Oooo my favorite tradition. I'm so happy to revisit you. I just got off the phone with one of my good friends from Charlottesville, and with that, I will start with thought one
1) I'm so grateful for Charlottesville. What a random place for a college grad from Ohio to land, but the people there have had such a wonderful impact on my life. I've been reconnecting with them lately, and it's such a nice reminder that though time and place can separate you, that connection remains.
2) I'm so grateful for Seattle. On Sunday, I had a lovely dinner with friends from Michigan. Even though I told myself going into grad school, I wasn't going to land on the West Coast, of all the places to be, I'm surrounded by so many good people who know and care about me.
3) While we're on the topic of things I'm grateful for - I'll never stop being grateful for my family. They're amazing. I loved getting birthday messages from my nieces and nephews, and I love that I talk my dad every day before work, and I love that I miss them so much, because that's a sign of something special.
4) The DMV. Let's talk about the DMV. Because I went there Saturday, and man, there are so many things that can be done to improve it. Personally, I think our political system is focused on the entirely wrong objectives. They should be focused on making every day experiences like the DMV ones that don't make you want to punch a wall.
5) Here's my proposal. Paint the walls. Add a Starbucks. Give customers one of those vibrating gadgets like restaurants do. And open a bar next to the DMV with a cool play on the acronym - drinking more vodka is what Lauren and I concocted, but I'm open to different ideas.
6) On the bright side, there was a Marshall's, and I bought myself two pairs of boots while waiting.
7) I'm listening to Shovels and Rope right now, and one of my favorite memories will be walking up the hill of the Gorge and reaching the cusp as they broke down Birmingham. There are few moments that are absolutely breathtaking, but that was one of them.
8) When I say breathtaking, I think of Seinfeld. If you don't get the reference, you should watch more Seinfeld.
9) Guys, I've reached a new decade of my life.
10) Not to be too reflective, but it's always interesting to think about your life ten years ago.
11) I guarantee you, I didn't see myself here ten years ago. I saw myself married in Ohio, because that's what so many people in my life did. And I respect them all very much and think their life is so special and meaningful.
12) Yet, I'm really glad I'm here. And as much as I bemoan it from time to time, I'm really glad I've been single, because I've taken these chances and built these relationships that I may not have otherwise.
13) I am overwhelmed by the caliber of people in my life, and I know I don't deserve it. They're people who have pushed me, who have encouraged me, who have comforted and loved me - who have reminded me of my worth when I've forgotten it.
14) People talk about the Seattle freeze, but I don't believe it. I think the world gives you what you feed it, and I think if you give unwavering goodness, that's what you receive.
15) Can we take a moment to reflect on the Browns victory? We won a game!!! Pretty sure Mayfield is the next JC incarnate. JK, don't think I'm blasphemous.
Here are some learnings from my twenties:
16) Don't be afraid to be loud. Don't be afraid to be smart. Don't be afraid to laugh. The people you attract will appreciate that. And the people who don't probably aren't worth your time.
17) Wine is super tasty.
18) If it's not him, it's something else, and that something else is much better.
19) Be honest with yourself and everyone around you. Always.
Things I hope to learn in my thirties:
20) How to make a dentist experience enjoyable
21) How to blow up balloons, because this is a weakness
22) How to efficiently capitalize on corporate benefits, because this is also a weakness
23) Truth is, I was anxious leading up to my 30th birthday.
24) I think it's because I started this new job in a new city and didn't feel myself.
25) Then I realized, I've done this before, I'll do it again, and every time, I'm capable.
26) You always grow the most when you're uncomfortable. The year of 29 was really uncomfortable, on so many levels - personal, professional.
27) I cried a lot. I questioned a lot of things I never I thought I would question. I worked through insecurities I thought I had already overcome. And, as always, I grew stronger.
28) There's this moment at every show like the one I went to at the Gorge - maybe EDM shows have this, too, but I don't know. This moment when you're dancing your heart out to this band who's playing their heart out, and you think, "man, life is this amazing picture and it's so exciting that I have no idea what's going to happen next."
29) Guys, I have no idea what's going to happen next.
30) But I'm super excited about it.
Wednesday, September 26, 2018
Saturday, September 8, 2018
The Plight of an Extrovert
Don't worry all you sensitive introverts* out there, I'm not saying my life is harder because I'm an extrovert. In fact, I don't really love the delineation to begin with and generally question the value of personality tests. A topic for another time. I did, however, like the distinction I heard one time: extroverts use other people to recharge and reenergize, whereas introverts reenergize by being alone. Anyone who has known me for more than ten minutes knows I'm an extrovert. I would like to take a moment to clarify that getting your energy from other people does not mean you love being in a crowded room with strangers. It means when I want to wind down and decompress and get ready for the next day, I want to do it with someone else I know well and who knows me well.
My cooking schedule's been super off since starting work. I can't seem to get in a routine, so I tried HelloFresh. I'm only a week in, but I have to say, I like it so far. They take care of the ingredients, I take care of the cooking, and because I'm only cooking for myself, I have some leftovers for lunch. The recipes aren't too fancy, but they're tasty. I put on a playlist I haven't listened to in ages, and Boys of Fall came on. Four years ago, I wrote this blog post about the Boys of Fall. I had just moved into a new apartment in Charlottesville, was in the middle of a job transition, and was sitting at my kitchen table, enjoying the fall breeze and view of the mountains.
Here I am, in a new apartment, in the middle of a job transition, sitting at my kitchen table, enjoying the fall breeze and view of the mountains. This isn't about the Boys of Fall, though if you have ever watched Friday Night Lights and want the inside scoop, I suggest you read the post. This is about finding yourself in transition once again and remembering who you are in that. No matter how many times I do it - and I've done it a number of times - I forget how hard it is. You can do all you can to prepare, you can know this is where you are supposed to be and what you are supposed to be doing, and yet, when you get there, you fight the same battles you've fought before. Those battles are different for everyone, but for me, they've been pretty consistent: loneliness, uncertainty, the struggle to balance every aspect of my life, to not push myself too hard, patience with myself in figuring out a new job and a new city, embracing the waiting for the pieces of life to fall into place. Above all, trusting that they will.
And while you have people you know support you, in my case and in many others, you don't have your person. That person who's in your corner. Who knows you intimately. Who tells you you're a badass when you feel differently. Who pushes you, who encourages you, who builds you up and who calls you out when you need it. Who works hard at the relationship because they recognize it's worth it. Who makes you feel home when so much around is foreign. This isn't about that person. This is about remembering that I have been that for myself, and that I can be that for myself now and in the future.
I stayed in tonight for the first Friday in a very long time. I worked out, cooked, listened to music, drank wine, and wrote - my favorite things. I remembered I could recharge on my own, as well. And don't worry - tomorrow I have arranged a party bus for 35 people to visit Washington wine country, so my extravert will be more than satiated.
*not saying all introverts are sensitive, so don't be offended by that either.
My cooking schedule's been super off since starting work. I can't seem to get in a routine, so I tried HelloFresh. I'm only a week in, but I have to say, I like it so far. They take care of the ingredients, I take care of the cooking, and because I'm only cooking for myself, I have some leftovers for lunch. The recipes aren't too fancy, but they're tasty. I put on a playlist I haven't listened to in ages, and Boys of Fall came on. Four years ago, I wrote this blog post about the Boys of Fall. I had just moved into a new apartment in Charlottesville, was in the middle of a job transition, and was sitting at my kitchen table, enjoying the fall breeze and view of the mountains.
Here I am, in a new apartment, in the middle of a job transition, sitting at my kitchen table, enjoying the fall breeze and view of the mountains. This isn't about the Boys of Fall, though if you have ever watched Friday Night Lights and want the inside scoop, I suggest you read the post. This is about finding yourself in transition once again and remembering who you are in that. No matter how many times I do it - and I've done it a number of times - I forget how hard it is. You can do all you can to prepare, you can know this is where you are supposed to be and what you are supposed to be doing, and yet, when you get there, you fight the same battles you've fought before. Those battles are different for everyone, but for me, they've been pretty consistent: loneliness, uncertainty, the struggle to balance every aspect of my life, to not push myself too hard, patience with myself in figuring out a new job and a new city, embracing the waiting for the pieces of life to fall into place. Above all, trusting that they will.
And while you have people you know support you, in my case and in many others, you don't have your person. That person who's in your corner. Who knows you intimately. Who tells you you're a badass when you feel differently. Who pushes you, who encourages you, who builds you up and who calls you out when you need it. Who works hard at the relationship because they recognize it's worth it. Who makes you feel home when so much around is foreign. This isn't about that person. This is about remembering that I have been that for myself, and that I can be that for myself now and in the future.
I stayed in tonight for the first Friday in a very long time. I worked out, cooked, listened to music, drank wine, and wrote - my favorite things. I remembered I could recharge on my own, as well. And don't worry - tomorrow I have arranged a party bus for 35 people to visit Washington wine country, so my extravert will be more than satiated.
*not saying all introverts are sensitive, so don't be offended by that either.
Monday, August 20, 2018
Misadventures of Dating
Hi there, friend. Monday's over, and let me say, I feel much better than last Monday. You see, an old friend came into town last Sunday, and I was just so excited I forgot I have a real job now, and my zero trips to the gym last week confirm that I do not recover like I used to. Ahh adulthood. I bought myself house plants. Then I read the care instructions, and I give Eleanor about three months max, especially because the care instructions say it needs bright indirect light. Currently, all it's getting is smog as Seattle has poorer air quality than Hanoi, a city that burns their trash regularly. I think Teddy has better odds, but I'll bet in five months they will be replaced by fake houseplants. I don't know why I named them after the Roosevelts, except that I'm still watching West Wing.
I also bought myself a wine rack and plenty of colorful liquors to go on my bar cart - for when I entertain, you know. I'll mix classy cocktails and pour fine wine, oozing sophistication. Don't judge me - I got fireball. Just kidding, but that wold be funny. Possibly on brand.
Caveat: I have been on many dates, some that have led somewhere, and some that haven't. And I wouldn't be critiquing this one if it weren't for how he behaved at the end of the date.
In the spirit of adulthood, I also went on a date. I know, I know, I'm usually not pro dating. One of my issues dating people I don't know well is that I could have a very entertaining conversation with my table, learn its life story, and make myself laugh. Plus, there are so many people I enjoy spending time with and so many activities I enjoy, why is this a good use of my time? However, since arranged marriages haven't yet made their way to the States and the guys I know are committed or have the maturity of my nephew*, I occasionally peak my head above my burrow and look around.
I met this particular guy at his protein shake shop. I should have known then this was going nowhere good. The shake shop was beneath my apartment building. I ventured in there one day. We chatted for a bit, and I ran into him a couple times after our initial meeting. One of those times, we were talking about a good book or a good event or some other stupid excuse to get my number, but he asked for my number so he could send me the details. A couple weeks later, he asked me to go salsa dancing, and I couldn't go. He asked me out again; I couldn't go. He asked me out again, and I said yes to brunch. Harmless enough.
He chose a Mexican restaurant, which is great because I love breakfast tacos. He arrived in a cutoff muscle shirt. Strike one, but to be fair, it's a Saturday, and he owns a gym and a protein shake shop, so maybe it's a check swing. Or maybe I shouldn't have gone to begin with.
We sit down; I order a margarita. "Ahhh, you're a margarita girl," he says. "Well, yes, when I'm at a Mexican restaurant that serves margaritas." Don't be cute with me. You don't know me well enough to be cute with me.
He slouched in his seat and spoke in that meathead tone that slightly slurs every word, and you're not sure if they think they're from Jamaica or are part of the cast of Dazed and Confused or are trying to hit on you with the question, "Do you like cats or dogs?"
He's quite entrepreneurial, dabbling in all sorts of different gigs, and they seemed pretty successful, which might be somewhat attractive if he weren't licking his lips so much. Why are you licking your lips so much? They're going to get chapped.
I said I had never been to this part of town and asked what his favorite spots were. He answered and asked what my favorite spots were. "Well, I don't know, because I stated one minute ago, I've never been to this part of town." Are you listening?
I was so glad I was wearing sunglasses so I didn't have to make eye contact, but I also had some promising pork tacos on the way which I was pumped about. Our conversation took a welcomed pause when he turned around to chat with the two women sitting behind us.
The tacos came. They were delicious. I asked him why he moved to Seattle.
"I moved here for you."
"No, really, why'd you move?" Clearly, I wasn't picking up what he was throwing down. And I get signals. I've been single for a long time; I know when I'm putting off a vibe that I'm into you. But he pressed on.
"You want to come back to my place after this?"
"No, that's okay."
"Why not?"
"I'm meeting some friends at 3." He was upset I had scheduled my day so tightly. I said I didn't expect this to be very long.
The check came, and he graciously paid after I offered to split. After which he commented again: "You have time for one more drink, though, right? Let's go back to my place."
"No. No, I don't. I already said I don't."
We leave. He says good bye to the women sitting behind us. Conveniently, his condo was less than a block away from the restaurant. He points it out and says, "Come on, you know you have time. Come in."
"No." I quickly gave him a hug, said thank you, and turned to walk away. He grabbed my arm and pleaded, "Come here. Give me a kiss." Are you a puppy dog? How desperate are you? For the love of God, it's three o'clock in the afternoon. Alternative: You could say you had a nice time and ask me out again. Where's my burrow?
I firmly said no and scurried on my way.
It's a shame, because the shack had some good protein shakes, and I refuse to support his business. I could make a lot of commentary on the entire interaction, but I'll refrain. The bright side is, though, sometimes I get lonely. Then I go on a date like this, and I think, well, my glass of wine, some Jason Isbell, and a bit of writing is company enough.*
* Actually, he could be more mature.
* At least until someone who's not a tone deaf, entitled idiot with an inflated sense of self comes along.
I also bought myself a wine rack and plenty of colorful liquors to go on my bar cart - for when I entertain, you know. I'll mix classy cocktails and pour fine wine, oozing sophistication. Don't judge me - I got fireball. Just kidding, but that wold be funny. Possibly on brand.
Caveat: I have been on many dates, some that have led somewhere, and some that haven't. And I wouldn't be critiquing this one if it weren't for how he behaved at the end of the date.
In the spirit of adulthood, I also went on a date. I know, I know, I'm usually not pro dating. One of my issues dating people I don't know well is that I could have a very entertaining conversation with my table, learn its life story, and make myself laugh. Plus, there are so many people I enjoy spending time with and so many activities I enjoy, why is this a good use of my time? However, since arranged marriages haven't yet made their way to the States and the guys I know are committed or have the maturity of my nephew*, I occasionally peak my head above my burrow and look around.
I met this particular guy at his protein shake shop. I should have known then this was going nowhere good. The shake shop was beneath my apartment building. I ventured in there one day. We chatted for a bit, and I ran into him a couple times after our initial meeting. One of those times, we were talking about a good book or a good event or some other stupid excuse to get my number, but he asked for my number so he could send me the details. A couple weeks later, he asked me to go salsa dancing, and I couldn't go. He asked me out again; I couldn't go. He asked me out again, and I said yes to brunch. Harmless enough.
He chose a Mexican restaurant, which is great because I love breakfast tacos. He arrived in a cutoff muscle shirt. Strike one, but to be fair, it's a Saturday, and he owns a gym and a protein shake shop, so maybe it's a check swing. Or maybe I shouldn't have gone to begin with.
We sit down; I order a margarita. "Ahhh, you're a margarita girl," he says. "Well, yes, when I'm at a Mexican restaurant that serves margaritas." Don't be cute with me. You don't know me well enough to be cute with me.
He slouched in his seat and spoke in that meathead tone that slightly slurs every word, and you're not sure if they think they're from Jamaica or are part of the cast of Dazed and Confused or are trying to hit on you with the question, "Do you like cats or dogs?"
He's quite entrepreneurial, dabbling in all sorts of different gigs, and they seemed pretty successful, which might be somewhat attractive if he weren't licking his lips so much. Why are you licking your lips so much? They're going to get chapped.
I said I had never been to this part of town and asked what his favorite spots were. He answered and asked what my favorite spots were. "Well, I don't know, because I stated one minute ago, I've never been to this part of town." Are you listening?
I was so glad I was wearing sunglasses so I didn't have to make eye contact, but I also had some promising pork tacos on the way which I was pumped about. Our conversation took a welcomed pause when he turned around to chat with the two women sitting behind us.
The tacos came. They were delicious. I asked him why he moved to Seattle.
"I moved here for you."
"No, really, why'd you move?" Clearly, I wasn't picking up what he was throwing down. And I get signals. I've been single for a long time; I know when I'm putting off a vibe that I'm into you. But he pressed on.
"You want to come back to my place after this?"
"No, that's okay."
"Why not?"
"I'm meeting some friends at 3." He was upset I had scheduled my day so tightly. I said I didn't expect this to be very long.
The check came, and he graciously paid after I offered to split. After which he commented again: "You have time for one more drink, though, right? Let's go back to my place."
"No. No, I don't. I already said I don't."
We leave. He says good bye to the women sitting behind us. Conveniently, his condo was less than a block away from the restaurant. He points it out and says, "Come on, you know you have time. Come in."
"No." I quickly gave him a hug, said thank you, and turned to walk away. He grabbed my arm and pleaded, "Come here. Give me a kiss." Are you a puppy dog? How desperate are you? For the love of God, it's three o'clock in the afternoon. Alternative: You could say you had a nice time and ask me out again. Where's my burrow?
I firmly said no and scurried on my way.
It's a shame, because the shack had some good protein shakes, and I refuse to support his business. I could make a lot of commentary on the entire interaction, but I'll refrain. The bright side is, though, sometimes I get lonely. Then I go on a date like this, and I think, well, my glass of wine, some Jason Isbell, and a bit of writing is company enough.*
* Actually, he could be more mature.
* At least until someone who's not a tone deaf, entitled idiot with an inflated sense of self comes along.
Friday, August 3, 2018
Update: Three Weeks In
First: Huge win. Three weeks, multiple happy hours, dozens of ice breakers, and no one outside of the Ross Amazon bubble is aware of my high school nickname. Sometimes, I even impress myself.
I also just received my Le Creuset dutch oven which is an exquisite addition to my decor. Now I just have to use it... unlike that time I bought an exorbitantly expensive and beautiful snowboard when I was fifteen and used it twice. At the very least, the dutch oven makes me feel like an adult.
Guys - I'm an adult! I'm almost three weeks in, though two of those were training. On the bright side, we had two weeks of training. On the down side, we had two weeks of training. I will delve into very little detail because 1) you probably don't care and 2) Amazon probably knows what I'm writing. And thinking. Before I think it.
As with all orientations, some content is extremely useful and engaging, some content is redundant, some content doesn't make sense until you actually do it, and some content I miss because my mind has wandered to who's the funniest person in the classroom - besides myself. Or whether or not I left my curling iron burning. I'm pretty sure I turned it off, but it's possible my apartment's somehow caught on fire. I hear a siren. Shoot.
This will come as no surprise, but my favorite part of training is the people. Good news. There are at least a few funny people. I don't remember their names, because I'm terrible with names, but they're definitely funny. New life goal: reach a point of authority where I'm not compelled to remember names. "Kevin, will you please pick up my laundry." "My name's Jesse." "Mmm no. I feel like you're a Kevin." "Okay." Just kidding. I recognize the value in remembering names, but I need a better system. Currently my system is: you have a generic American name, you have a generic Indian name, you have a completely foreign name and I don't even understand how those syllables blend together. Let's try a few iterations and see how it goes. Anyways, I'm pretty sure everyone in training loved me. I don't see how they couldn't.
Three days into my actual work, and I'm still excited. I like the way my co-worker's brains work, and I think my brain works in a similar manner*. I like the problems we're trying to solve. There are a lot more resources and people to learn from than at a startup, yet, it seems you still have to be scrappy, which I love. I do wish Amazon would adopt my preferred policy of bathroom doors that reach the floor, but other than this, I have no complaints.
All that said, I have to be honest with you and tell you I did have a moment. I was so certain I wouldn't. After all, I'm a pro at this. I'm used to starting over. I'm a strong, smart, independent lady, and I've done this so many times before. This time, I have a great network of people around me. I have this pretty cool job at an amazing company, even if it did lose the race to the $1 trillion market cap. I had taken the time to work through that gunk that accumulates over time. I have it together.
Then it triggered. I wasn't ready for it, but it hit me like a ton of bricks. All of a sudden, I was lonely, and the insecurities I worked so hard to overcome resurfaced. The demons of doubt swarmed. The thing about those demons is I don't think they ever completely disappear. You just get better at fighting them and sending them back to hell a little faster each time. You also have the right people around you to help. You take that as progress.
I keep reading this devotional year after year. I know I've mentioned it before, but the last three days in July are such a great sequence:
1. Wait for Him
2. He will fulfill the desires of your heart
3. He commands the whole world; trust Him with everything. Everything is a really big ask, and that's really hard to do.
The first time I read this devotional was five years ago. I was living in Charlottesville, serving tables at a restaurant, extremely unsatisfied and wondering why God had put me there when the roads I took seemed to lead to dead ends. One Friday night in particular, I took a minute to sneak into the bathroom and break down because I felt so lost and alone.
Now I'm here; by no means do I think I have made it. In fact, if I ever think I've made it, slap me, because there is always more to work toward. I do know I've grown over those five years. I find it easier to trust that those uncertainties that I want to be certain, especially during times of transition - those desires - will happen if I wait. In the meantime, one really strong desire - the desire to be in a place where my career can be cultivated and thrive - has been met. For that, I am grateful.
* Apart from the wanderings...
I also just received my Le Creuset dutch oven which is an exquisite addition to my decor. Now I just have to use it... unlike that time I bought an exorbitantly expensive and beautiful snowboard when I was fifteen and used it twice. At the very least, the dutch oven makes me feel like an adult.
Guys - I'm an adult! I'm almost three weeks in, though two of those were training. On the bright side, we had two weeks of training. On the down side, we had two weeks of training. I will delve into very little detail because 1) you probably don't care and 2) Amazon probably knows what I'm writing. And thinking. Before I think it.
As with all orientations, some content is extremely useful and engaging, some content is redundant, some content doesn't make sense until you actually do it, and some content I miss because my mind has wandered to who's the funniest person in the classroom - besides myself. Or whether or not I left my curling iron burning. I'm pretty sure I turned it off, but it's possible my apartment's somehow caught on fire. I hear a siren. Shoot.
This will come as no surprise, but my favorite part of training is the people. Good news. There are at least a few funny people. I don't remember their names, because I'm terrible with names, but they're definitely funny. New life goal: reach a point of authority where I'm not compelled to remember names. "Kevin, will you please pick up my laundry." "My name's Jesse." "Mmm no. I feel like you're a Kevin." "Okay." Just kidding. I recognize the value in remembering names, but I need a better system. Currently my system is: you have a generic American name, you have a generic Indian name, you have a completely foreign name and I don't even understand how those syllables blend together. Let's try a few iterations and see how it goes. Anyways, I'm pretty sure everyone in training loved me. I don't see how they couldn't.
Three days into my actual work, and I'm still excited. I like the way my co-worker's brains work, and I think my brain works in a similar manner*. I like the problems we're trying to solve. There are a lot more resources and people to learn from than at a startup, yet, it seems you still have to be scrappy, which I love. I do wish Amazon would adopt my preferred policy of bathroom doors that reach the floor, but other than this, I have no complaints.
All that said, I have to be honest with you and tell you I did have a moment. I was so certain I wouldn't. After all, I'm a pro at this. I'm used to starting over. I'm a strong, smart, independent lady, and I've done this so many times before. This time, I have a great network of people around me. I have this pretty cool job at an amazing company, even if it did lose the race to the $1 trillion market cap. I had taken the time to work through that gunk that accumulates over time. I have it together.
Then it triggered. I wasn't ready for it, but it hit me like a ton of bricks. All of a sudden, I was lonely, and the insecurities I worked so hard to overcome resurfaced. The demons of doubt swarmed. The thing about those demons is I don't think they ever completely disappear. You just get better at fighting them and sending them back to hell a little faster each time. You also have the right people around you to help. You take that as progress.
I keep reading this devotional year after year. I know I've mentioned it before, but the last three days in July are such a great sequence:
1. Wait for Him
2. He will fulfill the desires of your heart
3. He commands the whole world; trust Him with everything. Everything is a really big ask, and that's really hard to do.
The first time I read this devotional was five years ago. I was living in Charlottesville, serving tables at a restaurant, extremely unsatisfied and wondering why God had put me there when the roads I took seemed to lead to dead ends. One Friday night in particular, I took a minute to sneak into the bathroom and break down because I felt so lost and alone.
Now I'm here; by no means do I think I have made it. In fact, if I ever think I've made it, slap me, because there is always more to work toward. I do know I've grown over those five years. I find it easier to trust that those uncertainties that I want to be certain, especially during times of transition - those desires - will happen if I wait. In the meantime, one really strong desire - the desire to be in a place where my career can be cultivated and thrive - has been met. For that, I am grateful.
* Apart from the wanderings...
Friday, July 13, 2018
Anna's Goals for Amazon. Or Is It Annazon?
It's not. I'll address that later, but first:
It's my final day of freedom. Well, technically, I have Saturday and Sunday, but those don't count because it's a weekend. I've taken to using the apartment patio as my personal living room since PODS and I had a misunderstanding leaving me temporarily without a television. It took me awhile to figure out the TV this morning, but I refused to ask for help because I'm pretty sure everyone at the front desk is convinced I do nothing but spend money on packages and wait in my apartment to collect them. I assure them I will have a job come Monday.
I'll have a job come Monday. I'm so excited to begin my job! I'm not excited because I think it's going to be easy. On the contrary, I'm excited because I think it's going to be hard. I plan on it being hard. I want to be overwhelmed, take deep breaths, solve problems and learn. I'll probably cry, because I cry a lot.
I started studying for the GMAT November of 2014. I've put in nearly four years of work - and a whole heap of down time - to get my ass kicked. I don't have anyone in my life I need to prioritize, I don't have children, and I have yet to commit to a life of service in a convent. So, yes, I'm excited to get my ass kicked.
Per usual, when entering a new phase of life, I find it valuable to set goals. These aren't SMART* goals. I get the idea of SMART goals, but I don't know how I feel about this for my personal life, because I fixate on the numbers. For instance, I realized I'm about to turn 30; then, I considered whether or not I had hit 30 countries before the age of 30. I began to panic. Is St. John a country or an island? Should I classify a country by whether or not it's eligible for Miss Universe? Or acknowledged by the UN? Does it count if I spent one night in Columbia or not? Should I just drive up to Canada to make sure it's marked off the list? I think numbers can defeat the purpose sometimes, so some goals may seem vague, but here we go.
I think it's a bit much to expect the company to change the name to Annazon - they'd have to change the packaging, the domain name, not to mention all of the prodding into my uneventful personal life of binge-watching West Wing when the media learns it's become my namesake - but I like to think I can still make my dome-sized mark. This leads me to my first and highest priority.
1. Double dome selfie with Jeff Bezos. The man has an impeccable dome, and it would be a great addition to my coffee table book.
2. Don't lock myself out of my apartment. The door automatically locks every time I close it. The current over/under on me locking myself out is seven months, in the middle of winter when I enter a zombie like state of indifference. I'd like to bet on myself to hit the over.
3. Let's be honest, I talk too much to carry mystique. I need to let that one go. I can, however, keep my high school nickname a secret for more than a week.
4. Become a monger. Such a cool title. Can you be a monger of anything? Maybe I'll be a wine monger. Or, the first tech monger at Amazon.
Okay, but for real:
1. Double dome selfie. No sarcasm there. Equally important: find friends with boats.
2. Look for ways to serve others, inside and outside of work, in small ways and in large ways.
3. Be a connector. I almost said maven, but that would give the MO department at Ross too much satisfaction. Even connector sounds like a cringe-worthy business school term, but I can't think of a better one. I think I have a face that says, "Tell me your life story", as evidenced by the gardener who has just given me an extended lesson in horticulture while explaining her career path. I'm comfortable reaching out, and I'm pretty good at getting outside my bubble, though we could always be better. I will do something with these three qualities.
4. Figure out a sustainable, healthy, workout pattern. I enjoy so many activities. Crossfit, tennis, hiking, eating good food, drinking good drinks, meeting new people. I have to work somewhere in there, and my body doesn't recover quite like it did, so I need to carefully consider where I spend my time and what I put into my body. Example of what not to do: the last two months of business school.
5. Get my name in front of the right people. Coming from small companies, I've never really had to navigate a hierarchy, but I could have done a better job of that in business school. For instance, I got rejected for a minuscule public speaking gig* because the leaders had never heard me speak. You and I both know I'm a phenomenal speaker, but the right people didn't.
6. Write more for myself. Believe it or not, this blog only contains 20% of my thoughts. I want to start recording 30% of the other 80% for my memoirs I will write by the age of 40. In doing so, I want to be braver in my writing, addressing opinions not everyone will hold. I picture myself walking around with a note pad, constantly reflecting, however, I have terrible handwriting, and my hand cramps because I hold pens incorrectly, so I have to think about my tactic a bit more.
7. Be a sponge. Learn as much as I can, and consider what is most valuable for the next step in my illustrious career.
One of the reasons I'm excited is because I know I'm not doing this alone. I have a Bible verse for phases of life, and the one that speaks to me most currently is, “The eyes of the Lord search the whole earth in order to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to Him.” Being fully committed is the goal of a lifetime, but knowing that I have a strength greater than my own is exciting.
The match is still going on. Wimbledon doesn't have a tiebreak the fifth set, so theoretically, it could go on forever. Eight years ago, Isner played a 13 hour match before progressing. Can we first acknowledge what an unbelievable feat of athleticism it is for two men to be on the court, playing every point, for over six hours? It goes without saying that it's exhausting for the players, but what about the following semifinal match? Nadal and Djokovic are ready to play. They're ready to compete. The ability to compete - to work hard - is a privilege. Not privilege in the PC way that compels you to apologize for something you have no control over, but the privilege that compels you to capitalize on the opportunity presented to you, because there are so many others who, for a variety of reasons, don't have that opportunity. They've been staying warm on the sidelines, but I guarantee, when this match ends, they'll be pumped to get on that court and begin competing. I've been waiting on the sidelines. I'm ready to compete.
Sidenote ... Shameless plug: for those of you who enjoy reading this but are about to enter soul-sucking jobs in which scrolling Facebook is not a regular occurrence, feel free to subscribe via the box on your right. The posts go straight to your inbox, and, if you're worried about me knowing you enjoy my writing, I'm not tech savvy enough to know you've subscribed, so fear not!
* Though I very rarely do that.
* The only letter I remember is Measurable, which is the one I have a problem with
* That I didn't apply for
It's my final day of freedom. Well, technically, I have Saturday and Sunday, but those don't count because it's a weekend. I've taken to using the apartment patio as my personal living room since PODS and I had a misunderstanding leaving me temporarily without a television. It took me awhile to figure out the TV this morning, but I refused to ask for help because I'm pretty sure everyone at the front desk is convinced I do nothing but spend money on packages and wait in my apartment to collect them. I assure them I will have a job come Monday.
I'll have a job come Monday. I'm so excited to begin my job! I'm not excited because I think it's going to be easy. On the contrary, I'm excited because I think it's going to be hard. I plan on it being hard. I want to be overwhelmed, take deep breaths, solve problems and learn. I'll probably cry, because I cry a lot.
I started studying for the GMAT November of 2014. I've put in nearly four years of work - and a whole heap of down time - to get my ass kicked. I don't have anyone in my life I need to prioritize, I don't have children, and I have yet to commit to a life of service in a convent. So, yes, I'm excited to get my ass kicked.
Per usual, when entering a new phase of life, I find it valuable to set goals. These aren't SMART* goals. I get the idea of SMART goals, but I don't know how I feel about this for my personal life, because I fixate on the numbers. For instance, I realized I'm about to turn 30; then, I considered whether or not I had hit 30 countries before the age of 30. I began to panic. Is St. John a country or an island? Should I classify a country by whether or not it's eligible for Miss Universe? Or acknowledged by the UN? Does it count if I spent one night in Columbia or not? Should I just drive up to Canada to make sure it's marked off the list? I think numbers can defeat the purpose sometimes, so some goals may seem vague, but here we go.
I think it's a bit much to expect the company to change the name to Annazon - they'd have to change the packaging, the domain name, not to mention all of the prodding into my uneventful personal life of binge-watching West Wing when the media learns it's become my namesake - but I like to think I can still make my dome-sized mark. This leads me to my first and highest priority.
1. Double dome selfie with Jeff Bezos. The man has an impeccable dome, and it would be a great addition to my coffee table book.
2. Don't lock myself out of my apartment. The door automatically locks every time I close it. The current over/under on me locking myself out is seven months, in the middle of winter when I enter a zombie like state of indifference. I'd like to bet on myself to hit the over.
3. Let's be honest, I talk too much to carry mystique. I need to let that one go. I can, however, keep my high school nickname a secret for more than a week.
4. Become a monger. Such a cool title. Can you be a monger of anything? Maybe I'll be a wine monger. Or, the first tech monger at Amazon.
Okay, but for real:
1. Double dome selfie. No sarcasm there. Equally important: find friends with boats.
2. Look for ways to serve others, inside and outside of work, in small ways and in large ways.
3. Be a connector. I almost said maven, but that would give the MO department at Ross too much satisfaction. Even connector sounds like a cringe-worthy business school term, but I can't think of a better one. I think I have a face that says, "Tell me your life story", as evidenced by the gardener who has just given me an extended lesson in horticulture while explaining her career path. I'm comfortable reaching out, and I'm pretty good at getting outside my bubble, though we could always be better. I will do something with these three qualities.
4. Figure out a sustainable, healthy, workout pattern. I enjoy so many activities. Crossfit, tennis, hiking, eating good food, drinking good drinks, meeting new people. I have to work somewhere in there, and my body doesn't recover quite like it did, so I need to carefully consider where I spend my time and what I put into my body. Example of what not to do: the last two months of business school.
5. Get my name in front of the right people. Coming from small companies, I've never really had to navigate a hierarchy, but I could have done a better job of that in business school. For instance, I got rejected for a minuscule public speaking gig* because the leaders had never heard me speak. You and I both know I'm a phenomenal speaker, but the right people didn't.
6. Write more for myself. Believe it or not, this blog only contains 20% of my thoughts. I want to start recording 30% of the other 80% for my memoirs I will write by the age of 40. In doing so, I want to be braver in my writing, addressing opinions not everyone will hold. I picture myself walking around with a note pad, constantly reflecting, however, I have terrible handwriting, and my hand cramps because I hold pens incorrectly, so I have to think about my tactic a bit more.
7. Be a sponge. Learn as much as I can, and consider what is most valuable for the next step in my illustrious career.
One of the reasons I'm excited is because I know I'm not doing this alone. I have a Bible verse for phases of life, and the one that speaks to me most currently is, “The eyes of the Lord search the whole earth in order to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to Him.” Being fully committed is the goal of a lifetime, but knowing that I have a strength greater than my own is exciting.
The match is still going on. Wimbledon doesn't have a tiebreak the fifth set, so theoretically, it could go on forever. Eight years ago, Isner played a 13 hour match before progressing. Can we first acknowledge what an unbelievable feat of athleticism it is for two men to be on the court, playing every point, for over six hours? It goes without saying that it's exhausting for the players, but what about the following semifinal match? Nadal and Djokovic are ready to play. They're ready to compete. The ability to compete - to work hard - is a privilege. Not privilege in the PC way that compels you to apologize for something you have no control over, but the privilege that compels you to capitalize on the opportunity presented to you, because there are so many others who, for a variety of reasons, don't have that opportunity. They've been staying warm on the sidelines, but I guarantee, when this match ends, they'll be pumped to get on that court and begin competing. I've been waiting on the sidelines. I'm ready to compete.
Sidenote ... Shameless plug: for those of you who enjoy reading this but are about to enter soul-sucking jobs in which scrolling Facebook is not a regular occurrence, feel free to subscribe via the box on your right. The posts go straight to your inbox, and, if you're worried about me knowing you enjoy my writing, I'm not tech savvy enough to know you've subscribed, so fear not!
* Though I very rarely do that.
* The only letter I remember is Measurable, which is the one I have a problem with
* That I didn't apply for
Monday, July 2, 2018
Being Single as a Tennis Match
Being single is like a tennis match*. Some games are hard, an absolute grind. Though you know you have the support of fans behind the fence**, and you hear the guidance of your coach, you want nothing more than to look someone directly in the eye, one foot in front of you, and hear them tell you, “You got this. Let’s go,” in a voice that embraces you with confidence. After you nail a winner, you want to turn to that partner, feel the touch of the hand as you high five, and share that moment of victory.
But then there are times you’re on the court, and everything’s clicking. Your strokes are flawless, your placement is perfection, and in those moments, you’re content you’re alone on the court – even grateful you don’t have to carry a teammate and have the freedom to focus only on your game. You don’t need a high five. Your own fist pump is more than enough.
I still have some time before work, so last week, I decided to take a solo trip. I could have stayed in Seattle and stopped hemorrhaging money, but that seemed silly. Plus, I made myself a promise when I decided to move: I was going to absorb the most I could that Washington and the Pacific Northwest have to offer. What better time to start than the present?
I booked myself a log cabin in the Cascades, complete with a jacuzzi bathtub, a glorious bed that tempted one to stay in all day, and a porch surrounded by nothing but the rustling of the forest leaves and the rushing river.
The week was lovely, a perfect reset – that is, after the first night in which I could barely sleep because I was anxiously planning all the relaxing I needed to do.
I went kayaking. I learned that two cans of wine are equal to one bottle, which was a sad realization as I was paddling away on the lake, contemplating opening the second can. You see, drinking two cans of beer does not seem excessive, but drinking a bottle of wine seems a bit much. On the other hand, if you just re-frame drinking a bottle of wine as drinking two cans, maybe it doesn’t sound as bad. I decided to refrain, mostly because I didn’t want to fall asleep in my kayak and wake up toppling into water like Ann of Green Gables.
I hiked a peak, my first in Washington, talking to myself most of the time, plotting the next steps in my world takeover.*** I used a walking stick, not for the utility, but because it makes me feel like Moses. Segue… I only experienced one hiccup when I got confused about where the trail was so began scaling the side of the waterfall, lamenting the fact that my shoes didn’t have better grip. After roughly 50 feet, I realized I just had to cross the stream at the bottom. I don’t know if I’m in worse shape than I was in Virginia – well, that’s not true, I know I am – or if it’s because the mountains are bigger, but it was a great workout.
I talked to others as well. The couple who built the log cabin after a lifetime in the city and treated me to a home cooked meal, tea, and cookies. The woman who moved from Seattle to pour wine when life there just got a bit too busy. The young server who left Seattle last winter, worked at a ski resort, and learned to ski because it was something new. Those stories always encourage me, because they’re about people who did something rather than just talking about it.
I went antiquing. O my goodness - I love antiques! This may be very dangerous, and if there were more antique stores near me, I’d have an apartment resembling a funhouse, filled with gold mirrors, mismatched tea cups, and garden gnomes. It would be beautiful.
I sat at a vineyard, sipping Cabernet, in a lodge, sipping a latte, on the patio in the most precious German town this side of Munich, sipping a beer. I sipped so many things! I listened to music, the kind that makes you happy nostalgic about the past and whimsically excited about the future, cozied up and read by the fire, spent hours searching for the perfect dining room painting and living room rug. I found them.
And in those moments by myself, contemplating whether or not I should drink the second can of wine, I gathered those small pieces of myself that had been hiding the past months. The pieces that knew I was strong, that knew I was adventurous and energetic. Those pieces that enjoyed her own company.
On the occasions I talk about being single to you, I often do it in the context of wanting to look someone directly in the eye, wanting to feel the touch of someone’s high five. It’s equally important to acknowledge those times when your own fist pump is more than enough.
* A singles tennis match, obviously.
** Roughly two in the case of D-3 tennis.
*** More to come on that.
But then there are times you’re on the court, and everything’s clicking. Your strokes are flawless, your placement is perfection, and in those moments, you’re content you’re alone on the court – even grateful you don’t have to carry a teammate and have the freedom to focus only on your game. You don’t need a high five. Your own fist pump is more than enough.
I still have some time before work, so last week, I decided to take a solo trip. I could have stayed in Seattle and stopped hemorrhaging money, but that seemed silly. Plus, I made myself a promise when I decided to move: I was going to absorb the most I could that Washington and the Pacific Northwest have to offer. What better time to start than the present?
I booked myself a log cabin in the Cascades, complete with a jacuzzi bathtub, a glorious bed that tempted one to stay in all day, and a porch surrounded by nothing but the rustling of the forest leaves and the rushing river.
The week was lovely, a perfect reset – that is, after the first night in which I could barely sleep because I was anxiously planning all the relaxing I needed to do.
I went kayaking. I learned that two cans of wine are equal to one bottle, which was a sad realization as I was paddling away on the lake, contemplating opening the second can. You see, drinking two cans of beer does not seem excessive, but drinking a bottle of wine seems a bit much. On the other hand, if you just re-frame drinking a bottle of wine as drinking two cans, maybe it doesn’t sound as bad. I decided to refrain, mostly because I didn’t want to fall asleep in my kayak and wake up toppling into water like Ann of Green Gables.
I hiked a peak, my first in Washington, talking to myself most of the time, plotting the next steps in my world takeover.*** I used a walking stick, not for the utility, but because it makes me feel like Moses. Segue… I only experienced one hiccup when I got confused about where the trail was so began scaling the side of the waterfall, lamenting the fact that my shoes didn’t have better grip. After roughly 50 feet, I realized I just had to cross the stream at the bottom. I don’t know if I’m in worse shape than I was in Virginia – well, that’s not true, I know I am – or if it’s because the mountains are bigger, but it was a great workout.
I talked to others as well. The couple who built the log cabin after a lifetime in the city and treated me to a home cooked meal, tea, and cookies. The woman who moved from Seattle to pour wine when life there just got a bit too busy. The young server who left Seattle last winter, worked at a ski resort, and learned to ski because it was something new. Those stories always encourage me, because they’re about people who did something rather than just talking about it.
I went antiquing. O my goodness - I love antiques! This may be very dangerous, and if there were more antique stores near me, I’d have an apartment resembling a funhouse, filled with gold mirrors, mismatched tea cups, and garden gnomes. It would be beautiful.
I sat at a vineyard, sipping Cabernet, in a lodge, sipping a latte, on the patio in the most precious German town this side of Munich, sipping a beer. I sipped so many things! I listened to music, the kind that makes you happy nostalgic about the past and whimsically excited about the future, cozied up and read by the fire, spent hours searching for the perfect dining room painting and living room rug. I found them.
And in those moments by myself, contemplating whether or not I should drink the second can of wine, I gathered those small pieces of myself that had been hiding the past months. The pieces that knew I was strong, that knew I was adventurous and energetic. Those pieces that enjoyed her own company.
On the occasions I talk about being single to you, I often do it in the context of wanting to look someone directly in the eye, wanting to feel the touch of someone’s high five. It’s equally important to acknowledge those times when your own fist pump is more than enough.
* A singles tennis match, obviously.
** Roughly two in the case of D-3 tennis.
*** More to come on that.
Wednesday, June 27, 2018
Anna Goes Apartment Hunting
Someone told me apartment hunting is like dating: you go in with a checklist, but ultimately you know it when you see it, and the checklist doesn’t really matter when you find it. But my checklist was super short: 1. I wanted an in-unit washer/dryer, because for the love of God, I am nearly 30 years old, and I am tired of scrounging for quarters like an undergrad. 2. Patio. Because of course, I need my outdoor space. A taste of sweet fresh air - or gas and sewage, depending on the city. There were some other nice-to-haves: gas stove, hardwood floors, wooded bath tub, private wine cellar, but the first two were non-negotiables. Also, I wasn’t going to live in that one place. It seemed a bit stale, and I, friends, am not stale.
And so, my apartment search began Monday after returning from Australia – which I only mention because it meant I was waking up at 3 in the morning, then staying up because the sun rises quite early in the Seattle summer. A perk for my pre-work workouts I plan to have, though foreboding for the winter months.
Numero uno. A gas stove! But ahh, if you accidentally don't light it immediately, you could die of suffocation because the space is so small. Open 1 bedroom, eh? You mean, you’re too cheap to finish the 10 inches of wall separating the bedroom and living room. Also, there’s no door to this “open bedroom”, which means I have to make my bed every day, lest be judged by guests. And if that one neighborhood is stale, then this feels unleavened.
Numero dos. There’s a loft that’s too small for a bed, and even if it were an adequate size, I would fall descending the ladder when I have to pee every night at 2 am because apparently, that is the cost of being hydrated - or drinking wine before I go to sleep. It is just the right size for my own private yoga studio, though. And it has twenty-foot walls to house the extensive art collection I don’t plan on collecting.
Numero tres. Nice enough. Clean. New countertops. Love new countertops. But the bathroom is through my bedroom, again, indicating I should make my bed every day. I don't like societal norms of orderliness imposed upon me.
Numero cuatro. You know what would be cool? Instead of offering me water, you offer me wine. I bet your conversion rate improves if there were a bar crawl/apartment hunt? I see it gaining some traction, especially among real estate companies who have multiple buildings. Patrons tour with a group of people, have some drinks, get friendly with them, hope they're your next door neighbors. This could backfire if the whole process is awkward, but at least the guests would leave a rave review of the process.
Day one ended. I returned to home base. I gave up on the gas stove.
Day two.
Apartment uno. Funky neighborhood, great bars, great food. Maybe it’s because a twenty-year-old is walking around the apartment with me, but I feel juvenile. Also, I know myself, and if I’m that close to bars, I’m going to go to bars. I’m getting old. Not that old, but old enough. I don’t need to go to bars as often.
Apartment dos. Yea… no. Although it does have gas stoves, it is not at all what I want. Why are all the apartments with gas stoves no bueno? I could be buying a house in Cleveland for these prices.
Apartment tres. I happened upon this one. A bit pricier than I wanted, but still within the range, and the person giving me a tour looked like he had hit puberty. The apartment was great. Huge windows. Great light. However, it was directly over the patio of a bar, and I couldn’t help but think, will this impede on my ability to walk from the bathroom to my bedroom post shower in whatever state I prefer?
Apartment Cuatro. Skip. I need to eat, and I need a mental break. Are you tired? I'm tired. Advantage of living alone: I get full autonomy. I can choose whatever I want. Drawback of living alone: I have no one to help me decide what I want.
Apartment Cinco. I was so excited about this one because it has the largest patio, but if the patio is overlooking a Motel-8 style parking lot, is it really worth it? No. No it’s not.
Apartment seis. O! This guy has a Michigan doormat in front of his door. Maybe that’s a sign? This is also definitely more than I want to spend. But, according to Google, it is wise to spend less than 25% of your gross income, and this is definitely less than that. No, Anna, you gave yourself a budget. Stick to it. Where’s my transportable voice of reason. Could I make an app to accompany people apartment hunting alone? At least I’m not buying a house. How am I ever going to buy a house?? Jetlag brain is kicking in, and I don’t know why I decided to walk this whole day in cheap ballet flats.
This place is also further from work. Maybe I’ll bike to work, like the cute guy on Suits. Great. I’ll buy myself a bike.
Day two ends. I buy a bike. I go home and drink wine while watching the Bachelor, during which I contemplate applying for the Bachelor, because frankly, I’d be way more entertaining than this broad.
Day three. I wake up and really don’t want to move but give myself a pep talk to get it together.
Apartment uno. Oh my goodness, no. I mean, I’m not trying to rent a mansion, but I also am not trying to live in Hobbitown with crappier flooring. I need to regroup.
I go to a café. I order a massive omelette, a mimosa, and coffee. I schedule a visit with the apartment I ditched yesterday, as well as a couple more.
Apartment dos. Oooo this has no patio, but it has an amazing view. And it has no washer/dryer, but it has more storage space - more space altogether. While the neighborhood may not be full of character, the building’s quaint, and the apartment has French doors. I can have a Renaissance dining room. And space! It has space for me to dance or twirl or have two people in a room without being on top of one another.
Apartment tres. Air conditioning. And 1000 square feet. So many square feet! It also looks directly into Amazon’s offices, and I think I just started crying. There is no way I'm walking from the bathroom to my bedroom in a towel here. Also, the 1000 square feet is carpeted. And I don’t know if I know what to do with 1000 square feet.
Apartment cuatro. A rock climbing wall! Rock climbing wall wasn’t even on my list, but maybe I want it. Maybe it’s essential to my daily life. Maybe, I can’t see my life without it. And a communal gas stove! Anna, you’re experiencing consumer fatigue. You need a beverage.
Apartment cinco. No, no, no, and no. Although, apparently, I don’t have to leave my apartment to watch the Solstice Parade which is exciting and would definitely be a huge draw for my father to come visit.
I bike to meet friends. I quickly realize there is no way I’m biking to work. In addition, there’s no way cute guy from Suits did not get excruciatingly sweaty biking to work in the NYC heat in his suit. So unrealistic. My faith in cable television is shaken.
I ponder my options. I’ve seen enough, and it’s time to make a self-imposed decision. I think I need to preemptively reward myself, though, so first, I will book myself a getaway in the Cascades. After all, it’s been a while since I’ve taken a vacation.
One bike, one trip to the Cascades later, I decided on day two apartment cuatro/day three, numero dos. The apartment with no patio, no in-unit washer/dryer, and in the neighborhood I didn’t think I’d like.
If apartment hunting is anything like dating, I will soon meet the unathletic, vegan atheist with no sense of humor of my dreams. Stay tuned… For now, I’m sitting in a cozy cabin in the middle of the mountains, drinking coffee, pondering my next big decision – what kind of dining table do I want?
And so, my apartment search began Monday after returning from Australia – which I only mention because it meant I was waking up at 3 in the morning, then staying up because the sun rises quite early in the Seattle summer. A perk for my pre-work workouts I plan to have, though foreboding for the winter months.
Numero uno. A gas stove! But ahh, if you accidentally don't light it immediately, you could die of suffocation because the space is so small. Open 1 bedroom, eh? You mean, you’re too cheap to finish the 10 inches of wall separating the bedroom and living room. Also, there’s no door to this “open bedroom”, which means I have to make my bed every day, lest be judged by guests. And if that one neighborhood is stale, then this feels unleavened.
Numero dos. There’s a loft that’s too small for a bed, and even if it were an adequate size, I would fall descending the ladder when I have to pee every night at 2 am because apparently, that is the cost of being hydrated - or drinking wine before I go to sleep. It is just the right size for my own private yoga studio, though. And it has twenty-foot walls to house the extensive art collection I don’t plan on collecting.
Numero tres. Nice enough. Clean. New countertops. Love new countertops. But the bathroom is through my bedroom, again, indicating I should make my bed every day. I don't like societal norms of orderliness imposed upon me.
Numero cuatro. You know what would be cool? Instead of offering me water, you offer me wine. I bet your conversion rate improves if there were a bar crawl/apartment hunt? I see it gaining some traction, especially among real estate companies who have multiple buildings. Patrons tour with a group of people, have some drinks, get friendly with them, hope they're your next door neighbors. This could backfire if the whole process is awkward, but at least the guests would leave a rave review of the process.
Day one ended. I returned to home base. I gave up on the gas stove.
Day two.
Apartment uno. Funky neighborhood, great bars, great food. Maybe it’s because a twenty-year-old is walking around the apartment with me, but I feel juvenile. Also, I know myself, and if I’m that close to bars, I’m going to go to bars. I’m getting old. Not that old, but old enough. I don’t need to go to bars as often.
Apartment dos. Yea… no. Although it does have gas stoves, it is not at all what I want. Why are all the apartments with gas stoves no bueno? I could be buying a house in Cleveland for these prices.
Apartment tres. I happened upon this one. A bit pricier than I wanted, but still within the range, and the person giving me a tour looked like he had hit puberty. The apartment was great. Huge windows. Great light. However, it was directly over the patio of a bar, and I couldn’t help but think, will this impede on my ability to walk from the bathroom to my bedroom post shower in whatever state I prefer?
Apartment Cuatro. Skip. I need to eat, and I need a mental break. Are you tired? I'm tired. Advantage of living alone: I get full autonomy. I can choose whatever I want. Drawback of living alone: I have no one to help me decide what I want.
Apartment Cinco. I was so excited about this one because it has the largest patio, but if the patio is overlooking a Motel-8 style parking lot, is it really worth it? No. No it’s not.
Apartment seis. O! This guy has a Michigan doormat in front of his door. Maybe that’s a sign? This is also definitely more than I want to spend. But, according to Google, it is wise to spend less than 25% of your gross income, and this is definitely less than that. No, Anna, you gave yourself a budget. Stick to it. Where’s my transportable voice of reason. Could I make an app to accompany people apartment hunting alone? At least I’m not buying a house. How am I ever going to buy a house?? Jetlag brain is kicking in, and I don’t know why I decided to walk this whole day in cheap ballet flats.
This place is also further from work. Maybe I’ll bike to work, like the cute guy on Suits. Great. I’ll buy myself a bike.
Day two ends. I buy a bike. I go home and drink wine while watching the Bachelor, during which I contemplate applying for the Bachelor, because frankly, I’d be way more entertaining than this broad.
Day three. I wake up and really don’t want to move but give myself a pep talk to get it together.
Apartment uno. Oh my goodness, no. I mean, I’m not trying to rent a mansion, but I also am not trying to live in Hobbitown with crappier flooring. I need to regroup.
I go to a café. I order a massive omelette, a mimosa, and coffee. I schedule a visit with the apartment I ditched yesterday, as well as a couple more.
Apartment dos. Oooo this has no patio, but it has an amazing view. And it has no washer/dryer, but it has more storage space - more space altogether. While the neighborhood may not be full of character, the building’s quaint, and the apartment has French doors. I can have a Renaissance dining room. And space! It has space for me to dance or twirl or have two people in a room without being on top of one another.
Apartment tres. Air conditioning. And 1000 square feet. So many square feet! It also looks directly into Amazon’s offices, and I think I just started crying. There is no way I'm walking from the bathroom to my bedroom in a towel here. Also, the 1000 square feet is carpeted. And I don’t know if I know what to do with 1000 square feet.
Apartment cuatro. A rock climbing wall! Rock climbing wall wasn’t even on my list, but maybe I want it. Maybe it’s essential to my daily life. Maybe, I can’t see my life without it. And a communal gas stove! Anna, you’re experiencing consumer fatigue. You need a beverage.
Apartment cinco. No, no, no, and no. Although, apparently, I don’t have to leave my apartment to watch the Solstice Parade which is exciting and would definitely be a huge draw for my father to come visit.
I bike to meet friends. I quickly realize there is no way I’m biking to work. In addition, there’s no way cute guy from Suits did not get excruciatingly sweaty biking to work in the NYC heat in his suit. So unrealistic. My faith in cable television is shaken.
I ponder my options. I’ve seen enough, and it’s time to make a self-imposed decision. I think I need to preemptively reward myself, though, so first, I will book myself a getaway in the Cascades. After all, it’s been a while since I’ve taken a vacation.
One bike, one trip to the Cascades later, I decided on day two apartment cuatro/day three, numero dos. The apartment with no patio, no in-unit washer/dryer, and in the neighborhood I didn’t think I’d like.
If apartment hunting is anything like dating, I will soon meet the unathletic, vegan atheist with no sense of humor of my dreams. Stay tuned… For now, I’m sitting in a cozy cabin in the middle of the mountains, drinking coffee, pondering my next big decision – what kind of dining table do I want?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
