An introduction…

19 Oct

I’ve racked my brain trying to think of a good ‘opening post’ for this blog.  I’m not talking to anyone but myself, but it just seems so… rude to just go right into things.  So here it is: I’m a 28 year old female living in Chicago, who until a few months ago thought I’d be resigned to a working life of fluorescent lighting, long office corridors, and filing, filing, filing my life away.  This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.  I majored in Sociology in college, which prepared me for nothing except nodding knowingly when [insert group here] did the kookiest thing.  I spent one year in the working world as a legal assistant before heading back to grad school for Public Health.

My grad school career was not exactly what I thought it would be.  I remember, before leaving Chicago and in the depths of my highest misery surrounding my current situation, my sister and I were driving to Target and she said “You can’t go home again, Jack.” “Whatever, dude,” I thought, “I’m totally going home and it’s going to be awesome.  You don’t know me.”  So I went home.  I lived with my mom for several months before returning to the school I received my undergrad degree from to start my graduate program.  It was on my first day of orientation that I discovered that my program was actually brand new and not yet accredited.  It would be by the end of the year, but for now, we were just sort of… figuring things out.  OK, so this was my fault, I guess.  I never thought to ask whether a relatively common program was already well-established at my very large, public, state university.  My.  Bad.  I found that while I really wanted to like my program, the classes were poorly organized and the content often overlapped.  My professors didn’t seem passionate about what they were teaching us, and in return, I felt equally apathetic.  Also, truth be told, I forgot how much I hated being in school.  I was told that grad school would feel different, but this sure seemed like a lot of large classes full of bored young adults.  This wasn’t for me.  My sister was right.

I left grad school and moved back up to Chicago, where I worked as a barista until my student loans kicked in and I could neither afford to work for $8 per hour nor bear the constant sass I received from our morning customers.  I’ve worked a lot of restaurant jobs, and never have I been such a constant target of pitying looks from people in ill-fitting suits.  I got a job as a receptionist at a “nonprofit” that was best known for running huge luncheons with famous CEOs of large companies.  My boss was a tyrant.  I was there for a year and left for a new job doing something very similar for a nonprofit that brought in generally less well-known speakers, was completely overloaded with egos and seethed with barely-disguised resentment.  That said, I worked there for three years and met my wonderful boyfriend within those walls before moving to my current place of employment.

My boyfriend’s family owns a large farm on the outskirts of Chicagoland.  We spent a lot of time out at the farm this summer, picking veggies and playing with the barn cat, wishing we could stay out there forever but eventually having to return to the city.  Slowly, we came to realize that we could do it.  We could do whatever we wanted, and by god, if we wanted to farm, we would farm.  We had the land, which is most important when you want to grow things, and we gained the support of his family as soon as we expressed our farm aspirations.  As of October 1, 2012, we are officially on our way to becoming farmers.  We are converting some of his family’s land into a 2 acre organic farm, and someday I hope to have chickens.  There are lots of questions right now: Where will we live? How will we get to work? Will our plants grow? Will we absolutely hate it?  I guess we’ll find out.


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