A shout-out to my hero

I tell other people all the time about my friend, who's also my hero. I tell her too sometimes, though probably not enough.

This is a woman who got her degree, the degree I wished I'd gotten, and moved to NYC, the city that matches my heartbeat and makes me feel alive. She was living my dream, and I was so proud of her.

Then she realized that her shitty writing job wasn't cutting it, and quit to become a full time professional dog-walker and pet-sitter. I've never seen her so happy, healthy, and fulfilled.

She is a fearless, radiant example of everything I hope to be, and I consider myself truly blessed to have her in my life.

This is a woman who can make the mundane seem fantastical through a beautifully crafted Facebook status or blog post. Someone who takes the lemons hurled at her by life, and crushes them with her bare hands, conjuring up spices, herbs and vodka and turning them into the most badass cocktail known to humanity. It's called the Hilary. It's not for the faint of heart.

Even during what can only be described as a hellish month, her online presence makes me laugh - huge, loud belly laughs - through the tears and my furrowed brow of fear and concern.

Thank you for somehow managing to make each life you touch happier and lighter. I hate to end this on such a cheesy note, but let's imagine it's the most delicious baked camembert or sharp cheddar or something else exquisite: Thank you for being you.

Hilary, you are spectacular.

xoxo

When You've Failed: Dear You

Congratulations: You!
12:00-1:00 p.m.
Biggest Conference Room in the Office

The meeting invite stares at me from the corner of my desktop. I scowl at it. My lips twist and eyes narrow. I have thoroughly failed in my planning for this meeting, and I’ve known of my failure for months. I’ve pondered this meeting in my head, rolled my choices along the roof of my mouth, worried the cracks with my tongue.

My company has a wonderful women in business group that my mentor hosts, and one of my dearest work friends is the Treasurer of Dreams. Many moons ago we had a meeting where we wrote our future selves congratulatory notes for the spring about our achieved goals and stored them in a box on her desk. I had two: moving to Seattle, and getting engaged to Lennon.

Lennon and I broke up in November. I suffered a psychotic break after I didn’t get my “perfect fit” job late this winter.

The past year has been hard on me. I have the gray hairs to prove it. But I started seeing a therapist, dyed my hair pink, and focused on my present self instead of what I thought my future should be. The box I thought I could cram myself into was not a viable future. The one I’m looking at now might not be either, I won’t know until I’m there. I have to remember this for my meeting in 70 minutes.

My friends Allen and Charli have a quote on their wall by their workstations (he's a programmer, they're a poet): Fail faster. Make better mistakes.

It's a quote about working tech; we create innovation by failing. It applies to our creative and "normal" lives too. If you're never failing, you're not pushing.

This is my new letter from present me to present me. I hope you, dear reader, get something out of it too.

Dear You,

Embrace the failure. These failures mark your survival, another groove worn into your hull of mistaken navigation and unclear signs. You are still here, and you are still fighting. Your eyes are open now, and you’re starting to understand that what you don’t agree with, you don’t have to do forever. You get an exit plan.

Now you’ve made an exit plan, and taken the very first steps towards getting there. The difference between this one and the other ones? The new plan is organically achievable; it runs into your blood like spring breezes. It grows flowers from your fingertips.

I am proud of you, even on the days when we mark high distress and shame on our Moodscope cards. Our plan may fail, more dreams may be broken, the plate might yet fall from your hands and shatter on the kitchen floor. Remember that plates and cakes are replaceable, but you are not.

You always say you never need anyone to save you - now, you’re living it.

Congratulations on avoiding trains for another year.

Congratulations on finally understanding the love song of your city, and writing yourself into it. Of wearing into your life with patience instead of hammering it like that’s going to do something besides make it weaker.

You lived. You win.

Love,
You

The Anticipation is Palpably Painful

I am waiting for a phone call that will not come for another three and a half hours.

While I was in Washington last Monday, brushing my teeth, I got a phone call from a WA number. Thinking it was my host confirming our lunch plans, I picked up the phone with the toothbrush still in my mouth.

It was not Grace. It was an Amazon recruiter. Who wanted me to skip four phone interviews and come into the office for an interview “since you’re in town anyway.”

Well, there are a lot of things I do not know about in life, but one thing I do know is that you do not say no to a big company when they are asking you to interview for a job you don’t yet have, but are already extremely passionate about.

The interviews went okay. Parts of them went swimmingly, and parts of them I disconnected and couldn’t pull it in. When they asked about times I disagreed with something that my customers did, or something that happened in a project. I am not great at disagreeing with how things are done, because often when I disagree in my career, I’ve done it wrong. I’ve been told simply to hush. Because I don’t know what I’m talking about yet. Sometimes I am pulled into a meeting and corrected.

I’m not great at talking about myself, and I am a rambler. I should be more succinct. I should have been more succinct. It would have allowed for deeper questions. Maybe I should have taken a Xanax those two interview days, but I wanted a sharper edge - not the fluffy girl who gets by easy, cloud-like in her glory.

I emailed the hiring manager today asking for a timeframe of when I might expect to hear about next steps. She had not responded to my previous emails of follow-up questions. She asked if I had some time this afternoon to chat.

So I’m sitting here, expecting a rejection. Anticipating this rejection. Oscillating between being zen about it, and coming close to tears the next minute. I am very good at internalizing “everything happens for a reason.” I am also very good at grieving. But I am so tired of being teased by the universe. I am tired of, with each rejection, re-committing to New York and re-realizing that I’ve put a band-aid over a sucking wound that this landscape cannot heal.

This is not the blog post I wanted to write. I had a dalliance on my vacation - I wanted to write you the beginning of a love story about mud flats and misty forests and really big dogs. I wanted to tell you maybe not a wife after all. I wanted to tell you about how you should only kiss sober, touch each other sober. Remember what potential feels like without the help of bourbon because I had it for days at a time.

They can’t say they want me. It’s only been three days. And when you ask for a timeframe response to hiring, they come back with a time frame, not “let’s chat.”

Let’s chat about my dreams for what you’re building. Let’s chat about moving vans and relocation assistance; let’s chat about the things I can’t allow myself to think about for the next three hours. Give me a timeframe. Please, give me a timeframe or welcome me home.

UPDATE: I did, in fact, not get the job. I failed in my success metrics and analytical capabilities, as I have failed in both those things for every job I have applied to. I am unsure where to go from here besides to business school, which is supposed to start on April 5th.

Two Weeks

It's been a strange two weeks.

Ten days ago, I was excitedly getting ready for a first date, with a cute guy I'd met online. I felt nervous, a little nauseous even, but I'd been feeling under the weather all week. I brushed it off as pre-date jitters and got on my bike to meet him in the city. We met in the park, and left our bikes outside a cafe as we strolled around, talking music, movies, work, and about our friends and families. The time flew by, and as I raced home on my bike, I couldn't wait to see him again. I couldn't stop smiling, and, for the first time in almost a year, I had butterflies.

* * *

Later, as I sat in my home office typing an email, I started to suspect the butterflies had given way to PMS. As I fidgeted in my chair trying to find a comfortable position, I thought back to my earlier nausea, and how I'd been feeling a little off all week. Was I coming down with something? Or was it just the monthly trials of womanhood? My period should be starting any day now, right? I glanced at the calendar, counting back the weeks. I counted again.

I'm late.

* * *

It's 4 p.m. The pharmacy doesn't close until 7 p.m., but I have a team meeting via video conference at 5 p.m. For the next hour I sit there, a slow panic rising, as I try to trace back over the last four, five, six weeks.

    Before my vacation. That guy I'd been seeing. The condom that broke.

    But he'd realized right away; he didn't finish inside me. I know the chances of being pregnant are slim to none, but my periods have always come like clockwork. If I am pregnant, that's when it happened.

    I log in to the video conferencing suite, smiling at my colleagues. Working remotely, we rarely all see each other, and under normal circumstances I'd welcome the chance to see everyone's faces. But all I can think about is peeing on a stick.

* * *

I've always been a list-maker. To-do lists, shopping lists, packing lists . . . living a life as unpredictable as mine equipped me with not only the desire for order, but the ability to soothe any anxieties or upheaval with lists.

    My eyes are glazing over as my colleagues nod along to what our boss is saying. I pull my notebook towards me, the same notebook I'm writing this in now, and flip it open, drawing a line down the middle of the blank page. At the top of the left column, I write PROS, on the right, CONS. 

    Forever linked to a guy I don't want to date, I wrote in the right-hand column. I knew from my brief time in childcare how hard co-parenting was when you loved someone, and how impossible it could be when you didn't share any of the common values and beliefs child development depends on. I knew I didn't want to raise a baby with someone I didn't want to be with.

    In the left column, without thinking about why, I write But it's a baby, reminding myself of the famous List in Friends, when Ross realizes that though Julie was a great woman, she wasn't the right woman for him, because she wasn't Rachel (or, you know. Rachem. Oh, typos and the trouble they cause!)

    Costs a lot of money, under CONS. Then, under PROS, but I make a lot of money. A new category is drawn up at the bottom of the page: QUESTIONS.

    How would work and having a baby . . . work? I ask myself. Back up to the CONS: mom isn't here, and I don't want to raise children in the UK. Another PRO: My friends here are wonderful mothers, and would be an incredible support system. Also: I can make really good baby food, a nod, I think, to my general sense of feeling better prepared for family life after my time in childcare. I have no illusions about knowing everything I need to, but I know I have a better idea than many single women my age.

    Last question: How would having a baby affect my application for immigration to the US?

* * *

 

Finally, my team meeting is over. I grab my phone, keys and jacket, pull my shoes on, and race downstairs, pushing my bike out the door. I weave through the dark streets to the pharmacy and pull up outside. Deep breath.

    Silently cursing the condoms as I walk past them, I scan the shelves, looking at the many options in front of me. Some boxes have three tests, others only two. Some come with ovulation tests, or tell you how far along you are. I figure this isn't the time for thriftiness, and grab the box of three, the most highly recommended - and most expensive - brand, and turn in the direction of the check-outs. Waiting in line, I see a basket of caramel-filled chocolate eggs, and (thinking they'd probably help no matter what the results of the test are) I grab three.

    The young guy at the register picks up the box, turning it over in his hands.

    "These don't have security tags, do they? Don't want them setting off the alarms."

    "No," I say evenly. "Because that would be embarrassing."

    He looks up, mortified, and I smirk at him, letting him know I'm just busting his chops. I don't want to be a cliché, I want to be the woman who can buy a pregnancy test as if it's no big deal, a big joke.

    He bags the test and chocolate and I walk out, stuffing one of the eggs in my mouth whole. If I'm about to give up drinking, my body's going to have to get used to me mainlining chocolate as a coping mechanism.

* * *

I'd heard people say those three minutes can be some of the longest minutes we experience as women. I plugged my iPod into my stereo and hit play. At the end of this song, I'll go back into the bathroom and check, I tell myself. Another chocolate egg disappears.

* * *

There it is, then.

    Not Pregnant.

    The instructions say to take another test in three days if I still haven't gotten my period. I tidy the box away, throw out the stick, wash my hands. I make a cup of tea, and take it upstairs with the last chocolate egg, sitting back down at my desk, where my PROS and CONS list still sits.

    I smile, breathe, flip the page, and start a new list for tomorrow. FRIDAY TO-DO LIST....

* * *

 3 days later and still nothing.

    It's Sunday morning. I've pretty much forgotten Thursday's events; I'd been on another date with the cutie from the park, seen a great live concert, made plans for a weeknight dinner date. I'm getting dressed for a long walk on the beach, packing a picnic, pulling my walking boots on. I'm enjoying the weekend, with last week's drama far from my mind.

    As the pebbles crunch and shift beneath my feet and the wind whips my scarf about my head, my thoughts drift back to the moment I walked back into the bathroom. In that moment, I knew which outcome would disappoint me, and it was right there, glaring at me from the sink.

    All the logic and reasoning I had couldn't take away the sadness that softly washed over me when I saw the single blue line. Not even a hint of that second line that would have turned my life upside down. No lists could tell me how I felt better than that fleeting, painfully authentic moment.

    I was relieved, of course I was. I was glad I didn't have to think about the money, whether I'd need to move, the conversation I'd need to have with the guy. I was glad I didn't have to call him and turn his life upside down too, or figure out how to raise a child with someone I didn't want to be with.

    But when I looked inside myself, I saw how much I'd wanted the test to read positive. And now . . . now I had to find a way to un-see it.

    By the time I get home that evening, my period has started. Again, expecting relief, I am hit with another wave of sadness. No excitement, no thanking God for my freedom. Just a gaping 'what if?' in my apparently empty womb.

* * *

I spend the next week focusing on other things. I work, I flirt with the guy, go on two more dates. I start to really like him. We share so many core values, appreciate similar things in life, want the same things out of life. He has a great smile, and although there are no big fireworks, I am definitely attracted to him. I've learned to value the fireworks much less in recent years, and our compatibility speaks to me much louder than sexual chemistry. There's definitely something between us, though I know he's not in a place where he wants a serious relationship, so I try to move slowly, hoping I don't scare him off.

    It doesn't make a difference. After only ten days, he tells me as I'm walking through the park where we first met that he doesn't feel the necessary spark, or perhaps just isn't ready to date at all. "Still broken" he says. Either way, it's over. I cry, just a handful of tears that were as surprised to find themselves on my cheeks as I was to feel them there.

    I look out at the river, gazing at the blue skies, thankful for such a beautiful day when the forecast said rain. I wrap my scarf around my neck a little tighter, dig my hands deeper into my pockets, and walk away.

We Accept The Love We Think We Deserve

Though this was originally written as my annual Facebook note reflecting on the year, I thought this would be a good place to share it too.

What a year.

My mind struggles to grasp the year in its entirety: there has been so much change and growth that it's hard for me to step back and really see what this year has brought.

Let's think about where I was at the end of 2012: in Amsterdam, reaching for my independent self as I prepared to transition yet again, from Italy to London, one au pair job to another. In the months leading up to that trip, I had been dumped, discovered the power of Don Miguel Ruiz and, through his words, found my own power and sense of self, which I had freely given to those I had loved for too many years.

I made commitments to myself for 2013, the content of which were not as important, I found, as the act of committing to myself instead of others. I found comfort and strength in my promises, not because I kept them in the ways I'd initially set out to, but because of their greater underlying principle: that 2013 was going to be the year I put myself first, and stopped diminishing who I was through compromises made in, and for, relationships that did not serve me in the same ways I was willing to serve them.

No more would I, Jade Forester, serial monogamist and Queen of the Rebound, get myself into a codependent, dysfunctional relationship. No more would I choose saving others above saving myself.

2013 has been the year I learned how to save me - from myself, mostly, but also from those who would seek to de-rail the progress I'd made at the end of 2012. By the end of last year, I'd thought the thoughts and was talking the talk. In 2013 I walked the walk.

As with every path I've started down in my life, it didn't go quite according to plan - I didn't completely swear off dating, or sex, and whether that was the right choice is of course moot at this point. The goal was the find out who I am when I'm not being defined by my relationships with men. Not only to find out who I am, but to figure out if I even liked that person - and if not, take positive steps towards becoming the woman I want to be, a woman I can respect and love more than I loved being in love or planning my future. I had to start living in the present and be happy doing so.

Though I wouldn't be so arrogant as to sit back at this point and say "I'm done," as if a person's growth is something that is ever complete, I can say that I achieved my goals for 2013. I found out who I am when I'm not busy being a girlfriend. I found out that I'm pretty awesome on my own, and that I have the most amazing family around me - and I mean not only those that I'm related to, but those who came into my life along the way, and stayed. I found out that I don't need to go looking for love; I am surrounded by so much I can hardly breathe, I am so overwhelmed with gratitude at the blessings I have been given.

I realized I didn't know myself well enough in the past to have patience with those who fell short of my high expectations, or the clarity to realize the depth and breadth of the ways I contributed to others' unhappiness. I am working towards being more self-aware and to change old habits and assumptions, and am quietly optimistic about the future.

I have never been so humbled by any year as I have this one, though I'm sure many of my closest can think of others that my have been more outwardly momentous. But the journey from child to adult isn't always greatest in the milestone moments: the distance between student and graduate, or Maine and the UK, was not so great as the miles I travelled within myself this year, as I searched to discover and redefine who I am and what I want.

I am exhausted, yes, but exhilarated. I have never felt so ready to take on whatever life throws at me. Never have I had so much to be thankful for, or as many reasons to smile throughout my day. Never have I felt so fully my capacity for good, or my strength for change, or my ability to achieve my goals.

I don't have any resolutions as I move into 2014 beyond this: keep it up, Jade. Remind yourself of how far you've come, and what you are capable of when you open your eyes, your mind, your heart, to what you need.

Show yourself every day that are worthy of love - and that means loving yourself. Remember Stephen Chbosky's words from The Perks of Being a Wallflower: 'We accept the love we think we deserve.'

Show those who support you how much they mean to you whenever you have the opportunity to do so. Remember how much they've done for you, and don't forget it or take them for granted. Remember how it felt when you withdrew yourself from them, and don't let it happen again!

Open yourself up to falling in love again, even if it doesn't look or feel like it used to. If you don't want the next relationship to end like all the others, you probably don't want it starting like all the others. Take your time. Breathe. Hold on to yourself without holding yourself back.

Remember the four agreements:

1. Be impeccable with your word
2. Don't take anything personally
3. Don't make assumptions
4. Always do your best

All My Friends Are Getting Married and I Love It (And Them!)

I’ve spent about $2000 in the last three years on weddings. I’ve been a bridesmaid three times, and there’s a fourth coming up in December. I’m not even a bridesmaid in that one — they just want me to run the show.

My engaged friends really dig my organizational skills. They like how I make schedules, they love how I ask questions, boss people around, and generally get shit done so they don’t have to worry about it. Where’s your phone? Erin’s had it since 8 o’clock this morning so you could have a champagne breakfast, not deal with your almost in-laws. The florist is supposed to be here at 2:00? I’m on the phone at 2:02 and expect updates every 90 seconds until she’s on the floor. Where’s the man party? Room 228 — you hold her train, you carry these flowers, I’ll get the boys. I liaise. I delegate.

I have a finger in every part of the wedding day pie and it is really sexy. You know why?

I’m smiling. I love weddings.I love being in the thick of making the day go well. It is the most important thing to me, the most joyous part of the occasion. The timing of the day is intimate in itself, and I make things run smoothly. It’s what I am best at, and that my friends see it, appreciate it, and rely on it makes me feel loved and appreciated.

Of course, being the coordinating bridesmaid means I miss out on a lot of the “Ooh!” moments. I’m missing from most of the reception pictures. I did not lace up my dear friend’s wedding dress, nor help another with her petticoat, or buckle the other one’s shoes. But the moments I do get are really precious: being the first one up and ready to dress meant I painted my best friend’s toenails while the stylist started her hair. I found a quick fix for a too-dark eye. I made a bouquet and boutonniere for a courthouse ceremony.

I’m not asked to be a bridesmaid because I’m the fun one, the pretty one, or the friend since childhood. I am both fun and pretty, but I’m also introverted and can be quite-to-the-point. It makes socialization a little difficult, and I’ve been told (by people who don’t know me very well) that I lack tact. I’m working on it.

Ideally, if I ever left publishing, I’d like to do this for a living — a day-of event coordinator extraordinaire. But how does one become a professional bridesmaid? Is that a thing?

I’d like to make it a thing.

When I was little I thought I'd marry a man named Eric...

… yes of course that comes from my obsession with the “Little Mermaid.” I'm sure that it subconsciously factored into my years of red hair too. But alas, so far no Eric.

Without dragging up the gory details, because, frankly, I'm done with them, my life changed last week. 

We broke up. I broke down. I cried. But I'm not crying now. I feel good. 

The people in my life who care about me, like, actually care about me, told me I was better off. I believe them. I agree with them. I wasn't treated well. I deserve better. I'll find better.

But until that happens, I've decided to focus on me. I've signed up for a class that I want to take. I'm buying the food I want to buy. I'm watching the TV I want to watch. By the way, check out “Orange is the New Black.” You won't regret it.

I'm also thinking a lot about my future. What I want from a partner. When I find someone to share my life, I've got criteria. I need to be respected, loved, liked because of the things I like. The Muppets, nerdy movies, books, wearing my hair in a comfortable topnot and the mint green bunny sweater I bought because it made me happy. And it's adorable. Duh.

Through any life change, good or bad, I turn to music. The stages of adaptation are met with certain songs that help us move along, deal with issues, get over a bad day, celebrate a good day, hell, do the dishes. So here is the journey my mind took this last week.

Also, if anyone knows of an Eric, help a sister out...

"Breakin' Up" by Rilo Kiley

"Smarter" by Eisley

"Goodbye, Goodbye" by Tegan and Sara 

"99 Problems" by Jay-Z. Of course. 

And now: 

 

"Moving Right Along" by my beloved Muppets

Sometimes, The Lateral Move: An Update of Sorts

After being rejected (see Shot Though the Heart) from a job within my immediate company, I went hunting for one within my parent company. And outside my parent company, as long as it wasn’t based in New York City, or anywhere in its surrounding area.

I found two: one at a university press, and the other at my parent company. The parent company position was extremely similar to the role I had been rejected from, so you can imagine my excitement!

The parent company makes attempting a transfer extremely casual. Before you send a resume, before you speak with your own HR department, before anything else happens, you schedule an informal information chat with the hiring manager.

The “informal chat” is secretly a phone interview, by the way. Thanks, mentor, for pointing that out to me so I went in completely prepared! I had a great, if nerve-wracking, conversation with the hiring manager, who referred me to her number 2, and I had a blast chatting with her as well. I didn't repeat any answers from three years ago - that was a big success. All went well, and hope floated in me, refusing to settle down. I had butterflies for a week.

Well, the she called me back today and said, with regret, that they wouldn’t be continuing to the formal interview process because I hadn’t had enough experience. They really liked me, and thought I would be a great fit, but I just wasn't experienced enough. Just like my learning tour manager said. Am I disappointed? Absolutely. This stinks. Like many other humans, I'm extremely impatient. I don't like working and waiting to get things, I just want them. Now. Please.

But I’m also elated because she’s referring me to two other departments for similar openings at a lower experience level. I feel justified, and vindicated, as if there is actually more to me than just data points and rote reporting. I am a human, and I am good at more than just statistics and filling in Excel sheets.

I haven’t heard from the university press beyond that they’re interested in speaking with me, but already have a list of finalists. If they don’t end up interviewing me, they’ve promised a more extensive reply, and possibly a short advisory session where they’ll tell me all the things I need to do for next time. This job isn’t a reach for me, it’s a remarkable combination of my current position, and the work I did on my learning tour.

I guess today was not a win in the short term, but the war is still raging. I’m not seeing a reason to be discouraged. My mentor (thank god I have a mentor, she really is the cat’s pajamas) thinks it’s all going in the right direction, and I’ll come out on top. This might be my late-twenties patience test; I've had one every five or so years for as long as I can remember.

So, chin up, I guess. Keep crossing your fingers for me, and hopefully early next year will find me in the Sound-swept arms of Seattle.

Starting Over: Switching Career Paths at 27

My husband and I got married in April and thought it would be a great idea to move all the way across the country two weeks later. We drove from Massachusetts to Florida in almost exactly twenty four hours (it was twenty four and a half) and we set our roots down in Fort Lauderdale. We love it here. I haven't worn anything but flip flops since May, and it doesn't look like they are leaving my closet anytime soon. Back home I was a Software Analyst/Consultant. The job description is as glamorous as it sounds. I was the "middle man" between my company and the hospitals we supported. When they had an issue with their software, they would call me to complain and I would have to figure it out. I spent six years doing that right out of college, and it might just be the complete opposite of what I had envisioned myself doing when I grew up.

 

With all this said, I had moved to Florida fully intending on picking up a similar job within a hospital setting. This time I wouldn't be the complainEE, I would be the complainER. As fate would have it, being a Software Analyst was just no longer in the cards for me. I went on a few interviews, got chased by a few recruiters to do traveling work (just married, not interested), and I probably sent in over 50 applications with my resume attached. After three months of some solid job searching, soul searching, and day dreaming, I realized NOW is the time to switch to my dream career. And what might my dream job entail you ask? Well...

Dog grooming! But in a broader sense... DOGS. Dogs are what I want to spend my days around. Why? Because they are so much cooler than humans. They are cuter, they judge less, they have more fun, and they are just so damn happy all of the time. Do you need any other reasons? I have a dog-son, Tiger, who is a Pit Bull/Boxer mix (we think?) who we rescued almost two years ago. He is my inspiration for switching career gears. I have loved dogs my whole life, but until I had him I never fully thought about working with them as a source of income. And now it makes SO MUCH SENSE.

I did some research and found a school ten minutes from my house that offers a certification program to become a Professional Dog Groomer. After even more research, I found that you don't get licensed to be one, and that most people actually never get certified and just open up a shop, sometimes with little to no experience... which is frightening. (Do your research before bringing your pooch anywhere!) 300 hours is required by the National Groomer's Association, and I found that is pretty much the standard across the entire country. I took a tour at the school, which is also a full-time grooming salon, daycare, and boarding facility as well. The instructor was so friendly and personable, and as soon as I walked in I had puppies jumping all over my legs. Um, HI HEAVEN. Nice to meet you.

I decided since I was unemployed and could afford to do so, I would just do my 300 hours full time. I go Tuesday-Friday from 8:30 to 3:30, with an occasional Saturday thrown in. I am about 175 hours into my certification so far. And... I love it. My instructor is also a certified Vet Assistant and was a trainer for many years prior. With all of her knowledge, I am really learning a lot about not only how to properly groom a dog, but also about their temperaments, anatomy, history, and training.

I've also made some new friends:

 Spike... We got intimate in the bath a few times.

 Daisy... She's my BFF when she comes in

Lani... Our daycare "mascot"

The Golden Girls... Mimi and Laicee

Louie... Seriously with those eyes?! STOP IT.

I gotta say, at first it was nerve wracking. They give you all of the tools, which were included in the tuition, and I had never used 95% of them. The first time I picked up a clipper, it might as well be the first time I used chop sticks. Just completely foreign to me. I learned quickly though, and although I am only a little over halfway through, I am doing full head-to-tail grooms. Typically, students don't get to work on the heads until later in their hours, but I am just that good. What can I say... toot, toot.

This is Biloxi... A Standard Schnauzer that I received an A+ on!

I have a little over a month left of classes, and then I can look for a job doing something that I care about. Do you know how amazing it is to say something like that? Some people never get to say something like that, and for that I am so grateful. Some people spend their whole lives paycheck to paycheck, doing a job they despise, for all sorts of circumstances. I am so fortunate to have the universe show me a lesson by denying me a position that I hated, and making me shift my views on what I deemed "work". The universe has it's own way of balancing you out sometimes, I truly believe that. And I would never had made the switch without the support and push from my amazing husband. He really told me to go for it. And honestly, I don't know if I really would have if he had not been behind me on this 100%. I'm forever grateful to him for that, and of course many other reasons.

Some days I sit here an think I could be sitting at a desk somewhere, counting down my hours, and fielding phone calls and meetings. But no... Tomorrow I'll get to school and be greeted by a bunch of wagging tails and wet noses all ready to get pampered and pretty. I really love where I am at right now. And to get all mushy on you right now...