Abs-No-More

So the super fast update is that I got a job working as a Photo Retoucher at NYX Professional Makeup and its been about 10 months that I've been there. I moved in with friends in Encino, lived there for a year, then moved to Downey in my own 1 bd/ba apartment. I bought a car after Christmas, and I now have a personal trainer.

If you're wondering where I've been, the answer is literally nowhere. I have done absolutely nothing with myself (aside from the aforementioned update). Yes, getting a stable job and being able to afford an apartment and buying nice things is really great, but when I look back on the past year, I feel like Jim Carrey when he said "I wish everyone could be rich and famous so they could realize its not all its cracked up to be" (or something like that. Was it Jim Carrey? Morgan Freeman? We'll never know). I'm not rich or famous, but when I drink my Blue Bottle coffee from Abbot Kinney out of my "Today is your day mug" wrapped up in my fur blanket wearing room shoes from Tokyo, I like to think I am both of those things. And my rich and famous self comes to the same conclusion: its not all its cracked up to be.

Yes, for the first time in my life, I have money to do things and buy things and go places. I rent my own apartment, have bought a new car, spend stupid amounts of money on working out, and just recently went to Tokyo to visit a friend. These are all amazing things. I don't discount that. I have, however, realized that these things add to happiness, but cannot create it. I'm the loneliest I've ever been in my life. I have a handful of friends that all live far away, I'm working a job that I'm not incredibly passionate about, and I spend my free-time trying to make my body more appealing. I'm not sure where I'm going with this post, but I guess this is me saying, make priorities and then follow them.

I recently took a personality test that measured priorities and when I really had to sit down and compare what I thought was more important, I realized that the things I thought were truly important, were the things I wasn't pursuing. I ranked relationships over a stable career, yet I have a great job and almost no close friends. I claimed to value personal growth over material gain, yet I spend all my money and time on my apartment, car, and gym membership. I don't even remember what the result of the test was because I was sitting there dumfounded, realizing that I have been pursuing all the things I don't value.
Now, obviously I need a job to support my future family, so the fact that this has been my main focus for years is not a bad thing. I purchased my car with my future family in mind (I went from a tiny mazda to a mid-sized Honda) so this is also not a bad thing. But there is supposed to be a balance somewhere in all of this and my scale is confused.

So. All that being said, I'm making a change and focusing on my relationships. Investing time, money, and energy into the people I love rather than my cool things and killer abs (almost!). I'm not sure what this looks like, but I'm assuming I'll be spending a lot more time sitting in LA traffic on my way to visit people? Do I bring things? How does this work. I feel like I'm in Elementary School again and the teacher tells you to bring something to show-and-tell so you bring your favourite canned beans only to find out everyone else brought stuffed animals and Andy Ledwick has an autographed poster of Walt Diney's the Lion King because his dad knows people and here you are with Rosarita's Traditional Canned Refried Beans (excellent source of fiber!). But it's all fine because you have a burrito for lunchtime and everyone is just jealous.
This is like that. Probably. Somehow.

We can all say goodbye to my alomst-abs and say hello to my new friends.
I'll keep in touch.

Car Crying

Warning: I'm about to go super-Christian on you.

So I'm still living the strug life in LA. I might be moving in with a friend officially this month/next month so that's very exciting except it's bringing up a ton of insecurities I didn't know I had about officially calling LA my new home. I'm petrified. I'm not sure I'm cut out for this. I've spent countless nights since moving here crying myself to sleep. I have practically no money. I don't have a job. I might have a place to live, but how do I sign a lease if I'm not sure how long I can pay rent without an income? I'm stressed all the time. I'm never not discouraged about my job search. I have no clue what I'm doing in any area of my life.

Sometimes I'm fine and dandy and feeling super great about this whole deal and having faith God will see this through and other times I feel like I'm seconds from a mental/emotional breakdown. It feels like I'm falling down a deep dark hole and have no way to stop myself, nothing to hold onto as I plummet down, down, down, scraping the sides of the pit as the light I see above me gets smaller and smaller and smaller. It feels like I'm drowning and, try as I might to reach the surface, I'm only sinking further and further down into the depths of the sea, feeling the crushing weight of the ocean constricting my chest and compressing my lungs.

Half the time I want to give up. What am I doing here? Why did I move? What's the point? Where am I going? I sit in my car and weep asking for something, anything, from God to give me comfort, a confirmation that I'm following His will and not pursuing a fruitless path I made up on my own.

And that's where He meets me. In some small way. Every. Single. Time.

He comforts me and holds me and calls me His. He dresses me in robes of glory and crowns me with righteousness. He shelters me and protects me. He tells me He is proud. He shows me all His favorite parts about me. He brings me to the stream of life and lets me rest in the fields of His peace. He fills my cup to overflowing and the excess become my tears as I weep in His presence. He is patient and kind. He cradles my head as I relax in His security. He is everything good and whole and I will never be worthy of His amazing love. But he does this anyway.

I will continue to strive to live out His will. I don't know what that will look like or where I will end up, but if God will comfort me every step of the way, I will follow Him. And He will. Every. Single. Time.

I'm an L-Alien!

So I've officially unofficially moved to LA.

Officially meaning that I quit my "nothing job" (which is described in my last post). Unofficially meaning that I am now sleeping on my friend's couch. And by friend I mean my old babysitter. She still babysits me. When we walk on the sidewalk, she refuses to let me walk by the street. "That way if a car comes," she says, "I'll be hit and not you." As if 12 inches of walking room is going to spare my death sentence.
She's the best.

Aside from living on my friend's couch, life is okay. I've just found a sublet for the month of September, so if the girl I'm renting from doesn't cut off all communication with me and move to Mexico, I have a place to sleep that isn't my babysitter's couch. This is a good thing. I'm bringing an aerobed (air-o-bed?) and a folding table with my computer. So I'm really living the life of luxury. The room I'm renting doesn't have a closet, so I'm borrowing my aunt's rolling rack for my hanging clothes, but it does have a bathroom so we're all very excited.

I have a couple interviews this week so I'm praying God will see them through. I'm so stressed about not making much money right now that I almost don't even care what the jobs are (That's a total lie. I totally care. Please don't make me work at a coffee chop for the 10th year in a row, please). These are design focused jobs that will hopefully get me going on a career path.
We're aiming for photo-editing jobs focused around the fashion industry. I'm overwhelmingly nervous about this, but also excited so that's a good thing, right? I guess we'll see. I think all I really need is an entry-level job somewhere to prove that I can get the work done and do it well. I don't have a ton of experience in this field, but I know I'm proficient enough to do the work and do it well.

Also also, I just had my last Sunday serving at my church in San Diego, and aside from the fact that literally no one was excited with me about my moving to LA, it was sweet and nice to see everyone one more time before taking the move. All my friends are praying that I get a great job in SD, so I guess I have to pray faster or harder so my prayers reach God first or something. Don't listen to them, God! The race is on.

Well its 9:30pm and we all know this is wayyyyyy past my bedtime. I should've been in bed over an hour ago. Also, I have a phone interview tomorrow and I need to make sure I get at least a solid 12 hours of beauty rest so I can ... look great ... over the phone ...

Job-Seekers Anonymous

I'm sitting at work re-reading a book I just finished last week because I have nothing to do. I'm waiting until 4:00 so I can start my pre-close close so I can go home. The problem with working a meaningless job is that you suddenly become increasingly aware of how what you're doing is just that: meaningless. Maybe I should be reading What Color is Your Parachute? and working on my 5 year plan. Maybe I should be learning a new language. Maybe I should be doing something instead making a list of things I should be doing.

This was supposed to be my nothing job. I wanted a job that took little-to-no brainpower so I could devote all my energy into figuring out what I wanted to do next. But now I'm tired all the time from doing nothing and have only discovered what I don't want to do next (hint: this job).

The problem with applying for jobs for two years is that after a while it becomes apparent that what you're doing isn't working. But how do you get an entry level job in an industry you have close to zero experience in? Answer: you don't. It's impossible. Maybe when I'm dead and my body is sitting in an urn somewhere cold and dark I'll be having coffee with God on a porch at a beach-front property like on those House Hunters shows on HGTV and He'll look at me after sipping His black cup of joe (what else could God possible be drinking?) and say, "I'm glad you finally pulled your head out of your behind back there in 2016 (God doesn't cuss, obviously). I thought I was going to have to do something really drastic like let you get smallpox or get in a car accident just to get you to do something." And I'll chuckle before gazing out over the twinkling ocean and look over at God and say, "it's too hot here."

Because that's what I'm good at: complaining. If I had a superpower it would be to take any possible situation and find something worthy of complaint. The sun is too bright. I'm too hot. This bar is too noisy. I'm too tired. This iced soy vanilla triple latte is too cold.

I'm too good at this.

The upside to this ability is that I'm highly attuned to my dislikes. The downside being that I've become so skilled at pointing out what I find uncomfortable or distasteful that I'm not even sure what I like anymore.

Which brings me back to figuring out what I want to do next. How am I supposed to decide what I want to do when I can't even figure out what I like to do? Is there a career for people who find things to complain about? That seems like a depressing way to live.

I've been in connection with a couple people for prospective jobs in LA, but the more weeks that pass the more discouraged I get about ever finding a job in the industry in which I think I want to work. You would think a company that has a position they're trying to fill would be more inclined to hire someone than wait a month to start interviews, but I guess when you're at the bottom of the corporate food chain, your perspective is a tad skewed. At the very least, I'm learning a lot of patience. And by patience I mean being stressed out of my mind and coming up with every possible activity to distract me from thinking about or acting upon things I should be doing, which doesn't include, truth be known, this blog post.

Maybe I should stop complaining and read that book about colorful parachutes.

Thirty, Flirty, and Thriving

One of my favorite games to play is "guess a person's age."
There are a few reasons for this: all of them shallow.
1. People always tell me I look around 27 (I am 22)
Now, after I tell them how old I am, they then give their reasons for guessing so many years into my future. Most of them having to deal with how I look mature, how I present myself well, how I am not an immature boy (which apparently all 22 year olds are). Regardless of the responses, I love what they tell me.
2. I always guess well.
Do you look 40? I'll guess 36. Do you look 25? I'll guess 27.
Tip: always leave wiggle room in the right direction.
Like those that tell me I look 5 years older, people don't want you to guess their age (that's boring you know-it-all, this is your chance to flatter them and get on their good side). Younger people want to be told they look older (but not too much older, and be careful around the age of 30 as there is a strange mental fixation with this number can be detrimental if guessed over. When in doubt, guess 29) and older people want to be told they look younger (but not too young or it's unrealistic and you've ruined the point).
3. Which brings me to my point: everyone leaves happy.
I get told I look 27, a 45 year old gets told they look 38, a 16 year old get told they could be 18, and grandma who just celebrated her 92nd birthday is told she doesn't look a day over 78 (give it up for grams). The point of this game is to flatter and be flattered, and everyone leaves feeling better about themselves.
You may think its shallow and pointless, I eat it up.

Related to this game I absolutely love to play, is my strange obsession with the age of 30.
Don't ask me why I'm fixated on this age. I have no idea. Some of my favourite movies and books are based around characters being or turning 30.
These include, but are not limited to:
Something Borrowed (book and movie)
13 Going on 30 (thirty, flirty, and thriving)
Plan B
Attachments (is he 30? I can't remember)
and others that I can't think of and probably won't until I actually AM 30

I was talking on the phone with my friend Amanda about this newfound love and came to the conclusion that I have this secret fear that by the time I turn 30, I will not have accomplished anything worthwhile. Maybe I'll be in a job I hate, paying bills for things I don't own, unable to shake up my routine by moving to a different city because I'm tied down by the money I need.
And I'm right: this sounds terrifying.
In 3 months I will be celebrating my year anniversary of graduating college (yay me) and I will still be paying off loans for a while. I have just purchased a new (used) car and will be paying that off as well. I make very little money since I have an entry level position in an industry that is not so closely related to my Bachelor's degree, and I've just realized I do not know if Bachelor's has an apostrophe in it because I'm not sure if it is possessive.
So essentially, I'm terrified I will be in this exact position in 8 years. (Including this question about possessive bachelors)
And this tends to be the case with a fair amount of college graduates.
What I HAVE realized, however, is this:

8 years is a long time.
That's twice the amount of time it took me to get my college education. If I wanted to, I could get two additional Bachelor's (there it is again) degrees assuming it would take me 4 years to complete each (which it wouldn't) or a few Master's degrees assuming it would take me 2-3 years to complete each. That is a lot of time.
By this time I'll hopefully be in a position at work where I can be making enough to not have to worry about saving those $10 to see that movie with Michelle next weekend (anyone else excited about The Lego Movie, or am I not as mature as my age-guessers think?), or making sure I can have a drink on Friday night with some friends.
8 years is long enough to make that happen.

My job is only as good as I make it.
I will not say anything negative about my work, but what I will say is this: work is hard, and there are many times I do not want to do it. We can all relate to this. We can all argue that our problems and challenges at work are harder and more stressful than anyone else's (no, but today I had to teach a high-schooler how to use commen sense so HA!), but think of it this way: you have that job because you have been trained to accomplish those exact hurdles. Your whole day can be completely different if before you get out of bed (heck, why not before you go to sleep) convince yourself that you're excited to see what challenges your job has in store for you today. What is going to happen in your workplace that is really going to make you get down and dirty and do some serious problem-solving. Maybe you'll be able to think up a new way to do something, or maybe it'll just help make your day go faster, who knows! But hey, it will sure keep you positive and motivated if you really figure out a way to convince yourself that you really actually ARE excited for work.
I've learned that if I stop trying to convince myself that I hate my job, I might actually enjoy it.

There are plenty of chances.
So maybe I won't be moving to Seattle, Sydney, or London anytime soon, but I can make that decision at any point. If I make goals and save my money, all I have to do is hop on a plane. Maybe graduating college wasn't the huge life changing event I thought it would be (although it was very life changing, don't let me fool you holy smokes), but I've learned that I have the ability to create my own life changing events if I so choose.

So yeah, maybe turning 30 is a big event.
Maybe I'm worried I won't accomplish anything.
Maybe I don't want to grow up and miss actually growing up.
Maybe I'm just plain scared. ( I am. I'm terrified)

Well you know what world?
I'm gonna turn 30 whether I like it or not and I'm gonna be thirty, flirty, and thriving when I get there.
(Make a mental note to go to the gym. I didn't go last week ... again)

And In That Moment, I Swear We Were Crying.

Someone once told me that crying is an excellent way to release emotion to ultimately feel good and better.

This statement is false.

Let me preface this by saying that I am a weeper. I weep. constantly. A good movie, a nice book, those Sarah McLachlan dying dog commercials, a sweet Hallmark card, it really doesn't matter. The waterworks flow regardless of how much I don't actually want to be crying.

With that being said, I consider myself quite the expert about feelings before, during, and after a good weeping. And I can guarantee you that I've never felt "good" after any of these circumstances. Most of the time I feel tired, gross, snotty, helpless, or overwhelmed. But never "good".
It is my astute observation that no one in their right mind feels "good" when their face is blotchy, their nose is runny, and they can't seem to be able to breathe in normal frequencies.

So to whoever told me that crying makes you feel "good", you were wrong. I hope you watch the first ten minutes of Star Trek* and then ask yourself how good you feel.

*seeing as how my emotional meter is somewhat broken, this may or may not actually contribute to an emotional response.

When was this decided to be legal?

I've decided, in utter honesty, that internships should be illegal.
Now before I begin, let me make it clear that I love my internship: the work, my coworkers, the office, the 9 messages on my phone, the too many emails in my inbox, the other guy named Paul in the cubical across the isle from me, all the above. That being said, it should be illegal for me to continue doing this.
Why, you may ask? Well, let me tell you.
I get paid zero dollars to work here. My work is free of charge. In exchange, I receive experience and knowledge, not money. There is a problem with this statement: it is false. I am not getting paid zero dollars, I'm getting paid negative dollars. Non-paid internships are only possible if one is getting college credit for taking the internship. My tuition for college is roughly $30,000 a year. This tuition can be divided by the amount of semesters (2) and units I'm taking per semester (16) to become $937.50 per unit. My internship class counts as 4 units. I am, therefore, taking this class for $3,750. Before I continue, let me also say that my internship is 30 miles away from where I live. I intern 3 days a week and spend about $200 on gas a month with approximately 4 months per semester.
In conclusion, I am paying $4,550 to be working for free to gain experience. Does this seem like a logical means of gaining experience? Sweat Shop.
How is this legal? I'm still confused. I feel like a company can afford to pay me minimum wage. Or even if it was less than minimum wage. If there was an agreement that I would be working here for a semester and be paid $5 an hour, I'd be okay with that. But I'm getting paid negative $4,550. I feel like something is wrong here.