A Moment of Clarity

I remember sitting in a car, driving the 730 km to Berlin with a bunch of strangers. I had finished college just a couple of days earlier and my decision to move to Berlin was just as nascent. I had no friends and no close family waiting for me, not even a place to stay beyond the first two weeks. Above all, I didn’t have a job.

Looking back, I wasn’t able to fully comprehend it. I did not yet understand what it would take to get settled and find work. My naive 25 year old self should get a medal for moxie.

Break it Down

Letting The Days Go By

Y’all? I like to talk. I like to vocalize my problems and chat about life and generally share all of my thoughts with anyone who will listen. This is partially because my voice is top notch in all situations, but the main reason is that I need the reassurance that my mind is in the right place. For longer than I’m going to admit on the internet, I’ve been dealing with some fairly personal goings-on, and I made the decision early on to keep it quiet. It went against everything in nature to shut my yapper, but I figured I’d try something new for a change.

Figuring My Shit Out

I am so San Francisco right now. I am sipping a coffee snob’s wet dream of an iced coffee, sitting in a cafe with reclaimed wood tables and ample outlets. It’s 1:00 pm on a weekday. This is all very new for me.

Today, I write from a new cafe, in a new part of town, at the beginning of a new part of my life. Until this summer, I had a classic 9 to 5 in the bustling Financial District of San Francisco. Graduating college at the beginning of the Great Recession and spending the next three years working a bajillion part-time jobs to pay rent and buy ramen, I was thrilled to finally land an office job with benefits. I could finally get that mole checked out!

Options Open

oh the wide-eyed optimism

Theme: Hey girl!

***

by Laura Gene

I am a former overachiever and recovering perfectionist. If there was a Perfectionists Anonymous support group, I would bring donuts every week. As a kiddo/pre-teen/teenager, I was an ambitious, passionate, somewhat cocky and extremely energetic young person. If I could meet her now, I would smack her in the face and tell her to relax because everything she did or was going to do would all be in vain. But I make it a rule not to hit people so I’d probably just smile and pretend I didn’t see her.

Careless Carless Whispers

If my career were an item of clothing, it would resemble a patchwork cardigan made up of opportune fabric and wool. Like many people, I have a passion for being creative, which has seen me never fully immerse myself into the world of work. I dip my toes into projects as a freelancer, and then, on days off, hatch ways to escape and become a fully-fledged writer.

I’ve always enjoyed my jobs. I love working with teenagers, youth organsiations and governments to build better quality services for young people. Whilst at work, I never feel my creative juices are slowly rotting. The money is secondary, which sees me propertyless, carless and pensionless. In their respective places are renting in shared houses, riding my bicycle through London and being fully prepared to sell oranges by the roadside in California until the day I drop dead. All because I need to give myself bursts of free time, to write.

Trevor

Trevor paces in full view of my perch, middle finger and thumb woefully massaging his furrowed brow, tension palpable. Where is Cleo with my cold filtered organic soy non-stick allergen free compostable coffee? Laments Trevor with his eyes.

Trevor follows his passion (a thriving industry, perpetuated by existential urgency), a Silicon Valley mover-and-shaker with a prominent existence on insta-tinder-book and penchant for Whole Foods gluten free food. Trevor does not have a gluten allergy.

Enter Cleo and fabulous Thursday cameo, Brisbane. According to my acumen for deciphering verbal cues, Trevor sighs. Relieved at the prospect of caffeinating.

The Committee of Trevor has brunch. Cleo wears a sweater. She is chilly. When it’s sunny, Trevor goes topless. Brisbane is unaffected by the weather. Either is his hair, coiffed to perfection.

I’m tucked into a tidy sunlit enclave in a quiet nook of the Haight with a window in full view of a once abandoned patio. The day I spontaneously inaugurated my dining table fail (read: new desk) into a writing haven, Trevor set up shop. My once prized staring into space space, is now accessorized by Trevor’s cell phone, and hipster posse.