I’ve always heard that a well-thought-out plan is the key to success.

After a Teen Vogue subscription in middle school, I started planning a fashionable future for myself. Equipped with Secrets of Stylists & The Teen Vogue Handbook, I meticulously outlined my entire life before senior year of high school (including a pair of Louboutins for my 21st birthday).

I moved to NYC & interned in the fashion industry. Even when the day lasted 12 difficult and unpaid hours, handling Balenciaga on behalf of Nina Garcia was an honor.

But once senior year hit and my peers accepted lucrative job offers, I began to doubt the path I’d taken.

I zigged and zagged, exploring all that piqued my interest with not much to show for it besides “experience” and student loan debt.

After graduation, I abandoned my editorial dreams and settled on a break room with unlimited coffee & a 30-minute commute.

On the first day, I puked. On the second day, my boss deemed my limited edition rose gold Huaraches “inappropriate”. After a few weeks, I noticed my mood always changed at around 1 pm on Sunday because it meant Monday was approaching.

I tried to “stick it out” and “pay my dues,” but I couldn’t even afford health insurance.

I dressed for comfort rather than style and stopped wearing my septum ring.

I became a resentful shell of my former self, spending each day at a desk counting down the hours until lunch so I could explore the Saks Fifth Avenue leather goods department.

I was reduced to an entry-level position and it could be months or years before I would be given more responsibilities.

At my 9-5, my boss instructed me to read a training manual when I finished a task. But when I proved to be a competent intern, my supervisors always gave me as much work as possible.

I planned on this entry-level corporate fashion job to provide direction, but it just pointed towards a life I did not want.

I was getting fat sitting at a desk and I hated business casual.

So, I quit.

After moping for a few weeks, I moved to Brooklyn and became a dog walker/cat sitter. I bike and take care of pets, so it’s literally getting paid to SoulCylce. It is not a forever job,  but I don’t work with people so I get to daydream & listen to music all day (plus my ass has never looked this good).

My rent is paid and the only deadlines I ever struggle to meet are self-imposed.

My new plan is to not have one.

I never aspired to be a writer, but I also never forgot the time my high school English teacher told me I should be one.

I used to do things to become an idea of a person rather than just doing things that made me happy.

I don’t know if my childhood self would be proud of me, but I’m not too pleased that she wanted to spend my rent money on red bottoms.

Now, I wake up excited about what I’ve planned for the day, so I think I am heading towards my most authentic self.

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