On Eating in the Lunch Room as One of My Best Life Decisions, as well as Surviving Cookie Dough and Raptures

This is the story of how I moved to Massachusetts and am now saving the world.

No. It’s not. I’m sorry. It’s about banal survival and humorous failures.

So, moving was hard. Really hard. People told me it would be hard, and I want to be here, but it was lonelier than I expected. I didn’t know I was such an extrovert until I was in my own apartment (which I do, for the most part, love) yelling at my cat for pouncing on me and literally talking to myself in the car on the way to work. I’ve lived in this apartment for six or seven weeks, and have only exchanged words with one normal neighbor and one creeper. Seriously, these people ignore me, and we live in a house together! (My apartment is a room in a renovated mansion built in 1880.Cool. I know.)

A lot of people helped me move up here, and it’s truly where I feel like I’m supposed to be, so I originally wanted to start a blog about what I’m doing and how I’m doing to update them and thank them. I was going to be the picture of inspiration and self-sufficiency, painting and writing and doing yoga. What I didn’t anticipate is that I would spend roughly 12 hours of my day in bed sleeping and eating cookie dough for the first few weeks, battling depression and self-doubt. And somehow, images of me in these positions didn’t seem very inspiring:

And sometimes:

(images from hyperboleandahalf.com)

Seriously, mom. More cookie dough?

After I moved I realized how amazingly blessed I have been and am to have so many people in my life who love and care about me. I also realized that I have not always been the best friend or person to some people, albeit unintentionally in most situations. Anyway, thank you for your awesomeness. Your awesomeness is almost as awesome as this precious polo I was given at pre-service orientation:

So, I’m meeting new people. Meeting people when you’re not in school, shuffled through multiple organizations and forced to share a tiny cubicle of a dorm with a stranger, is much harder than anticipated. I had to realize that some people are truly amazing, and some people whom you think will be your friend really won’t be. I’m an adult, but I’m still learning this. It’s weird.

On to my internal motivation to singularly solve world hunger and defeat the bad guys. Since I was a child, I’ve wanted to be the essence of a modern day Mother Teresa. My patron saint when I was confirmed in high school was St. Teresa of Avila, who ran off to the “Moors” as a child so she could be a martyr. I related. My very existence is made joyful and purposeful by working for and with other people. I’m the epitome of a helping personality. Sometimes, this means weird situations of compassion happen, like feeding peanut butter and jelly to strange wolves… but anyway. I just want to LOVE ALL THE PEOPLE. Social Work FTW.

I thought working up here would be really meaningful, and was excited about a life period of service and poverty (In the words of my dear friend Maegan, “You just want to be a better person, but have really weird ways of doing it.”) Then I was plopped at a desk at work (See below).

Let me just make one thing clear.

I AM NOT CUT OUT FOR A DESK JOB. (Also, my desk is never that neat- it’s now piled high with papers and notes, since apparently I can’t self-organize either.)

Everyone essentially just ignored me and left me to do my own thing. I need people-preferably client-interaction and hate stillness and boredom. I hate waiting in lines and I would give myself self-appointed “personal breaks” in college classes more than an hour and fifteen minutes long.  I thought I was a self starter and this would cause me to explode in a bundle of creative genius, but that quickly faded as I felt myself turning invisible at my corner desk in my back office, slumping in my chair and turning into a bundle of self-doubt and uselessness. This makes me feel like my soul is dying. And if you know me at all, you know I’m a hard person to make invisible. My supervisor, Ellen, at my senior internship’s (whom and which I adored and inevitably set me up for disappoint in future jobs and supervisors, thank you) first criticism of me in supervision was that I was sometimes “too loud”- that is, right after my “trying too hard and being too much of a perfectionist.” So really, this phenomenon of invisibility is impressive.

To a point, I thrive under stress. Sure, I may cry a lot, but I like my life fast and meaningful. I loved challenging days at my internship, even though several days going home I seriously thought I was going to throw in the towel and never again attempt working in the field of social services. I liked all-nighters and the rush of almost failing but then brilliantly succeeding in a whirlwind of coffee and notecards. I’m used to fast paced work environments, where I have to think on my feet and be on top of my game. This, in my opinion, makes the “slow” days meaningful and enjoyable.

Naturally, I was amazed my first day when I came in and people started the day by talking for an hour about their personal lives. It’s equally amazing that I have been here as long as I have without once meeting with my boss one-on-one. This is not my fault. I’ve been asking. However, being persistent and demanding does not come naturally to me when it’s a personal issue and I’ve stopped caring. I swear, the rapture occurs in my office almost daily. Suddenly everyone has just disappeared from their desks (At a conference? An informal meeting I wasn’t notified of? Home early? Other mysterious locations I can’t fathom?) and I’m left alone at my desk reading emails that ARE SENT TO THE ENTIRE OFFICE IN ALL CAPITOL LETTERS AND ARE COMPLETELY UNPROFESSIONAL AND UNNCESSARY. 

Everyone in my “office” (we’re part of the larger office of Family Services) eats at their desk or skips lunch altogether. However, a large number of the staff eat lunch in the conference room, which I have boldly started doing as well (this is bold because the juxtaposition of being extremely ignored but feeling micromanaged is very odd). Everyone has been really nice and I’ve actually met people. Now, every morning when I come in, Jessica (the gorgeously impeccable therapist-wonder woman of the office in a way that is intimidating but impressive- I cut through her office to get to mine for weeks before I was finally shown the main entrance) greets me by name and asks how I am. I am not invisible! THERE IS MEANING IN THE WORLD!

I care, don’t get me wrong. I want to be useful. But sitting at my desk all day doing planning and emailing and doing preliminary research doesn’t make me feel useful, and might actually be killing brain cells. The result of this is that I spend a fair amount of time on xojane and facebook, which only furthers my feelings of uselessness, failure, and invisibility. It might be slightly different in a state with no resources, but let me tell you, being a Social Worker in Texas and being one in Massachusetts is completely different. This place is rampant in social services. They spend more money on suicide prevention per capita than any other state. I think the social services here are getting together and making baby social services.

This is great, but one of my greatest skills is advocating for clients, which really means harassing people on the phone until they give in and help. There are programs I think I can develop and implement here that might mean something, but they’re pretty minimal. I could do my job working part time for sure (as could everyone else, if they spent all of the time they do whining about the printer being across the office ACTUALLY WALKING ACROSS THE OFFICE AND GETTING THEIR SHIT) and I really just want to see people in order for it to matter- which I don’t really have the freedom to do.

Enough melodramatic feelings talk about my job. One day I realized I needed to stop whining about work and that my job doesn’t actually have to be the main source of meaning and fulfillment in my life, although it would be nice if it was. I’ve started training to volunteer as a rape crisis counselor at my local rape crisis center, which I’m both excited about and actually good at. I’m trying to become comfortable with solitude as well as friends and change and learning to “sit with my feelings” (in the words of my friend Chelsey, “Really Katy? Who even says that?”).  I’ve also tried beautiful fall things like apple cider donuts and pumpkin beer:

Life is challenging and interesting and scary and wonderful, so that’s my glimpse into mine. Love all of you!