The Harsh Reality of Tough Love

At the age of 23, I'd like to think I could take on the world. However, the monumental milestone that is supposed to have prepared you to do just that is the very thing that proved my own theory completely and utterly wrong. That milestone: College graduation. Like most college graduates, I entered the real world with a sense of invincibility laced with uncertainty and naivety. After all, to be able to pull off earning a degree and escaping without any major physical or psychological wounds is a real feat. And to manage to obtain a business degree at an art school - and on top of that, actually leave with enough knowledge in your field to back it up? A highfalutin' triumph worthy of an entirely new degree in itself. (One I would call a BA of BS, but that's for another story.)
I have no reservations in saying that like thousands of other people my age, I've collected a cocktail of issues in the years leading up to the wise old age I am today - most of which tested my sense of self, and my faith - in myself and the rest of humanity. I've battled body image issues, identity crises, and life crises, both quarter and pre-mid - (the panic that ensues after you realize that growing up has happened, and you just might live to see a mid-life crisis.) I can honestly say that none of the aforementioned hurdles has ever made me question my own self worth even 1/8th as much as trying to find a job after college has.
It is not an easy transition, going from blissful bubble to real world. And the transition is not solely in the change of routine, one that requires you to wake up about five hours earlier, yank out the visible piercings and lie about the rest, make an effort to look presentable, and actually focus on tasks at hand, made easier by your newfound need to take Ritalin for its intended purposes. Some of the other changes deliver an even harder slap upside the head. You go from a lifetime of being judged by things as easy to manipulate as your hair color, social circle, and lifestyle, to being subjected to a snap judgment only to be appropriately categorized after a two second glance at whatever you manage to fit on a resume, in hopes that you can convince some big wig to give your pathetic self a chance. Your reign of being crowned Most Likely to Succeed in high school was clearly never meant to extend beyond your first week in college, let alone in the corporate world. Best Personality won't do you much good either, but take it from me, that 2nd Worst Driver badge will stick with you forever. Isn't life funny?
Trying to get a foot in the door in this industry is about as easy, it seems, as trying to solve a Rubik's Cube blindfolded and underwater. I'm sure that there is some genius on You Tube who can demonstrate how easy it is to do that, but if I had that kind of talent, I wouldn't need a job, now would I? Any place worth applying to wants you to have some sort of experience. The Catch 22 is that the very positions that would qualify as 'experience', you have to have experience in order to fill. It doesn't matter how much experience you have in other areas of life. Street smarts, book smarts, the ability to tie a cherry stem into a knot using only your tongue. None of that matters in the real world, and you begin to realize you're at the mercy of any place that is willing to give you a chance. It's a pretty discouraging place to be, especially when - all jokes and cherry stems aside - you genuinely know you have the talent to do a job, and do it well. It seems that up until this point, your life is all about figuring out who you are and proving your own worth to yourself. Now, you're drop kicked into a world where the real challenge is proving yourself to others. Going from "You have your whole life ahead of you" to "Welcome to the real world" is not so much a transition as a crash landing, when you fall from the clouds you and your head have spent so much time in.

As with any new challenge, things aren't always going to go your way, and meltdowns are going to occur. For most of my crying jags, my mother is one of the few people that always know the right thing to say; so it was a real rude awakening when none of the tried and true confirmations and adulations had any effect whatsoever. Regardless of how sincere they may or may not be, parents are obligated to build you up and make you feel like it's the rest of the world that has made a fool of them selves for not believing in you as much as they do.
Most of us begin to see right through that around the age of 13, when we're the most awkward things since a three-legged duck and all our mothers will say is "you're beautiful." You've got to appreciate it at that level, but when you've only heard back from three out of the 2 and a half million jobs you've applied for, and those three responses were rejections, it's hard to believe anyone who says that the rest of the world is just slow on the uptake in recognizing your worthiness. Quit shining on my rain parade, already.
And then, in attempt to provide you with an abundance of possibilities, they enlighten you with the benefits of looking all over the country for a job, which isn't exactly well received when moving is the last thing you want to do, especially if you feel you're being driven out of your comfort zone by the job market. It's no help when your parents have seemingly sprung straight out of Dr. Seuss's "Oh, the Places You'll Go," and lay it on so thick you only dig your heels deeper into the ground you stand on, determined even more to find employment in this job-barren stomping ground you'd like to continue calling 'home.'
And just when you think nothing could make you feel more unsure about where you are in your life at this point, you hear something to the effect of, "Who do you have left for you there? All your friends have already moved away, right?" After I overcame the kick in the stomach I suffered after that unintentional blow, I did manage to regain the wits about me to understand that not one thing my mother said was meant to upset me. It doesn't help, though.
Sometimes the last thing you want is somebody to come at a situation from every possible angle in attempt to unravel a solution for you. The fact of the matter is, reality is harsh enough that with or without prompting from friends and family, it's going to happen, and occasionally it's going to hurt.
I think parents feel they have an obligation to their children to warn them of the harsh realities in life. Perhaps in an effort to enlighten them with their own experiences, or maybe these realities are pointed out in attempt to soften the blow when we inevitably stumble over them ourselves. As somebody who has stumbled over enough life lessons to count for an extra 20 reincarnations - all by myself, thank you very much, I'd like to suggest that any and all rights to administer 'tough love' in the form of 'truth hurts' be suspended when we reach 18. I appreciate the purpose behind warning us of the harsh truths of the real world. There is not a child in existence that will not benefit from being told, "You must not go down the slide on roller blades," even if it is said years before the kid even straps on his first pair of skates. Or other personal favorites: "If you stick another bead up your nose, it will warrant another trip to the hospital." "Your face will freeze that way." "I once knew a little boy who rolled his eyes so much that they never stopped rolling." "If you eat another Popsicle, you will turn into one." "There was once a little girl who ran away from her parents in Sam's club, and she was accidentally picked up by a forklift and placed on a rafter, where she lived for the rest of her life."
The outcome of this is that I only stuck one bead up my nose in my lifetime (I had my current nose ring done professionally), I dealt out my evil facial expressions with more discretion, I have extraordinary eye contact, I can't stomach Popsicles and to this very day, if I go into a Sam's Club, I do a quick survey of all forklifts and keep my eye on them for the remainder of the trip. These are all examples of tough love that works. I bring them up so there is no misinterpreting my feelings toward tough love and being blunt with even the most unfortunate truths. There is a purpose, but not when at the age of 23 and on the brink of resorting to envelope stuffing, when one false move could push me over the line separating unhappy from absolutely unhinged.
All in all, I have been fortunate enough to receive an abundance of good advice, personal insight, and tips from past and present colleagues, professionals, friends, and family. And if nothing else, I've learned that this journey is not unique to me, and that millions of people have floundered their way through it with as much trial and error as I am. I'm not a fan of the unknown, and am not thrilled about the interlude between the chapters. I tend to spend any and all downtime running. The rest of my life may be moving at a snail's pace, but I'm the kind of person who thrives on a sense of utility - so when I run like a maniac, at least for those few hours a day, I feel like I'm headed somewhere, even if I have no idea where it is.
Which is a common theme in my life. My favorite quote is by Douglas Adams: "I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be." I love it because it's true, and it applies to more than the random places I end up after I lose myself in a good run. I find comfort in that, to be able to look back and see that things fell into place so perfectly, at a time in my life when I never saw that as a possibility. That reflection keeps my faith alive; it's proof that the universe knew what it was doing enough to get me this far, so perhaps it will pull through again. I am nothing without a sense of purpose. I can pull through anything else; you can say what you want to who ever you wish, and take away my material possessions. I guess it's all simpler than it seems.
Just leave the running shoes, and nobody gets hurt.