Author Archives: allysonkaye

Where the Rubber Meets the…No, It Gets Thrown Out

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This thing happened today. I went running. outside. in March.

That wasn’t all though: I went running and it was sunny and I threw my shoes.

I guess… I should explain.

When I was growing up, my mom used to yell at me for crossing my arms. “Defiant” is what she called it. “Don’t cross your arms in front of me, young lady,” I can still hear her say. It was apparently a sign of disrespect, stubbornness and a whole lot of sass. I tried to get out of the habit over time (the arm-crossing, not the sass :) ), except when I wanted my mom or another adult to know I was mad, then I would cross my arms more often. It was sort of my own childish way of slamming my bedroom door, but in front of their face.

Eventually, I outgrew that surly teenage, cross-your-arms-defiantly phase and started learning how close minded I became in that position. Overall, crossing your arms seems negative to most people anyway. I tried to stop.

Well, lately – and I’ll be honest here – I’ve figured out that ever since I moved back home in September, now 6 months ago,  I’ve been walking around from job to job, room to room, day to day with my arms crossed.

It’s like I’m a teenager again and my parents have forced me to go somewhere and I decided that if I have to be there, I certainly will not put on a happy face for it. I’ve moped through days sad, upset and with a whole lot of sass. No, I didn’t want to be here and I wanted everyone to know just how miserable it was for me. I’ve been unwilling, defiant, arms-crossed and close minded about this season I’m in.

I lived in a place of paradise with a dream life, next to the ocean, and consistently sunny days. It was a season of adventure and newness. It was a season I looked forward to until it changed. And when it did, when things stopped going my way, my arms found their way back into that comfortably negative pose.

I’ve learned along the way that you don’t make friends when you say No to every invite and you can’t leave your house if you never open the door.

It’s like this season I’m in is where I make decisions that will change my future. It’s where the rubber meets the road, except not really. It’s more like where the rubber gets thrown out on its ass and decides to change.  The moment of truth – if I was going to continue to cross my arms and not enjoy my future (whatever it holds) or learn to accept it – wasn’t waiting around any longer, it came with a vengeance, demanding a decision.

Today, you must decide. Displaying photo.JPG

So, back to today, where it’s the first, 45-degree day on the opposite end of winter and my running shoes are lodged in the back of my closet, way in the back with the rest of my optimism.

I looked out the window for what seemed like ages. Do I dig my shoes out or leave them there for another day when the sun returns? And then I made the choice.

I grabbed my mismatched socks and my $12 Target Kids running shoes (suck it to everyone who’s ever laughed at my infantile shoe size) and I opened the door.

I stepped carefully over melting snow and waterlogged drains. I slowly and metaphorically uncrossed my arms, taking in every ounce of sunshine I possible could and happily welcomed the positivity.

Today, I chose the future.

It doesn’t have to get to the place where the rubber stubbornly meets the road. Instead, the rubber can decide to get up on its own, open the door, and say “Hello” to the road ahead.

Growing Expectations, or Killing Them.

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I used to think growing up meant a lot of things.

Independence. Glamor. Older. Wiser. Full of Direction.

Growing up means you know how to make a pot of coffee (and drink it).

Growing up means you can eat pizza and donuts all you want and have no curfew.

Growing up means you know what you like and don’t like – for the most part. (I still can’t decide how I feel about water chestnuts).

Growing up means you have it all together.

Growing up means a lot of things, right?

I used to think a lot like Jenna Rink in 13 Going on 30. Once you make it passed the awkward teen years and the mean schoolgirls, you hit 30 with style, or as Jenna says, “30, flirty and thriving.” And only after the magical fairy dust settles, transforming Jenna into the so-called fabulous 30 year old, does she realize it might not be all she’s dreamed it could be.

I’m not 30. (whew, thank heavens I am NOT 30 yet.) Nope, not 30. I’m a few weeks shy of 23 and being a grown up hasn’t quite matched up to what I had dreamed.

I never sat around picturing my 20s, or held tightly onto a fashion magazine hoping I would magically become like the pictures, as Jenna did. But I did have expectations.

I had ideas of what my 20s would look like, of what me as a “grown up” would look like. As I’ve gotten older, I haven’t figured more of life out. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned it’s not really about figuring it all out. It’s not about supposedly knowing what an adult looks like. It’s not even about living up to who I thought I would be when I was a young and naive preteen.

To me, growing older has been more about me letting go of what I thought this season of my life would look like. I don’t want magical fairy dust or Jenna’s wishful dreams of adulthood. I think I’d like to proudly become older knowing I’m choosing to do it my way rather than the way others are telling me.

I’ve had many suggestions on how to change my perspective to make more money or get a husband or find a real job. I’ve had plenty of those ideas, but I’ve only had maybe one or two comforting and unknowingly very welcoming “It’s okay’s.”

I’m here to tell those who are like me and in the in-between, those who are unsure and undecided, those who have only felt discouragement lately:

It’s okay.

It’s okay to be where you are. It’s okay to not know. It’s okay to leave behind your expectations of what growing up looks like. It’s okay to be figuring it out.

It’s all okay.

Windblown Changes

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There’s a window at the coffee shop I work at. Behind the barista’s counter, behind the dishwasher, there’s one, big window facing Lake Michigan. In the summer, the baristas gather near the window during lulls, hoping for a cool breeze, some relief to the beating heat. The window was wide open then, with a barely-there screen separating the outdoors to those stuck inside the working walls of espresso machines and surly customers. During the summer, the window stays open all the time. It has to be jimmied shut (I mean, I’ve heard a hammer and a crow bar are sometimes necessary) so we aren’t allowed to close it. No questions asked, the window stays open until it gets cold. Sort of like turning on your heat, you wait until you just can’t wait anymore, probably when there’s already a foot of snow, a frost advisory, and you’ve had to shovel once so far. That’s how our window is, once we close the window, it stays shut for the winter.

Last week, I came into work and it was some time before I noticed something was different. The other baristas swore everything was the same, but I had this feeling, something was out of place. And then I saw it… the window. The window was closed.

I am a little embarrassed to admit it, but my heart twinged a little. I was hurt. The window was closed and no one told me? How did this happen so soon, it’s only November!

Later, I found out the owner had walked behind the counter one night when the weather dropped below 40 and made the executive decision to shut the window. Obviously, she didn’t need my new-employee approval to close the window, but she could have asked, right?

I don’t mind change. I actually kinda like it. The newness, the fresh looks, the brand new challenges that change bring, they keep me on my feet. But I only tend to like change when I know it’s coming, when I have time to talk myself into it, consult my faithful lists, and prepare accordingly. When I know it’s coming, I like change.

Somehow though, every year, more specifically every three or so months, I’m surprised by seasonal changes. They hit me like a slap in the face. *Ouch* How come no one told me it was already time for the leaves to start falling? Or, I didn’t get a personal invitation to spring? Or, I just wasn’t ready for the window to be closed. The kind of change that hurts.

Graduating college felt something like that. Sure, it was inevitable for me, like the seasons, but I just wasn’t ready yet. I wasn’t ready to actually see the window be closed, even though each of the baristas had told me at one time or another that we don’t touch the window and when the boss finally does, the window is closed for good. I wasn’t ready to actually graduate and find my successful, career footings, even though professors and meetings and final exams were all building up to the culminating graduation. I just wasn’t ready yet.

Yes, I had time to prepare. Plenty of time in those four years, actually. It happens to other people all the time! They graduate, they find jobs, they move on. So how is it different with me? I had my trusty lists, I talked myself into it, but then what? Then I got rejection email after rejection email. One after another, employers were passing on what I had to offer. My encouraging motivation and excitement for finding a steady, full-time job was thrown into the wind with each “Thank you for your interest, but…” line I read. I just wasn’t ready for that yet.  No one told me what to do if I can’t find a job. No one prepared me for how to get back up on your feet after hearing so many reasons why I’m incompetent or unqualified. No one told me what to do or how to handle this seasonal change.

I shouldn’t be expecting a personal invite to winter, like I shouldn’t be expecting a handwritten instructional guide to “the post-college, job-searching, in-between-life” months (or years). It just happens. And when it does happen, we figure it out.

Sometimes seasons change, whether we are ready or not, and sometimes we work at coffee shops with windows that shut. We put on a coat, we apply for another dozen positions, and we keep going.

___

P.S. I probably should mention, as you may have noticed already, I changed my blog’s name (yes, again). The title now reads, “Steeped in Sunshine.” The phrase comes from Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist:

“Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came; and if the village had been beautiful at first, it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness. The great trees, which had looked shrunken and bare in the earlier months, had now burst into strong life and health; and stretching forth their green arms over the thirsty ground, converted open and naked spots into choice nooks, where was a deep and pleasant shade from which to look upon the wide prospect, steeped in sunshine, which lay stretched out beyond. The earth had donned her mantle of brightest green; and shed her richest perfumes abroad. It was the prime and vigour of the year; all things were glad and flourishing.”

More than Dickens poetic description – and my love for a well-steeped tea – I know all too much how the sun and the seasons can affect moods and emotions. I think rain or shine, snow or sleet, our lives have the opportunity to feel steeped in all the sunshine life has to offer us. We can live each day as if it’s the sunniest, most perfect day there ever was, and that’s how I want to live: Steeped in Sunshine.

Thanks for reading today, on this ironically dreary day.

-Al

Pinch Me, I’m Dreaming

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The glazed-over look in my eyes? No, I’m not daydreaming. I’m not off in another world. I’m dreaming, or rather reliving my todays. Sometimes I don’t even believe it’s my life.IMG_1901

For years I thought about how there’s so much more than the Midwest. So much to see, so many adventures. I thought about it, researched it, and yet there was a part of me that doubted I would ever see outside the cornfields and cheeseheads.

Little did I know, an exploration was nearing. It didn’t last as long as I would have hoped, nor did it end as I would have liked, but I did it. From Wisconsin to San Diego and up the coast, my car (and my wallet) took me as far as it could go. And until my car passed out of exhaustion, I trekked from city to city, in love.

33 hours Dad and I drove. Through Chicago traffic, alongside the flat lands of Kansas, into the mountains of Colorado and the deserts of Utah until we made our way to the Pacific Ocean. The beautiful, dreamy San Diego, filled with surfer crossing signs and no-cloud-73-degree weather met us lovingly. IMG_1945

As I wrote to my heart’s content, searched for jobs and basked in sunshine, I breathed in all California had to offer. I was met with high taxes and bro tanks too often to count, but overall, it was a dream. After graduating college, I knew I needed something new, something different, and this journey surely crossed out the quota. What I didn’t even know was a possibility became a reality.

I began my first barista job (read here for full story). I hiked. I swam. I drove some more.  And although I came to the realization that Southern California may be slightly out of my price range, it was an experience to remember. With a higher paying job and an apartment, It wouldn’t surprise me if I went back to that sunny place one day.

Leaving San Diego, my travels didn’t end. Up the West Coast I went – to Santa Monica and beyond. I walked the Santa Monica Pier, watched street performers nearby, and stopped at Muscle Beach (where yes, I passed buff gentlemen actually working out on the beach). I ate delicious organic, vegan food in Venice with my wonderfully welcoming, and extra-fashionable cousin.

I got stuck in traffic in L.A. My car overheating during the every-hour-L.A.-rush-hour. I saw Reese Witherspoon driving through Beverly Hills. I bought a flannel and some holey, high waisted cutoffs at L.A.’s best “thrift shop,” Buffalo Exchange (which I still partly imagined to be Kim Kardashian’s leftovers).

And before I left, I made sure to hike up to the Hollywood Sign. Obviously, I IMG_1968sported the beloved Milwaukee Brewers hat in the 90 degree heat while the resident stranger I met along the way kindly showed me the way. Near the top, I received a fist bump with a “Go Brew Crew,” that made me feel at home.

Highway 1 was my companion through Malibu and Santa Barbara and into another section of California. All around me looked vastly different I wondered if I had missed a state line. I spent the next few days, and what would turn out to be the last leg of my trip outside of Sacramento. Still sunny but a little cooler, northern California is just as beautiful. Another cousin welcomed me with warmth feelings of home. We rode cable cars in San Francisco and crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. And I realized just how much I had missed green grass in San Diego, or just grass in general.

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We entered wine country with only the best intentions (drink wine) and ended up loving it. Vineyard to vineyard, I tasted the freshest wine of my life. Purely delicious wine that made me believe I could someday become a wine-sniffer, swirler and slurper. All this to say: it was great.

Not long after these wine-drinking, cable car-riding, seafood-eating days, my poor car was laid to rest. It seems my car had dreams of its own that didn’t include another 30 hour drive cross country. So I said goodbye to Ronnie, my cherished and well-worn Volkswagen and hopped on a plane.

For what it’s worth, It’s probably for the best that I didn’t see Portland yet, or I may have fallen in love and never returned. I’ll save that for another day (written with a sly smirk, secretly planning already).

Back to the Midwest I came. It seemed like those 8 weeks flew by quicker than I realized. I also know that in those 8 weeks I did more, dreamed more, and grew up more than I can thoroughly explain all at once. I believe I left part of myself in California that one day I hope to return to, whether on vacation or longer.

A thank you goes out to those who hosted and helped and became vital pieces in my life and adventures. And the sun sets with me dreaming again of palm trees and beaches.

– A

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Barista Virgin No More

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I recently started working at this quaint, Californian coffee shop. There’s a bike on the wall, more gluten free items than any other food, and wooden everything else. It’s perfect and I love it. Just one thing: I’ve never been a Barista. This may have slipped my mind when I asked the owner if they were hiring and she said, “Yes we are, can you be here at 1?”348s

I didn’t think it was that important. The owner seemed to think I was fit to enable coffee addicts that believe Starbucks is too mainstream. (Amen!) I faked it until I made it, or until my boss asked me for a Cafe Breve and I didn’t know how to begin.

But after three days of training, memorizing Pinterest charts of different coffee ingredients, and deciding whether to greet customers with “Morning!” or “Welcome,” I’m in. This Barista virgin is one no longer.

Need a cappuccino? I’m your gal.

Need an americano? Call me up.

Need a frappuccino or an upside-down half-something macchiato? Get out.

But for the rest, this girl knows her way around the espresso machine.

Living in a place you plan on leaving

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Living in a place you plan on leaving

Oh so very true. “If people divided up their life stories into chapters, all they would need is a suitcase.”

Sucks to be Sam

If people divided up their life stories into chapters, all they would need is a suitcase. Skip the narrative and just dig through the contents. Forget the setting and the characters and the scenes. Look at the baggage tags, the corny tourist t-shirts, the souvenirs and the different kinds of sand, dirt and dust that collects in the edges of the suitcase.

You can gather a lot about a person’s life and what they’re about based on the things they jammed in the suitcase to bring back to loved ones and the places they’ve been. But that’s mostly with vacations, semesters abroad or internships in a different city.

Suitcases that plan on making a return home are very different than the ones that don’t. These suitcases are the real chapters in people’s lives. These suitcases are less about where their owner has been and more about where they’re going. Because…

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Success, Moving, and Hot Beach Bods

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So, let’s talk about California living for a bit. Born in Michigan, grew up in Wisconsin, I’m familiar with the four seasons. These almost always included the common blizzards, cloudy skies, tornadoes, and storms. I’m a Midwestern girl in love with greenery and the outdoors, living a life I would compare to an eskimo.
 
You don’t think so? I walked to class everyday in college. Through the disastrous winters, I bundled myself up with no skin to show. After that, it’s almost like I’m scarred from the cold.
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Now, California – people don’t joke. My first few days were cloudy and that was like their winter. It’s a new thing, but I think I can handle it. And the beach boys? Oh yes, they’re here, and everywhere. Lots of them.
 
If this is what life after college is, than I’ll say it’s not horrible. And yet, I’m nearly jobless and in between homes, so this may not be an accurate view of that “real life” people talk about.
 
I can live anywhere for a short amount of time, I’d say. I have options. If the beach will have me, I would accept. If L.A. opens its doors to me, I would say yes. Southern California, that’s something I could live with.
 
The successful part? I think that just comes with time. I’m okay with the fact that I’m not flowing with money right out of college. I don’t know anyone who is. For right now though, I’m happy with this post-college life, a new adventure it sure is turning out to be.
 

Single in a Sea of Serious Relationships

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Single in a Sea of Serious Relationships

 

I was compromising what I wanted to find in a boyfriend in the hopes of possibly being the next one in a serious relationship. My life seemed to be on some type of deadline now as I sat by watching my best friends, one by one, finding the person they’ll spend the rest of their life with. I had begun worrying about the quickest way to find a boyfriend, unhappy with singleness…

I had felt pressured my society’s ticking clock, forcing myself to settle down with the next guy I found. Is this you too? Read the rest of my post here.

 

 

 

College Freedom According to Me

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Recently, I wrote an article for Dater’s Ed – an instruction manual for parents. Dater’s Ed is described as the driver’s ed of dating, and who doesn’t need a little help with dating? I know I sure do and could have used something like this as a teen!

I’m the new summer intern for Dater’s Ed, so all summer long I’ll be writing about my personal dating experiences and those of people I know or have heard about. Dating sure does have its ups and downs, and you’ll see a lot of different topics from my perspective.

This week’s article is about college freedom, how college changes a teen’s perspective on dating.

Read the full article here. From there you can check out my past articles on prom and summer romances as a teen.

 

 

Life After College

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It’s my first week in this place we call “life after college” and I’ve already learned a handful of things. They’re more like observations of this whole new world I am learning to be part of.

First, I found out very quickly what a strange phenomenon it is to go from being a Student to Unemployed. Yikes, that’s a scary one. It was easy in the past to say, “I’m a student.” And now, for the first time in my life, I’m not. I’m an aspiring writer. I’m a graduate. But, I’m unemployed.

Which leads to my next observation: The Question. “What are you doing now?” I mean, it’s a fair question to ask, but as I said before, I can no longer jump past the question with a simple – if not honorable – answer. Sure, I am in the 34 percent of the U.S. population with a college degree, but what am I doing now? “It’s complicated,” and we can leave it at that.

Next, I have now heard more than a few people say, “Well, get a job!” And with all my might, I suppress the response I most want to say. “Oh, get a job? Just get a job? Why don’t I strap on my job helmet and squeeze down into a job cannon and fire off into job land, where jobs grow on little jobbies?!” – Courtesy of Charlie from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

Instead, I smile nicely and mutter something about trying.

Another observation I’ve had is the amount of mom’s I now see on a daily basis. I used to live in a college town with college students shopping at crazy college times. We could order pizza at 3 a.m. or walk into Walmart 10 minutes before it closed and still get all our groceries. Now, I go into any store (and not to stereotype) and the people around me are all stay-at-home moms. And I’m over here like, “Nope, no baby here.” It’s a whole new world out there at mid-day.

The plus side is that I now have the option to go shopping in the middle of the day! It’s great. I know it won’t last for long, but a girl can still bask in the sun or take a two-hour Target run if she wants, post-college.

And lastly, job hunting is exhausting. After reading the first hundred or so job entries, I almost want to nap and regroup later. I have this degree, yet oddly enough, I don’t seem qualified for most of the postings out there.

So, in the meantime, I can enjoy this period of Rest – knowing it might not come around again soon.