It’s never a pretty day when your summer job falls through. And yet, yesterday in Santa Monica couldn’t have presented itself in a better form. Cloudless skies, waves softening the sand next to the Santa Monica Pier, and on the inside I was screaming.
Before I knew that I’d be searching frantically through Los Angeles contacts for freelance positions, I had decided to meet with a friend from school. She moved out here the day before I did for her job.
We talked about connections and LinkedIn and our futures and success and failure. We both said that we believe that everything in life happens for a reason. Of course, she gave me hard evidence that a rabbi predicted her future and the future of her friends (these moments of life make me wish that I were Jewish, but oh well, thanks Roman Catholic Italian grandma!).
I don’t have hard evidence, but I just know. Let me give you my story. When I was in high school I had a guidance counselor who left the school at the end of the year that I arrived there. he was from New York (I’m from rural Virginia). I had two meetings with him. In the first meeting he asked me what I wanted to do with my life and I said, “This is a silly dream but I want to write for The New Yorker magazine.” He looked at me and smiled, and the next words out of his mouth were, “Someone has to do it.”
I think my jaw hit the floor, but that one New Yorker gave me something to go on. Yesterday, when I dumped the sand out of my shoes after a walk on the beach, I didn’t cry about something that never happened, I just knew I had to do something.
In an effort to keep the post short, let’s just say I know I must be in LA for some reason and that losing this job must have some good to come of it.