Qué será será

What ever will be, will be.
The future is not ours to see.
Qué será, será.

I loved this song when I was a little girl. My family owned a radio station for three generations, so we hosted an extensive collection of various vinyl records from years past. I used to pillage through the stacks of records, dig through the cedar closet for a dress up gown and twirl around my basement to the static of the song as the record player ambled along. Though I often would audition a new record or two, I'd always return to the romantic cadence of this one.

I have always wanted to plan out and know the future. I like to feel a sense of preparation, and to anticipate the forthcoming events. Allowing things to evolve as fate should have them, and accept that I might not be able to predict the course of events provokes a feeling of vulnerability. But as my nineteen year old sister reminded me, "You can plan a pretty picnic, but you can't predict the weather."

Two weeks ago, I sat next to a French ex-patriot on a routine flight to San Diego. After the initial indulgence of casual niceties, we breached the PC divide between casual small talk and we began to drill deep into the core of our political beliefs, our dreams and philosophies on life. Thierry trumped me by about 30-40 years, so his outlook on life carried years of tethered experience. Though I found Thierry to be undeniably fascinating, there was one line that shook me inside and reverberated through me:

Life isn't always champagne. Sometimes it is just flat wine.

I have had some glamorous, sparkling moments in my life where I fizzled and popped inside with excitement. Parts of my life, especially my professional life, have been nothing more than cheap, flat wine. The little girl that used to spin around in vintage gowns and in my cousins hand-me-down tap dance costumes envisioned a life bursting with bubbles and fizzy moments. Even though I wish every moment could be seen through the golden glint of exploding champagne bubbles, I'm learning that finding those special moments in between the flat wine ones makes those minutes or hours even more special.

I'd love to know what will happen next-
will there be rainbows day after day?
will I be pretty?
will I be rich?

but I guess I have to wait to see if I'll swim in champagne, or perhaps tread water for some time more in flat wine.

No Left Turn

After I was published in the Wall Street Journal Blog, several readers commented on my laments about becoming an adult and the strife in landing the role I wanted. A few commented that my efforts to attract a unfamiliar recruiter/employer through emailed resumes and cover letters was a flawed attempt; the reader continued that it's through networking that interested candidates can get their foot in the door, not through flooding inboxes. When I saw the comment, I wasn't surprised. I knew that the zillions of cover letters and resumes I'd tailored for countless jobs more than likely were never even opened, but I kept falling back on the comfortable excuses that I'm new to San Francisco; I'm not from here; I don't know anyone. Well, then the answer was simple: I needed to meet someone.

When I first moved to San Francisco, I had to build my social circle from scratch. I didn't have a single friend that lived in the city. I waited to happen across friends, clinging to the few connections I had made early on through alumni associations and work, yet still feeling like I needed to meet more people to satisfy my extrovert tendencies. Finally I forced myself to pull my nose out of books and join some sports teams: soccer, softball and flag football. I didn't know the other players on the team and was a "free agent" responder to Craig's List Want Ads for extra players. Not only did joining the sports teams fill up my calendar with healthy activities, but I met some of my now closest friends and made this city transform from a "current location" to home. So when it came to getting my career settled, why wasn't I doing the same thing?

I decided to take action: I joined the local chapter of Public Relations Society of America. Tonight was my first PRSA event, hosted across the bay in Oakland. It's not too often I spend my evenings in Oakland, and even rarer that I dare to brave rush hour traffic across the Bay Bridge. Despite the draw of taking an evening to finally have time to jog across Crissy Field and prepare for my weekend trip, I opted to forge through the stampede of cars escaping across the bridge to the sunshine of the East Bay.

Upon arrival I realized I was much younger than all of the other professionals: JACK POT. The best thing about being the lone young buck in a networking event is that you stick out. Not only that, but with age comes more experience, more connections and a higher likelihood that they want to help. I ordered a small glass of Chardonnay and began my circling around the room hunting for a wandering eye that I could pray on to strike up a conversation. At the end of the night, I'd grabbed a few cards and left with more hope and inspiration than I'd felt in a long time. I couldn't fight the smile on my face and even felt tempted to dance along with the drunk homeless man bouncing along to his own silent music.

I know I'd previously written that I felt there were blatant signs proving that change was eminent, but two months later, I still haven't secured a plan that speaks to my ambitions. Yet tonight, as I pulled out of the parking garage, satisfied and exuberant with the connections made at the networking event I saw this sign:


Perhaps I'll still be working this same job next month, and the following and the following... maybe nothing will fall into place in the immediate future; however, I finally stopped waiting to make the left turn. I stopped complacently allowing myself to accept the rules of the road. I stopped looking for shortcuts. Tonight, for the truly first time, I started making the turns that will take me to where I want to be.

WE ARE!

I never miss a kick off;

I bleed Blue & White;

I worship Joe Paterno;

My first reaction when I hear a pause after "We are" is to shout back, "Penn State",

and I am obnoxiously proud anytime my Alma mater is ranked high in any regard, but this just surpassed the Richter scale: