Walking The Tightrope: If

"I can accept failure. Everyone fails at something. But, I can't accept not trying." -Michael Jordan

If we never said "if" we would never have to wonder. This is a thought so strange, apparently, when it escaped my eighteen-year-old mouth as I walked out of a gift shop in Mystic, Connecticut, of all places, a middle-aged stranger stopped me cold and with the most intense eye contact said "That is so profound," and walked away. In that exact moment, I knew what I said was more meaningful than what I intended it to mean in passing. I spent the next six years repeating it in my own head. My mantra. My words. My inspiration to myself.

It is incredible how this two-letter word has ruined so many lives in such a cunning a way as a two-letter word can. "If he loved me." "If she stayed." "If I hadn't done yadiya..." "If I had chased that ridiculous dream." I cannot live with asinine questions like this. They eat you from the inside like a parasite, feeding off of your insecurity growing into regret taking over your thoughts and actions, becoming that one moment in your life where everything could have been different, better. I do not regret. I do not ask "if."

I am sitting in my parents kitchen brewing a second pot of coffee for the day, in my typical "I'm Sarah Black and I'm about to drink too much coffee and I don't care" way. I had to make more coffee because I was struck this morning, for the first time in a long time, with the inspiration to ask some more questions of my twentysomething self. And, one cannot feasibly think clearly enough about deep philosophical, life-changing questions without at least a second pot of coffee. Naturally.

It is challenging as a contemporary twentysomething to see the success of your friends who are moving up corporate ladders (seemingly happily), buying new cars, getting married, having babies and not compare your life to theirs.

As those words escaped my eighteen-year-old mouth, I simultaneously soaked them in to remember and ignored them. I was on my way to college the following month, and had a plan to study English. On the surface that looks like I might be chasing a dream of writing. But, the reality is, I chose English because (it was my highest score on the ACT and) it was more useful than getting a degree in acting. True story. I actually got a lot of negative kickback from high school teachers and directors that I had worked with begging for a reason for my decision. Simply put, I told them it was a pipe dream and I had no cause to believe that I would be successful in acting.

Within the first month of school, all of the business kids, the marketing majors, the educations snobs were asking me what I was planning on doing with that degree in plain-ole English Studies. I joked it would be useful to have a mastery of my native tongue. They giggled and asked "But, seriously." But seriously. I had to find something to label myself. I wanted something impressive. Something to shut those fucking suburban kids up with their superiority complexes and "holier-than-thou who does not haveth a plan" attitudes. So, at eighteen, I had to make a decision of what to do with the rest of my life. I aced some Political Science classes and started scrounging for labels to throw on my major and now minor fields of study. I realized that more often than not, kids with my academic background went to law school. That sounded prestigious. I liked the ring of it. Okay, I'll go to law school with it.

I never had a passion for law. I had a passion for arguing and being correct. That was close enough, right? Wrong. When it came time to take the LSAT, I was part of my school's award-winning mock trial team. We kicked ass. And, not to brag, but I won personal awards at every single event we attended all the way up to the final regional rounds for the Midwest. You'll never guess what I was winning awards for. Acting. I was scoring the highest in the majority of rounds I competed in because I was putting on a good show on the witness stand pretending to be characters involved in the case. I was a shit attorney. I did some prosecution work for the team, but I only scored high because I gave the opening statement- I was storytelling. I was a convincing storyteller, so I scored high. But, when it came time for me to do a cross-exam, I froze. I sucked. I didn't know how to think like a lawyer. I practiced enough to know what I was supposed to look like, but if someone threw me off, I was done for. No more acting. No more composure. Just shaking hands and inarticulate questions. I couldn't think like those law-school kids. I can think on my feet, I cannot think like a lawyer on my feet. I opted out of taking the LSAT.

I should add at this time in my life, I was having crippling panic attacks. My hair was falling out. I was seeing a counselor. And, I was trying desperately to not fail my long-distance relationship. I was a mess. The day I sat in my counselor, Eric's, office and said "I don't think I want to take the LSAT or go to law school," it was like a million bricks were lifted from my shoulders and I had new clarity. Eric looked at me a little stunned, because it was all I had been talking about. I never shut up about mock trial, or the LSAT, or law school, or how I couldn't wait to go to UW Madison. I had my heart set on that beautiful place. He was the first person I told, officially, that I wasn't going. I am sure I told Brittany and my boyfriend. But I hadn't told my parents, my team, my coaches, my academic advisors. I had one more semester of college left, and I just changed my mind.

I made what I call, "the smart choice" and didn't change majors, minors, or direction with my undergrad. I was slated to graduate early with a stunning GPA and immaculate credentials. I finished in December 2012 ten days after my twenty-second birthday. The following four months proved to be the most difficult time in my life to date.

By January I had landed a corporate proofreading job in Iowa City. I couldn't physically bear the thought of working as a paralegal. Even tough I was insanely qualified with internships and experience coming out of my ass, I hated it. It physically made me ill to think about working in law. I am sure this was all just my brains way of saying it's not the right choice in response to the negative association I attached to studying law and law school. I had attached it to one of the more challenging times in my life. I couldn't see my self happy if I were involved with law. I couldn't bring myself to do it.

One month and five days after graduation, I was living with a stranger on the west side of Iowa City working for a company that developed and distributed standardized tests for schools across the US. When I applied for the job, I thought it was a proofreading job for textbooks. I had no idea that I would be working with standardized tests. I was always good at test taking. I am a fantastic standardized tester. But that does not mean that I approve of them. The whole system is fucked, but that's a rant for another time.

So, flash to me in a moral dilemma proofing tests for children across the country to be compared to other children by. I hated what I represented. But, even more so, I hated that the company was owned by British overlords. I have absolutely nothing against the Brits. I love you guys, with your accents, the Spice Girls, cool flag, and prince George. But, when a company that size (cleverly, I'll admit) has convinced America as a whole, that the product they have developed is necessary, accurate, and the only way to know how smart or normal your children are is taking a significant chunk of tax payers money (because where else would any school district get he money for these "required" tests) and sending it overseas to the mother company, it felt so morally devoid, I found myself depressed. I felt like I had sold my soul and my morals to have a job and pay rent. Phase two of playing the game of life and losing my mind: Complete.

I quickly found myself in a counselors office again weeding my way through emotions. The thing that forced me to see her was losing my dog. I couldn't take much more between the chaos of overhauling my life and selling my soul for a job, let alone losing the love of my life. It was a dark time. I drank a lot. I was wasted almost every night for nearly three months; alone. I distinctly remember pulling into my parking spot after getting home from work and sitting in my car for an hour screaming, crying, trying to talk myself out of being upset and trying to tell myself I didn't need to drink. The only thing that got me out of that car was the promise of the bottle of rum sitting on my counter. I got wasted again.

It didn't take long for JoAnna, my new counselor to help me. She seemed so reasonable and so smart. Everything she said made sense. I was being ridiculous, but she understood why and how and never once passed judgment on me. I quit drinking, hit the gym, and got a new job waitressing. I loved it for a while. And JoAnna and I were working on a new plan: Where to take my life. We agreed that I should go to grad school- but what to study? We agreed I would make a great teacher and so it was. I took the GRE (rocking that standardized test's ass) and had everything in order to finish applying and enroll. Some things came up and JoAnna had to quit counseling in our area and move. I was devastated, but convinced I knew where to go and that I could do it without her.

My waitressing job took a sour turn and I was no longer getting along with management. I was still struggling to pay bills between that job and working retail at the mall. Admittedly, working retail was a bad idea for me. Because I wasn't drinking as much anymore, I wanted to buy things. I spent significantly more money at the store than I made working there.

In January, I was offered a unique opportunity. If there is one bit of advice I can give anyone, it is to take your resume everywhere. You never know who will pick it up and call you. I have gotten my last two jobs by simply handing someone my resume and asking them to pass it along to anyone who might be interested. They were interested and so was I.

I took a low-paying offer from this new company just to get a steady paycheck and to not have to work two jobs anymore. I was still poor, but at least I was happy. Within a month of starting my new job, there were talks of moving me up the ladder. This was it. I was just like everyone else. Finally, a big girl, with a big girl job. I abandoned the grad school plans to see where this new career went, knowing that my applications and scores were all good for two more years.

Ten months later, I found myself talking money; reasonable money. I was asking significantly less than the market for the position they were asking me to jump through hoops to get. I had been working hard for ten months to find out that they never intended to pay me appropriately. Lesson in life to everyone: Never work for less than you're worth.

I began yet another quarter-life crisis reevaluation of my life.

In addition to feeling a bit insulted by the would-be maybe offer (if I got my personality in order enough for them- another long story), my personal life took a crazy turn and I was no longer immune to the strong arm of the law.

I was arrested for a DUI on a Monday night. I know what you're thinking. She clearly had alcohol issues before, so, it was just a matter of time. I want you to know that, even though this was a difficult time, the night I was picked up was the first night in a while that I had gone drinking and I had three beers in five hours. I was clearly not going hard. I hadn't slept in two days and hadn't eaten in well over twelve hours. Hungry plus tired plus beer equals a douchy cop cuffing you for going over the speed limit. Life lesson taken from this: .09 can ruin your life as you know it.

I was released from jail the following morning and called into work. I'll tell you about jail in another post. But, the experience of Johnson County Lockup was enough for me to call in to work, not to mention I now had to find an attorney and start figuring out how deep I had gotten myself in.

Certain that they would fire me over the issue (because my mug shot was plastered all over the local paper's website- lucky me), I started planning for the worst. I mentally game planned for losing my job and having to move home. Verbatim, from jail, I told my mother "I'm going to lose my job. Get ready for me to move into your basement." That day, that was the worst thing I could think of to have happen to me; to have to move home.

But, to come to terms with what I thought was the inevitable heat death of my universe (moving home), I began to see the silver linings in the situation. I was already struggling with money every single month- and the DUI bills on top of that now would make regular life impossible, especially with the measly promotion wages that were discussed in meetings with my superiors. It was a huge transition period in my friends lives. All of them were getting married and having babies and all of them were at least three to four hours away. At least once a month, I was travelling to see them. If I moved home, I would have fewer expenses, I would be closer to my friends and their life-changing happenings, and I could use the whole situation as a restart and finally do what I could have done all along: Comedy.

The night I was picked up was, oddly enough, my first stand-up performance at an open mic in Iowa City. It was exhilarating, fun, freeing, and I felt more myself on stage telling half-truths about my sex life than I ever did wearing pantyhose and heels in the office every morning. This was it. the sign I should have been following the entire trip through adulthood. I, finally, had the opportunity to follow my dream and I couldn't pass it up.

Through many "conversations" (I use quotes because they were more like arguments) with my parents, I convinced them and myself that this was the best bet for me. I immediately hit the ground running and actively looking for work in my parents' home town.

It has never taken me more than a month to find a new job when I put all the effort into it; which is a blessing and a curse. I am glad I have such turn-around time on employment, but it makes me look unstable as an employee to hop around so much. I take my chances and am always sure to include several reasons for why I am leaving my current job to pursue the next one. I am very convincing on paper and in person. I interview like a champ. I have yet to have an interview and not get the job for which I applied; with one exception- a job that required me to drive a company vehicle that I applied for after my DUI. They said they wanted me to try again in March when the restrictions were lifted. So, I could technically have a pretty good shot at the job still. I had great connections there.

But, I digress. I hit the ground running and within a week I had an interview lined up for a restaurant/brewery manager position in Rockford. If you know me now, you know that I took the job, and I LOVE it. I moved in with my parents, licenseless, broke, and hoping world war three wouldn't ensue because the short trips to my parents' house over the six years prior had not been all that amicable and I was clearly emotionally vulnerable and liable to take it out on them. We were all best in small doses; a day here, a night there. Months would feel like an eternity.  I felt insanely low. Like I thought I knew what rock bottom would feel like and I was already lower than that.

Yet, here I sit in my parents kitchen blogging. I usually reserve blogging for when I am truly inspired by something or have another twentysomething problem to talk through with the wall that is the internet. But this time, I think I have it figured out.

I did an open mic last week and there is a decent chance the opportunity could become a paying gig in the next month or so. Talk about instant gratification. Just a few months after deciding that I'd rather be poor chasing my dreams than poor pussyfooting around "yessirs" and  corporate kissassing, I have a real opportunity and a great first step to seeing my dreams come into fruition.

Remember how I said I have no regrets? I still don't. Not a single one of these things do I regret; except maybe not wearing underwear the night they arrested me. Going commando in the orange jumpsuit felt a little more white trash than I ever expected to feel. Again, I'll tell you all that later. But, had I known that I could be good in performing and that I'd be poor either way, I may have chosen to go in to an acting major. But, I may have spent my life wondering if I should have tried the corporate drone lifestyle. Now that I know for sure, without a doubt, and I can give you more than a million examples of why, I am not cut out for the corporate world, I have no regrets and no fears in chasing my dream of comedy.

Maybe I will fail. Maybe I'll be a one hit wonder in the comedy scene and you'll never hear of me again or see my name in lights. I'm okay with that. Because I tried doing what I didn't love and felt like I was failing. I was always unsure of myself and job and I knew I was failing my heart because I didn't pine for that life. Now it's my chance to fail at what I do love and come to peace with all of it and say, "At least I tried." I don't regret. I don't ask "if." I do.

Then again, maybe when I move to the city in the spring and start taking classes at Second City, something more will happen and my little dreams that are coming to true will feed the big dreams and I will end up writing for SNL or acting in an improv group or writing the next Bossypants (I love you, Tina Fey, oh so much). I will never know if I could be great if I don't try. So, here we go in the next chapter of my twentysomething life. It is bound to be filled with more questions and more blogs.

Lord help us all.

Love always,
Sarah