewhere along the way, I lost track of what I had hoped to become. I used to dream about creating layouts and writing articles for a big magazine... but the closest I get to that is monitoring the media for some obscure company.

Why is it that we're forced to compromise the goals we set for ourselves? I never dreamed of being a PR professional - I barely knew what that entailed eight months ago. The fact is, like so many of my peers, I had to settle because the industry today doesn't allow for us to reach our goals. Jobs have become far too specialized, competition has gotten out of control, and we're not given a chance to dream anymore. Perhaps that's what some real world experiences entail... but not for me. I refuse.

So, in an effort to get back on track, I'm re-examining some things a bit and taking some "me" time to figure out how to accomplish those goals I set for myself before I knew what billable hours were. Perhaps it's a childish excursion. Perhaps I should just learn to settle. But what's the fun in that?