SOAP BOX: Slaying former expectations and dealing with the present
I am in the midst of a glorious vacation visiting a best friend in Phoenix. Though I was forewarned of the evils that come with the 14-hour drive from Logan to Phoenix and back, I gladly took on the challenge and the drastic gas costs because driving has always been a therapeutic experience for me. I’m always for some good therapy.
On the trip, as I mixed up my entertainment by rocking out to Adele, listening to audiobooks and enjoying the silence, I came upon several personal aha moments.
Turns out, I’m a personal elitist. I have always been a grammar natzi (“We were, not we was.”) I’ve also often weighed my own self-worth on the notable accomplishments I’ve achieved and the shockingly small size of my waistline. Junior high and high school for many are the years of sociality, kissy-face and cliques. For me, these years consisted of perfectionism, AP classes, and moving out to New York to become a star, or whatever.
After moving out at such a young age, I couldn’t stop the momentum. I had to prove I could accomplish more than was necessary. I had to work at a New York City magazine, join every smart-young person organization available, all the while working however many other jobs it took to pay rent.
In this past year since returning and actually staying in Utah, I have become extremely hard on myself. More so than usual, which is quite terrifying. I’m not a freelance writer, intern, nanny, model and superhuman goddess like I’m supposed to be. I work at the Statesman, am mildly involved in extracurriculars and I’m a waitress at Beehive Grill. On top of this, absolutely none of my pants fit anymore.
Have I become average? I thought as I sucked down an energy drink to keep my eyes open through the drab stretches of Northern Arizona. I don’t know who would judge my meteorcity, but I am starting to realize even if it’s true, it’s probably OK. In fact, it might be somewhat pleasant.
My overzealous 16-year-old self probably would have scoffed at my 22-year-old reality. “Psh, look at what you’ve become. Do I see you in the pages of Vogue? Are you an editor for a big-time magazine? Look at that pudge! How have you let yourself go like this?”
Well, 16 year-old self – listen up – you need to chill.
When it comes down to it, I’m happy. I don’t know what my next adventure might be, but for now, I’m perfectly content serving the patrons of Cache Valley as they enjoy orders of honey almond chicken with homemade rootbeer. I’ve somehow morphed into a people person – for the most part, I love chatting it up with customers – and often making a glorious fool of myself with my odd sense of humor and inability to sing the birthday song correctly.
So what, I say to the too-thin workaholic circa 2006. I’m a waitress, and I’m proud of it. I think it’s difficult in the college environment to accept our current vocations when we’re constantly surrounded by job fairs and professors begging us to work as unpaid interns so we can get a career after graduation.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about aiming high, but for me, in the moment, my high is getting through the day with a smile surrounded by peopl
e I enjoy.
I think the overall synopsis of my driving inspiration is that it’s OK to loosen the reigns sometimes. There is absolutely no dictator over how average, superior or sub-par you might be in comparison to whatever pool you think you’re drawing from.
If you’re like me and struggle to feel good enough, I say it’s time to start weighing our self worth not on the shininess of our job title, but on who we are as people. Unless you are a really terrible person inside, then go ahead, find a fancy job and tell me how much better you are than me.
– Natasha Bodily is a super senior in public relations. She is a lover of the arts and has seen 15 broadway shows. Emails can be sent to natashabodily@gmail.com or Twitter:Natasha627