Yesterday morning at 9:00, I met with the career advisor for the Fashion Department. 
For some reason, when I was getting dressed to head over to Eckburg, I was really, really nervous. I think that maybe it was because I knew that this was the kick that would start the ball rolling towards next summer. And that   scares me. Because I just moved on from this summer. This summer of future job search anxiety and take-out dinners alone and  watching the West Wing to avoid the scorching heat of Manhattan summers and midnight walks  through the East Village and my first  introduction to the professional, semi-capable version of myself. …And more take-out. It was a three month scavenger hunt through the City picking up new and exciting unrecognizable parts of myself along the way.  This summer was hard. And I loved it. Or I don’t know if I  loved it. I guess that’s sort of my point– I’m finally really removed from this summer and here it is again. Next summer. Popping in to say hello. And I don’t quite feel like I’m ready for it.

But I went to the meeting. And wore a white blouse and spoke in a like totally like professional way. And we talked about resumes. And cover letters. And past work experience. And future goals. And e-mail etiquette. And my counselor was so helpful and wore cool glasses and she listened graciously when I told her about how overwhelming school can be and she was nice, but the entire time I sat there and wondered what I was doing all of this for? For weeks now, the little creepers of freshman year and sophomore year and this summer have been making me wonder if this– fashion– is really what I want to do with my life. And maybe even bigger and scarier of a question: if it’s not this that you want to do, then what?

When I think about all of the possibilities of the future, one of the most frustrating things is the fact that there are so  many possibilities. I know that in 15 years, I’ll look back and wonder what in the world I was so afraid of when I am so lucky to say that there is virtually no way that I can fail, but right now the future scares me. And taunts me. And I see flashes of my future– or rather, what I would like it to be, but I have no way of knowing how to get there.

It’s been a while since I’ve gotten all ranty and intense on here, so I thought it was high time for me to over-share and make people feel sorry for me. So, after all of this, there are no definitive answers. And  I don’t think there will be for a while (which just makes me want to eat ice cream and watch Grey’s).  I’ve decided that for now, I’ll focus the next few hours on the only thing that I truly have control over: what font I want my resume header to be.

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