Today I found this post, a response to an idea that originated over here. I do know that my blog is a lot less phony and full of fluffy inspirational pictures than many other bloggers similar to me, but I also know that I hold back an incredible amount. I'm very opinionated. And I have a very interesting life. And I've been very inspired by some of the things I've read today. Bloggers are an interesting group because the majority of us enjoy posting recipes and style photos and design and music, but we don't get down and dirty because we're afraid no one will want to hear us get serious. Not the case! Not even one little bit. I love reading honest, well-written posts from bloggers that I usually go to for inspiration; I feel like my life makes more sense when I can relate to someone in more than just one way (especially if that one way is visual inspiration, which is a rather shallow point to relate to someone on, even though it means everything to some of us - including myself). Therefore, I am joining the little movement and posting some deep, terrifying shit to prove that my life is not solely full of artwork and doodled hearts and daydreams and kitties.
1. My first full-time job scarred me. I was in love with my boss (Don't do that, kids! It's really the fucking stupidest idea you can ever have and I will NNNEEEEVVVEEERRRRR make that mistake again) and it wasn't a good environment for me. Everything that I did, everything that I said...it was all judged. I've always been a blogger and I've always tried to be real, even when I was nervous to do it, but they ruined that for me. They told me that because my blog was unhappy, I was making the company look bad (my personal blog, that no one was really reading except for close friends and apparently them). They were the reason I hated California the first time I lived here even though I couldn't gather the courage to tell them that, and they were the reason that for the next 2 years, I had to rebuild every ounce of self-confidence that I had, because they made me feel like everything I did/said/ate/listened to/liked was not good enough. I found myself wanting to help them out when they came to me later on with freelance work, and was even torn when the possibility of working with them again came up last summer, but shortly thereafter I made up my mind that I wouldn't put myself through that again. And I never got to tell them, because they never re-contacted me about the job. I'm fine with that. Truthfully, no one has ever hurt me as much as they did, but I will never say that any of them are bad people. They're not at all. It was really just a terrible match on all fronts.
Interestingly enough, no employer has had issues with me blogging since them. In fact, some of my superiors here rather enjoy it, and I can be totally honest with them with no judgement. That's how it should be, for me at least.
(In order for your Hanna to bloom, you must provide a vast field with plentiful natural resources and space to spread roots in, not just a tiny pot on a shelf lalalalaaaa)
2. I am so tempted to give up all 9-5 jobs forever to freelance full-time, but I'm too scared to take the first step because I don't want to put that pressure on myself. I'm terrible with obligation. I appreciate the stability of a normal full-time job, but I flip-flop on whether I NEED it or not. Conveniently, I also love to learn but hate being taught. I have to learn things on my own or else I just get uncontrollably annoyed at my teacher. See how great I am? Look at all the sense I make, yaaaaa! In all seriousness, I like working. Especially when it's design. Maybe I just haven't found the perfect opportunity yet.
3. I love LA but I struggle with the distance from my parents. They're not going to be here forever, and all I truly want to do is move back to Buffalo, start my own design studio or find a good one to work at, and be within 100 miles of them. I'm really only staying here because I know I have a lot to learn and LA is a perfect place to do that, and I am in the best relationship of my entire life with a man who may not really want to include Buffalo NY in his life plan. But I'd move anywhere as long as it meant my path home was significantly shorter. When my grandma was dying, it took me 26 hours after the initial phone call to step onto Buffalo soil, even with the fast action of my boss who so generously bought me a flight. 26 hours is too long in an emergency situation. Thankfully Stella held on for another day before she took her final breath, but I worry that my goodbyes will not always be that well-timed.
Maybe I'll do that more often. *pats self on back*