Where do I see myself in five years?

I am a planner. I like to plan things. I like to know where I am going and have a road map on how to get there. As much as I want to be a free spirit, and as much as there is an adventurous side that stirs inside of me, most of the time I prefer to have my two feet firmly planted on the ground.

Two feet on the ground feels safe. That’s why I hate flying and why I stumble awkwardly in yoga class with any pose that requires two feet in the air. Having a plan gives me a sense of calm, peace, and control over a chaotic life and a chaotic world.

For someone that likes to plan things, the question of where I see myself in five years should be an easy one to answer. Sadly, it is not. My experiences over the last year and a half have taught me that no matter what you plan for, no matter how convinced you are that you are heading in the right direction, no matter how much you want things to happen — even will them to happen — life events can change the trajectory of any plan.

The more you embrace this change, the more real and authentic your life becomes.

There is a document in my life fittingly called “My Life Plan.” It is sitting on the desktop of my computer. This document should bring me that sense of peace and calm — and at one point in my life it did — but now every time I turn on my computer and see this document a lump swells in my throat and a slight panic begins to build in my gut and swirl around throughout my entire body.

This document encompasses what the “me” of two years ago thought my life would look like for the next five, ten and fifteen years. It includes the political campaigns I wanted to work on, when I would leave politics for law school, at what point I wanted to get married and have children, how much money I wanted to have in my savings at each milestone, and when I would buy my first condo in D.C. — preferably in the Georgetown neighborhood.

I have not been able to open this document since I got sick.

I know that I need to delete this document or at the very least revise it to include my new life and my new goals, but I am not ready to do that. Instead, it just sits there, unopened, staring me in the face every time I hear the ding of my computer turn on. I feel shackled to this document. By typing it out, it felt so permanent and real, and by revising it I feel as though I have somehow failed to meet the goals I set for myself.

I somehow failed to meet my own potential and my own expectations.

Planning out the next five years feels too constraining right now, never mind trying to forecast the next ten or fifteen years. In trying to project where I want to be in the distant future, I would once again become shackled to a new life that I am still trying to figure out. Instead I am now piecing my life together with a series of goals I hope to accomplish in smaller increments of time — three months, six months, one year, two years.

I’m choosing to focus on one goal at a time and see where that goal takes me. This seems more manageable, more authentic, more real.

With each new experience, with each new interaction, and with each new idea I revise my goals. Some ideas I sit with for awhile determining that they feel right, while others I think are right and struggle to figure out where to place them in my life, only to determine they are not the right path for me.

Over the past few months I have thought about careers ranging from a nutritionist to lawyer to yoga teacher to TV reporter or columnist. There were days when I would wake up absolutely convinced that a certain path was right for me, only to go to bed that same night feeling more lost than ever.

I felt lost because after months of wrestling with these different ideas, I realized that I was looking at them too narrowly. I was looking at them through the lens of singular careers and that didn’t feel right. What I was missing was realizing that I could take pieces of each of these ideas and forge my own path forward.

In forging my own path forward, I have come up with a series of succinct goals that I feel are right for me. Each goal embraces pieces of the many ideas I had over the past couple of months.

My long-term goal now is to build a lifestyle and wellness business focused on catering to and supporting women in achieving their health and lifestyle goals. The different components of this business include health counseling to support dietary and lifestyle changes, fitness and yoga to improve overall well-being, and mental health services to be able to support my clients in the most well-rounded way possible. I also hope to incorporate my love of writing and working with the media and become a contributing columnist to a magazine or news sites.

This is my long-term plan, but for now I am focusing on nutrition school and my writing. Yoga feels like the next goal to accomplish on my list and in the spring I hope to start my teacher training. After that, I’ll re-evaluate my goals and see what feels like the best next step forward and if my long-term goals still match up with my present and my current reality.

Perhaps in a few years it will be enrolling in a Ph.D. program and getting my psychology degree. I will not know until I get there and embracing this chaos, truly listening to my gut, and learning to be patient is what living a real and authentic life is all about.

It is definitely scary to be breaking out on my own and be completely responsible for the success and failure of my future, but I am no longer limited by the constraints of an employer or by my own expectations. I am free to shape my lifestyle, my business, and myself in anyway I see fit. This feels more manageable and not so rigid, instead allowing me permission to make changes as life happens.

One day I will get to the point where I will be able to let go enough and hit delete on the “Life Plan” that looms over me every time I hear that ding of my computer turning on. Until that point, I’m focusing on the present and excited about the future — wherever it may take me.

As I sit down to write this, it’s a gorgeous fall day. The sun is shining and I am at a bustling café in Somerville. While I type away, drinking in and relishing every moment of this beautiful, effortless Sunday afternoon, I feel poised and confident in the day and in the future.

People stream in and swirl around me, some stopping to sit at the surrounding tables, others just passing through as they stroll in and out of the neighboring shops. It’s loud and the clamoring of coffee mugs and mumbled conversations is sweet background music to propel my afternoon writing session.

I am not distracted by the commotion around me, rather appreciating and embracing the ever-changing soundtrack and faces that stream in and out.

Five minutes have gone by, but these precious few moments encapsulate so much of my journey. They encapsulate the cliff I fell off when life as I knew it came crashing down around me — shattering my self-esteem. These moments encapsulate the months of tears, of feeling like a failure; the months of being lost, ashamed, and embarrassed that followed getting sick, quitting my job, and moving from the only place that I truly felt was home.

These moments also encapsulate how far I have come. They encapsulate the resilience of the human spirit. That after months of agonizing self-work, a deep look inward and soul searching, I have begun the process of moving forward, rebuilding my identity and my self-esteem.

For much of my twenties, my self-esteem and identity were built around my career success. I was a twenty-something working in politics and that’s why I mattered in the world. Difficult family relationships early in my adolescence taught me that people can be unreliable and you cannot always rely on them for support. These relationships made me independent and I swore I would build a life where I would not have to rely on others.

My strategy was to shut the outside world off and focus completely on my career. I thought if I was successful in my career it wouldn’t matter that I didn’t have the support from some of the people that I cared about the most.

I immersed myself in my work. Work was my life and before I knew it I became my work. I routinely worked twelve-hour days, six or seven days a week — to ensure that I was completing each project perfectly and to manage a never-ending workload with often-unrealistic deadlines. As much as I would complain about working late and weekends, deep down I was okay with it because it meant I was doing something important. I mattered.

The more I worked the more I lost who I was.

The only people I had time for and made time for were those involved in politics. I lost touch with family and friends who were outside of the political world. The only thing I did was work. I remember vividly going to a work conference a few years ago and we were asked to introduce ourselves and share one of our hobbies. My heart stopped. I panicked as I racked my brain to come up with an answer. I eventually came up with yoga, which was much less a hobby at that point but rather something I did for survival to de-stress.

The truth was, I didn’t really have any hobbies. Hobbies were not important to me. Who needed hobbies when you have a successful career? Work was my identity.

When it became clear that my health status would no longer allow me to have a career in politics, I felt like the earth had just been pulled out from underneath me. Who was I without my work? I was not close with my family at the time and didn’t always make the time I should have for my friends. I felt alone. It felt like I was free falling in space, alone, and no clue when I would hit the bottom.

After months filled with thoughts of failure, depression, and pure embarrassment because I had no clue what I was going to do next for a career, I eventually did hit bottom. My bottom came when I actually started to feel better physically and realized I was never going to move on with my life if I was stuck wallowing in the past and lamenting the life that had been handed me. I needed to start figuring out what made me happy, what I enjoyed from my past career, and how I could combine those things into a new start.

Starting to think of my future gave me a new lease on life. Once I started to move forward, my self-esteem started to come back. Is my current career situation perfect? Far from it. I am starting over and at the bottom. I still have years of hard work in my new career field of health and wellness until I get to a place where I will be successful again but, after months of therapy and self-work, I have gained the confidence to know that in time I will eventually get there again. I just need to be patient.

In the meantime and more importantly, I have realized that my identity is built on something much more significant than my career. My identity is built on my relationships with my family, friends, the people I care about, and the precious moments I now get to share with them. My career is no longer my identity. The amazing people I now have in my life that help me grow and become a better person each day are helping to redefine who I am.

My journey has brought me to these few fleeting peaceful moments today inside this bustling Somerville café. They have brought me to a place where I can sit in a public space confidently writing, detailing my journey without second guessing my decisions, without wishing things were different, and without tears streaming down my face. My journey has brought me to a place where I can sit down and truly appreciate the sun streaming in.

Figuring out how to be okay in the midst of turmoil and embrace the changes that life had in store for me was one of the hardest life lessons I have learned, but one that is now deeply ingrained in my character, in my identity, and one that I would not change for anything.

If one word could sum up the last year and a half of my life it is “transition.” While I am doing my best to transition in so many areas of my life — geographically relocating to Boston; ending a serious, long-term relationship; changing careers; and regaining my health — my current career, financial, and health status has certainly wreaked havoc on my social life.

This transition period has left me feeling alone and lost — unable to navigate a new city, a new way of life and attempting to do it on my own. I feel the stigma associated with where I am at in life; lacking career success, independence, and financial stability has made it difficult to make new friends and seriously entering the dating scene seems almost laughable.

While I have lived in Boston almost nine months now, the truth is most of my social network of friends still remain in D.C. Part of this is my fault — it is difficult to “let go” of the only life I have known for the past decade and “move on.” It is a comfort thing to hold onto the last strands of a life that I used to know, but the other part is a product of the stigma I feel around the place I am at in my life as compared to where I feel I should be.

The fact is, I don’t have it all together and current life is not exactly glamorous. My life certainly does not scream: “I have it all together, I’m really fun, and come hang out with me.”

When I lived in D.C., my life was career focused and my social network reflected that. The city was filled with young, politically-savvy professionals well versed in the art of networking. Social events seemed to have a standard-operating procedure, making it relatively easy to navigate and meet new people. D.C. social events went something like this: show up to an event; see people you already knew; meet others that while you didn’t know personally, were somehow connected to your existing social or professional circle through mutual friends or colleagues. Rinse, lather, and repeat at the next event.

Flash forward to my current life and I feel lost. Lost in so many ways. I still cannot even navigate the city (yes, my fault), nor could I tell you what neighborhoods I like (my fault again), so tackling the social scene at this point seems like a distant goal that one day I hope to achieve but really could not tell you how I plan to get there.

I feel lost because I no longer have a built-in peer network and it has honestly taken me awhile to get my sea legs underneath me and even figure out how to meet new people outside of a career environment. As I stumble out of the gate on my wobbly legs, I often wonder where I would even begin to find a new social circle of friends. Most people my age seem to already have their own existing, established lives and it can be difficult and intimidating to try to break through those existing networks.

On top of this, my lifestyle doesn’t exactly lend itself to meeting a network of like-minded people and creating a new social network for myself. In my new, not-so-glamorous life, I spend most of the days studying — alone and at home — and then working at night. While, yes, I did choose this schedule for myself so that I can transition into a new career and lifestyle, it doesn’t make my day-to-day existence any easier.

The tumultuous transitions in my life over the past year and a half also included the ending of a serious three-and-a-half-year relationship. At almost thirty years old, having a significant other sort of seems like a needed credential to be accepted into the “I’m cool” and “you should take me serious” club.

Most people I know at my age are married, engaged, or in a long-term relationship headed towards the wedding chapel. It’s almost like you are a freak and something MUST be wrong with YOU to still be single at my age.

Beyond the social stigma that I feel about being single again (which one could argue I’ve labeled and unnecessarily put on myself), being in a relationship altered the way I approached social situations and it has taken me awhile to become comfortable again with being an “I” instead of a “we.”

While in a long-term relationship, I became comfortable knowing that someone always had my back. I was not facing the world alone, but rather as part of a team. It’s not as though my social circle became less important, but my priorities shifted. I didn’t feel as though I had to go out every weekend and meet new people, rather I was content with the important people I already had in my life.

With this relationship over, I now feel like I’m a team of one, in a new city, meeting new people, and doing it on my own. The strong, independent side of me wants to look at my situation with all of the blissful possibilities it presents. I’m free to remake myself in any way that I want and be as selfish as I want at any given moment. I can make my own schedule without having to worry about someone else.

Go for a run on a whim because I feel like it? I can do that. Take the long way home because I want some extra fresh air? No one to answer to there. Pop into a café unexpectedly and stay for as long or as little time as I would like? I don’t feel guilty there because there is no one waiting on the other side for me to come home.

While being single again presents all of these wonderful experiences, when it comes down to it, it is also an utterly terrifying experience for me. I feel exposed. I no longer have the comfort of a significant other to hide behind or for moral support. I am no longer defined by being “so-and-so’s’” girlfriend. It is just me, and the people I meet can accept or reject me. I think that is what is so scary.

While it has been scary to break out on my own, I do believe that as I continue to transition in other areas of my life I will gain the confidence to put myself out there more and will begin meeting new people and hopefully start dating again. While these things are always in the back of my mind, I try not to concentrate on it to much.

For now, I’m concentrating on nutrition school, starting a new business, my health, and generally trying to stay afloat. I know that once these pieces are on solid foundation everything else will come together. I will eventually find my map to navigating my new city and my new life.

Love me or hate me for it. Call it self-righteousness, self-deserving, or call it what you will, but yes, I do feel entitled. It is almost as if I should feel a sigh of relief after saying it out loud, but I don’t.

I believe entitlement is a complicated quality, encompassing both positive and negative traits: positive traits that give me the drive to achieve my goals and negative traits that make me a little impulsive and in need of more patience in terms of my hard work paying off. The pull of the yin and yang of entitlement has one hundred percent played a role in my attitude towards both my current and past employment positions.

Entitlement is not a character trait that I am jumping up and down to admit, and it certainly makes me feel queasy to both own up to and disclose in such a public way, so let me try and explain it a bit. My sense of entitlement actually comes from a good place. It comes from a place where I believe that if you work hard for something than you deserve to have it pay off and achieve your goals.

Let me be clear. I do not believe anything should be handed to me, or to anyone else for that matter. I am not lazy and will never shy away from something just because it is difficult or does not come easy. I certainly would not be writing this blog if that were the case, as I sometimes find myself agonizing meticulously over every word.

Instead, I just believe in a simple formula of hard work that was instilled in me from a young age from both my maternal grandfather and my father. Both were hard working, hard charging, take-no-nonsense high school athletic coaches. Both were born of a different generation, and as I was growing up they individually pushed me to be my “best self” — whether it was on the soccer field or preparing for a spelling test.

While for most of my childhood I thought they were out of touch and couldn’t possibly understand anything I was going through, as I get older I seem to be able to appreciate the values they instilled in me more and more.

My grandfather and my father taught me that if you work hard and play by the rules, then it will pay off and you will achieve your goals. So my sense of entitlement stems from the fact that I believe everyone, including myself, deserves to have his or her hard work pay off. This sense of entitlement certainly plays out in my professional life, as I believe that I deserve to be among the best and will work until I achieve my goal. I will work harder, longer and faster to ensure that I accomplish whatever is in my sights.

The yin and yang of entitlement has helped me thrive in a professional work environment, but has also at times created friction with co-workers. At my first job out of college, I was hired as an assistant in the communications department of a small D.C. not-for-profit. After a few months, I quickly became bored with some of the more mundane tasks relating to my job and knew I was capable of more and deserved better for myself. I wanted to advance and learn more about communications so I set my sights on a promotion. I stayed late, picked up extra projects, and learned everything I possibly could about the projects my co-workers were doing.

My hard work paid off and within a year and a half I was promoted.

I know that my eagerness to move up quickly certainly rubbed some of my co-workers the wrong way and created some resentment, as there were people in my office that didn’t think I had “paid my dues” long enough, or that I thought I was “too good” to do some of the administrative tasks associated with my job.

While I readily admit there were probably days were I pushed aside responsibilities I was less interested in for more glamorous projects — and if I had to do it over again with more years of wisdom under my belt, I would be a little more patient about pushing for a promotion — my bottom line was that I didn’t go to college for four years to be an assistant and wasn’t going to settle for anything less than what I was capable of.

I knew the job was not one that I wanted to stay at forever, so I didn’t owe it to anyone to be content with being an assistant and simply wait around for some undefined amount of time for others to determine when I had sufficiently paid my dues.

I most certainly think my “go-get-it” attitude is what helped me climb the political ladder and experience career success early on, and I would certainly not have been able to survive in D.C. without a tenacious self-drive; however, it has been difficult to temper this inner drive to be my “best self ” in less competitive environments.

Take my current employment situation as a server in a restaurant, which has absolutely no bearing on my future and is just a job to make money in the short-term. Even here, I try to go in, work as hard as I can, and make the most money I can while I am there. I believe that this hard work should be recognized and rewarded, whether it be in the form of a good section or a good shift, and I am disappointed if that is not the case. Of course, in a restaurant this cannot always be the case and I have found it to be quite the learning experience to try and temper a character trait that helped propel such a large part of my early career.

I do not believe my attitude towards entitlement is specific to the Millennial Generation; rather, entitlement is woven into the fabric of our country in the form of the American Dream. The American Dream teaches us that we all have the right to a better life than the previous generation if we are willing to work for it. I think what sets the Millennial Generation apart is that we want to see our hard work instantaneously rewarded — and I certainly have seen firsthand both the positives and negatives of this attitude.

At almost thirty years old, my only major debt is currently from student loans. While I do feel fortunate in this regard, looking at my current financial situation through the debt I owe tells a very limited story about the financial stress I have felt over the past year.

My financial stress for the last year has been about trying to stay out of medical debt, the toll it has taken on my finances, and how it has left me feeling far away from where someone turning thirty should be.

Since graduating college, I have always prided myself on being financially responsible and making prudent, financial decisions. I never made a ton of money when I was just starting out, and politics is a field that is notorious for paying entry-level staffers low salaries, but I made enough to get by and often held a second part-time job to give myself a little extra cushion.

I never made extravagant purchases I didn’t need, lived with roommates to reduce rent costs, opted for vacations to visit friends rather than paying for a hotel room, and brought my lunch to work most days to cut down on unneeded food costs. I made these decisions so that I could have enough money left over each month to build a small nest egg in my savings account, be able to pay off whatever limited credit card debit I might accrue, contribute steadily to my 401(k) plan, and pay off a little more each month than what I owed on my student loans.

I was not living the grand lifestyle by any means and it was tough being young and living in a big city on a sometimes meager salary, but for most of my twenties I felt like I was right on par with where I should be financially. It felt empowering to know that I was creating a responsible future for myself.

My financial situation all changed during the summer of 2011 when I became ill and left my well-paying job with benefits. Since becoming ill, most of my finances have gone to keeping myself out of medical debt, and even then I was only able to do so with the help of my family. People say that life can change in a flash, but as an invincible twenty-something I never really believed that until I experienced it first hand.

When I left my job in the summer of 2011, my medical condition was very unclear. The only thing that was clear was that I was sick and needed some time away from the stressful life I was living.

At no point did I think that I would not be readily returning to gainful employment within a few months, so I opted not to take a leave of absence or file for disability. I guess it was one of those decisions you never expect to make in your twenties, and I probably should have paid more attention during my HR orientation, but for some reason I always felt like the information in HR sessions was for decisions you would need to make later in life.

As I became sicker and it became clear that I would need more than just a month or two to get healthy again, the cost of my medical bills fell squarely on my shoulders. As a former Democratic staffer working to pass national healthcare reform, I would hear from hundreds of people who were unemployed, sick, and struggling to get by. While my heart went out to them, it was a place I never imagined to find myself in.

My medical bills consumed my life. My COBRA payments alone totaled over $400 a month. This was in addition to the weekly doctors visits; the extensive testing I underwent, most of which was not covered by insurance; and the overwhelming costs of supplements and medications, many of which I was only able to take for a few days before determining it was not the right combination for me.

It was a scary place to be; sick and figuring out how I was going to pay for it all.

The only way I was able to avoid spiraling into medical debt was to use up the little savings I had, with some assistance from my family and going back to work in a low-level job. I was lucky enough to have a little bit of savings to get me through until I could start making some money again, but if it wasn’t for my family letting me stay with them, chipping in for a COBRA payment, or covering the costs of some testing, medications, and supplements, I honestly don’t know what I would have done.

When I did go back to work, I had to take a job waitressing that was obviously beneath my qualifications, and it was a risk doing so before I was completely healthy again, but I didn’t really have a choice. I needed a job that would allow me flexible hours, was quick money, and less stress than the field of politics. It was the only way I could continue to seek treatment and pay off all the other monthly bills I still had coming.

Getting sick has taken a toll on my psychological well-being. I feel as though I have lost my social place in the world. I am no longer a successful twenty-something, but rather someone who holds the type of job I had when I was twenty-two, in college and with no real responsibilities.

It’s a lonely place, feeling like your life has stood still as others keep moving forward. It’s a lonely place, being almost thirty-years-old and watching as my social network gets married, settles down, advances in their careers, buys homes, and has children — and knowing that as the last year of my twenties comes to a close, I have never been financially further away from that place. It sometimes feels as though I had it more together at twenty-three.

I can no longer afford to contribute to my 401(k), cannot afford to pay rent, struggle to meet what monthly bills I do have, and recently used the last of my savings to follow a gut feeling and enroll in nutrition school. I can no longer hang out with friends and attend social events on the weekends. Instead, I go to work and serve people who are out to dinner and enjoying their weekends — all the while remembering how that was the life I used to live, too.

I’m working on replenishing as much of my savings as I can, so that if I decide to open my own wellness business I will have a little capital to start off, but I am one car repair or major medical bill away from wiping out again what little savings I have been able to accrue.

Life has set me back a few notches, but I refuse to be knocked down. It is just going to take a little while longer than I would like to pick myself back up again.

Paying back my student loan debt is single-handedly the biggest source of anxiety I feel around my financial security and my ability to build a new career in the future — and right now I’m only paying back my undergraduate loans, never mind the forthcoming graduate student loan debt I will take on.

I am six years out of college and still $45,000 in debt. I currently pay $500 a month in student loans. While this may seem like a reasonable amount for a 29 year old to repay each month — and it was at one point when I was still working my way up in the political world, each year making more than the previous — my current financial situation is vastly different than it was before. I’m making $20,000 less this year than in years past, while still responsible for making the same payments.

While I feel fortunate at times, because I know there are so many people out there my age with a six-figure student loan debt who can barely make interest payments, such a large monthly payment is absolutely stifling when you are trying to change careers and build a business.

Five hundred dollars a month means that I have to work an extra three to four shifts at the restaurant — time I could better spend studying for my nutrition course, applying to graduate school, or working on building my health coaching business. Five hundred dollars a month means less money I have to put into building my health coaching website, creating promotional materials so I can begin attracting potential clients, or even obtaining legal advice so I can get my business off the ground. I often find myself day dreaming about what my life would be like and all the different ways I could utilize that money if I didn’t have this debt hanging over my head.

It may come as a surprise that, despite all the stress and anxiety associated with repaying my student loan debt, I truly believe my education was worth every single penny. My education opened up doors that I could have never even dream would be in front of me. My education allowed me to be around a group of motivated peers that pushed me to reach my fullest potential. It provided me with a network beyond the campus walls, encouraged me, and gave me the support to pursue my passions to the fullest.

I would have never been able to reach the heights of my career without the support, encouragement, and prestige of my university and the wonderful professors that I had the honor to call role models. While I may currently be pursuing a different path in life, I think I would have always been left wondering ‘what if,” if I didn’t have the opportunity to explore the world of politics. I owe a lot of my success to the strong educational foundation I received at American University.

The one thing my student loan debt has done is give me great pause when it comes to graduate school.

I’ve started obtaining part of my Master’s degree in communications from Johns Hopkins University, but I am unsure if I want to continue with this program. The significant financial and personal investment one has to make to attend graduate school has made me reevaluate my graduate career.

As I struggle to pay off my existing student loans, I want to make sure my graduate degree will actually advance my career and not just be another ego-boosting piece of paper from a good school that pushes me further into debt. I will likely return to graduate school, but may put it off for another year so I can build my business and gain a little more financial security, so that hopefully I won’t have to pay my whole education in student loans.

Am I currently in a job that I feel over qualified for? If looking at my current situation through the sole lens of professional achievement and advancement, then the absolute, undeniable answer is yes.

I have a B.A. in International Relations with a concentration in U.S. Foreign Policy from American University, have completed part of my Master’s degree in Communications and, up until a year ago, when I left my job, I had spent the last six years working on various policy initiatives for Democratic causes — most notably serving both the Democratic National Committee and President Obama in helping to pass national health care reform.

Aside from a few freelance projects I’m working on, my main source of income these days comes from waiting tables at a busy Boston restaurant, where my responsibilities are a far cry from intellectually stimulating. My main duties have gone from writing press releases, attending congressional hearings, and managing national media events to selling guests various types of margaritas — “Would you like that on the rocks or frozen?”

To say that there are some days that I go into work and feel overqualified for what I do is an understatement.

But there is another side to my employment situation. A side that could easily be overlooked and one that has been difficult for me to come to terms with, but it’s a more positive side filled with personal growth. It is the aspect of my current situation that I choose to spend my time focusing on.

I have never grown so much from a single job or learned so much about what is important in life from a group of people as I have from my current co-workers.

I’ve learned from a food runner who spent time in jail and now makes an honest living about how fortunate I am. He has taught me that my life isn’t as bad as I think it is and, if I want to change my current situation, I need to change my attitude and outlook first. I’ve learned from a busser who came to this country with very little and is proud to have a job that she can support her family with about the importance of being content with life. She does a job cleaning up dirty tables that most people I know would scoff at, but comes to work with a smile on her face everyday without complaint and is one of the hardest working people I’ve ever met.

I’ve even learned something from the young college kids I work with, who work not to support themselves but mostly to support their weekly drinking habits. They have taught me to stop taking my life so seriously and that there is no shame in having a little fun.

These are life lessons that I will bring with me to whatever comes next. While I have a tremendous amount of respect and admiration for my former colleagues, still working hard day in and day out in the political arena, many of whom have Ivy League degrees and a long list of impressive career accomplishments, I’m not sure I could have learned nor appreciated these life lessons without stepping outside of my former life.

I would not take back my current experience. I know that eventually, in the next few months or so, I will be transitioning out of restaurant work as I begin to build my holistic health counseling business — something I am currently studying for — but I am forever grateful for the life lessons I have learned.

I have become a much more humble, understanding and compassionate person and I feel fortunate to have a job that as allowed me to support myself as I change careers and discover new passions in life.

My story isn’t so much about the “American Dream” not being what I expected, rather how difficult it is when you realize six years into your career that what you thought you wanted to do is not what makes you happy, and how hard it is to start over and find another path with the constant stress of monthly bills and student loans nipping at your heels.

I’m currently 29 years old and grew up in Andover, Massachusetts. Growing up, I had access to a great school system and a supportive community where I was taught that career success is readily achievable with a little dedication and hard work. Not having a successful, professional career was never really something I considered.

I obtained my undergraduate degree in International Relations from American University in Washington, DC. This achievement in itself was part of my “American Dream” realized. Ever since I was 12 years old, I knew I wanted to work in politics and live in Washington, DC., so my career path was relatively easy for me. It just felt like I needed to put one foot in front of the other and things would work out.

I majored in U.S. foreign policy as an undergraduate, interned on Capitol Hill, and worked my way up at a few different jobs in DC. Eventually, at 26 years old, I landed a job as the Pennsylvania communications director for President Obama’s Organizing for America. This job, I thought, was another part of my “American Dream” realized. Every job I had up to this point seemed to just fall into place and lead me to this point. I never really struggled to find a job and here I was, at 26, landing the job I always dreamed about.

But after nearly two years, I had to come to terms with the fact that the campaign lifestyle and working in politics, at least in the capacity that I was, did not make me happy. Walking away from that part of my “American Dream” was the hardest decision I ever made, but deep down I knew it was the right decision.

Now, one year later, I’m much healthier and happier and in the midst of starting over and figuring out “what’s next.” I still care deeply about public policy issues, but know I don’t want to go back into politics — or at least not right now. I’ve become passionate about health and nutrition over the last year as I’ve dealt with my own health issues, so I have started training to become a holistic health coach, but I’m not entirely sure how I want to utilize this degree professionally.

I know I love to write and would love to write about women’s health issues one day and combine it with my passion for public policy and nutrition. Starting over and breaking into a new career field has been difficult, so for now I’ve moved back home from Washington, DC, to live with my parents and wait tables part-time as I figure things out. I refuse to believe that I’m “stuck,” but it sure will take a serious amount of determination to get myself out of where I’m at now.

On the flip side, I know that I’m a much happier person now than I was a year ago, and if my story can help someone in my generation struggling, then I’d love to share it.