My Dad and I were in my house a while back. The conversation
we had made me laugh.
What year were you in Emporia, he asked.
I thought for a minute. I moved back in 2011. I moved there in 2010.
Then I asked him where I was 10 years ago.
Not Wichita, he said. That was 14 years ago. You were probably in Winfield, he said.
No. Not the school year 10 years ago. I mean the summer of that year 10 years ago.
Oh, he said. You were in Oklahoma City!
I never imagined myself playing a game of “I don’t remember
what city I was in a number of years ago” with my family.
But life is life, and sometimes you just have to go with the
flow and go wherever life takes you.
Ten years ago, I moved to Oklahoma City for a summer
internship. I was determined to do it myself. I was 22, which is older than
your average intern. In my mind, I was an adult, which meant that I could move myself
to a city in a neighboring state without help from anyone else.
I couldn’t find my apartment. I drove around forever. It was
raining, and I was crying. All the buildings looked the same to me, and all I
wanted to do was curl up in bed and cry.
When I finally did find my apartment, I was really, really
hungry, but I was too nervous to drive to get food and because I was afraid of
getting lost again.
I should note that this was before the invention of iPhones,
Siri and map apps. This was the dark ages, guys. This was 2007.
For the first night, I cried in my brand spankin’ new
apartment because I was lost and hungry.
But at least I was an adult about it!
I cried many times that summer, mostly because of my own self-doubt. I never had to worry if anyone would catch the tears rolling down
my face, because that summer it rained every single day, and you honestly couldn’t
tell the difference between my tears and rain drops.
That makes me laugh now.
I talked about that summer with someone from work a while
back. It turns out that many people experience the same thing that I did that
summer.
It was the first time that I got paid for doing what I
wanted to do. It was the first time I was surrounded by people who had the same
passion that I did in life.
It was addicting. It was life-changing.
It turns out, if you’re really lucky in life, you get to
experience what I did that summer.
The only thing that I really remember is that I had
crippling self-doubt the entire time, both professionally and personally. On
the way back from lunch one day, I caught the heel of my shoe in an elevator
and tripped in front of a lot of people.
I was horrified at that incident. Actually, I was terrified
and horrified the entire summer.
(Looking back now, I’m proud of myself that I was once young
enough to wear heels. Now, they would probably kill me.)
Last summer, I tripped and fell in the middle of a street as
my town’s annual parade was starting. Hundreds of people were there, and I fell
flat on my face.
Some things never change.
One day, word got out that the floor above me had ordered
donuts. I was too scared to get any. I shared that concern with another intern,
and he told me he was too scared to get any, too.
It makes me laugh now, because donuts no longer scare me.
When I see summer interns now, I can spot them a mile away.
I can smell their fear and I recognize their fresh baby faces. I wonder how
some of them are even old enough to drive, because they look so young.
Oh, interns.
It makes me laugh, because I remember being that person.
There are several things I remember about that summer. At
the time, I was self-conscious because I had spent five years in college. (That
happens when you go to three different schools.)
Most of the interns were younger than me. Some weren’t even
21 yet. And here I was, old balls, at 22, and I had been drinking legally for
more than a year.
Obviously, I was already well-seasoned at life. A veteran
among babies, if you will.
I was talking about being on the 5-year plan to a full-time
employee that summer. Her response was amazing.
“You’re more of a loser if you don’t finish,” she told me.
“It doesn’t matter how you get there. You just have to finish.”
That summer, no one gave a crap about my age, or about how
many years I spent in school. It didn’t matter then, and it turns out, that
employee I was talking to was right.
It doesn’t matter now.
I think I’ll remember that advice forever.
It turns out that that particular city was not in the cards
for me. I love it with all my heart, and I would probably go back in a
heartbeat if money and life circumstances allowed me to (if I was married and
made $200,000 a year…haha).
For now, I’m happy where I am in life. I’m thankful that
God, or an alumnus at my alma mater, or whoever, gave me that experience of
being totally lost, unsure of myself, but mostly just drunk a good amount of
the time that summer.
I loved that experience. It was the first time that I
realized that I could maybe do this thing for the rest of my life. It was the
first time that I realized that I was in college for a reason, and the reason
was going to eventually pay off one day.
I think Oklahoma City was my first love.
And just like your first real love, you never really forget it.
You move on and move away, but that first love is always a
part of you.
And that’s okay.
