On Saturday evening, I found myself sitting in front of a fire with my best friend leaning against my feet as we regaled a World Bank renaissance man with our tales of woe-- namely that all of our fancy education barely qualified us for entry-level jobs.
And we have a point. But my amused husband and friend looked on with indulgence at the two over-priviledged white girls, recalling student loans and the juggling of 30-hr-a-week jobs with classes, and you know, they had no sympathy.
(Ironically, they make way, way more than either me or my friend do. But they work at the same place so the statistics are biased.)
Cheers to having options, my friends. I could: join the Peace Corp, work on an organic farm, move to NYC and get a financial services internship, move to a small town and become a reporter...etc, etc, etc. I get to choose what color I want to paint my bathroom, and in the last two weeks I have spent countless hours hunting down the right pair of ballet flats.
I tire of people telling me they have no options. Go on. Make an actual list of all things you could conceivably do. If you have more than one, you've got choices, baby.
Delivering a wedding present.
2 months ago