I
turned 25 this year. Something about that looming birthday made me
evaluate who I was, who I am, and who I want to be. I asked myself if I
was happy, if I was fulfilled and doing what I pictured for myself in my
mid-twenties. It didn’t take long to realize that the answer was no. I
was certain that the apocalypse would come on my birthday, or at least
that my world would cave in on my quarter-life crisis.Two years ago, I landed back in my hometown of Sarasota, Florida after spending 6 months in Jerusalem. It was such an intense experience that afterwards all I wanted to do was retreat to what I knew was safe and comfortable – home. My parents are here, I know my way around like the back of my hand, and who can turn down living 10 minutes from the #1 beach in the country? I wanted to feel grounded.
I thought one of the ways to do this would be with a stable job. No, not with horses in the Wild West, unfortunately (although I do hope something like that will be in my future), I wanted a paycheck every two weeks. I wanted an office and business cards with a title that made me sound important. I thought that was what twenty-somethings were supposed to be working towards. After four months of searching, applying, and negotiating, I accepted a as a Jewish communal professional that I bet all of my happiness on. I moved out of my parents’ house and got my own place. My first apartment out of college, paid for by myself, all to myself! (And my cat, of course.) I had it made – an apartment AND furniture AND a job! And for a while, it was really nice. It was what I needed. Building and rebuilding.
Continue reading.
Follow our
page.
No comments:
Post a Comment