I love how God works.

I graduated from college in May 2008 with a B.A. in Journalism and no clue what I wanted to do with my life. I was working at a restaurant, had just moved into my too-expensive apartment in Sierra Madre, and felt completely lost, wondering if I would ever figure things out.

After getting my job at Southwestern Law School in L.A., I realized I wanted to work at a college or university, and I knew I loved to write, so I began applying to M.F.A. in Creative Writing programs all over the country. Much to my chagrin, I was only admitted to 2 programs, neither of which provided me with a Teaching Assistantship. I didn’t even care about how expensive the program was. I wanted the teaching experience, and it was highly doubtful I would get it.

I moped around for months trying to figure out what step to take next. I realized that if I wasn't itching to apply for M.F.A. programs again, it probably wasn't the direction I was supposed to go, but had no idea what that meant for my future.

I applied for different positions at my work (Admissions Counselor and Event Coordinator) and was (luckily) selected for neither.

Then I found out about Higher Education master’s programs – programs where I would get training in psychology and counseling, and take courses about the history of higher education , college students today, and applying research. I can get a job working in Student Affairs, Greek Life, Residence Life or any other student centered department, or work in an administrative job similar to what I am doing now, but at a more elevated level.

I am so excited about the future today. I am excited about my life with my boyfriend, the exciting things in front of us, and this wonderful new path that will lead to so many adventures.

I've Got a Feeling... That Tonight's Gonna Be A _______ Night.

Tonight I am doing a reading with my writing workshop at the Eagle Rock Center for the Arts, and I have been looking forward to it for several weeks. I was so excited about sharing my work with people I didn’t know, and thrilled to find out that the Pasadena Weekly is going to be coming.

But I woke up this morning with this nasty black scarf of anxiety clinging to my neck. I am terrified that I picked the wrong piece of work to read and worried that I am going to shake a little bit or screw-up the words when I talk.

I want to do a good job. I want to read something that will connect with people. But I’m afraid the selection I have chosen about my mom and me is far from anything anyone could connect with. Do I come across as arrogant or childish or selfish or bratty? Is there some sense of closure? Or will anyone want to read more of it? I still have a lot of re-working to do today, and I am pretty sure I may just end up changing pieces all together, but I’m worried it won’t be enough, or it won’t matter.

I just want tonight to be a good night.

A good, good night.

Blocked and Bored with Myself.

I’ve been trying desperately to write something over the past several weeks – anything, really – and I am unable to get out more than a few sentences before I delete them and start over. I’ve done it several dozen times and each time I get more and more stressed. Why can’t I get anything down? I would think to myself. Maybe my ability to write is only forced under pressure.

After playing around with that idea for a while, I thought of something else. Maybe the writing part of my brain has been numbed by all the television and movies and video games that have been seeping into my brain more rampantly than ever. So I picked up Pride & Prejudice and started reading, trying to find a more “literary Jill” than is normally around. I am nearly 20 chapters in and still… nothing.

In fact, this little blog post is the longest cohesive anything I have written in at least a month.

Part of me thinks I never have anything to write about because I never do anything exciting. But even that logic isn’t completely sound. I do a lot of exciting things. I lived in NY for a summer during college, I have taken trips to Vegas, Phoenix, Chicago, Notre Dame and NYC since I graduated, I was walked in on in Vegas, I sang karaoke in Phoenix, I rented my first rental car in Chicago, I saw my first live college football game in Notre Dame, and I took trapeze lessons in NYC. Why can’t I find anything exciting or meaningful to write about? I think I just don’t consider my life to be very exciting or story-worthy, like some of the other people I know. I've never been burgled, arrested, assaulted... I've never had a drug addiction or alcohol problem... I'm not gay, I'm not an extremist and I'm not treated differently because of the color of my skin...I've never been homeless or abused. I don't have any huge stories, any special things to write about. I'm an upper-middle class, white, liberal Christian who grew up in Suburbia. It's hard to find the magic in that.

I realize that I am a perfectionist, so perhaps I have been too hard on myself with the little blurbs I start out with. Instead of deleting the first few sentences because I see no promise, maybe I will just keep going, trying to fill just one whole page. After a few days, maybe an idea will come to me.

Hopefully, it will be something meaningful. J