There is perhaps no time more terrifying or exciting than the first two months after graduating from college. If you don't opt directly for higher education, this is the first time in your life that you are truly in charge of your path. And that, frankly, is scary as hell.
That's why I thought I was the luckiest person in the world when I landed my dream job before graduation. After a grueling, months-long interview process, I was accepted into a community organization training program. I was going to help people, drive real local change. I was going to make a difference. It felt like all the hard work from my four college years was finally paying off.
My last few months in Chicago were spent saying goodbyes, packing bags, and eagerly anticipating the next chapter. While my friends job-hunted, I headed to glamorous Toledo, Ohio, to start my dream role.
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In my mind, this wasn't just a job—it was the start of my life's mission. I'd always envisioned myself fighting injustice. Growing up, my mother never had health insurance or a bank account. We moved constantly when she couldn't pay rent or when friends tired of us crashing on couches or in attics. She did her best amid constant hardship. I wanted to grow up helping people like her, defending the defenseless. This job was my entry point. From here, it was only up, right? I'd made it.
Flash forward four weeks: I realized this job wasn't what was promised. I was paired with another recent grad, both of us eager to save the world but clueless and directionless. We were dropped in the field with zero support.
Not only had I chosen the wrong job, but I felt like I'd chosen the wrong dream. The wrong lens.
Fast forward to my car being broken into at a partner church midday.
Fast forward to someone shot in my yard while fleeing police.
Fast forward to me in our so-called office, questioning my choices. I'd uprooted my life, left Chicago—home for nearly five years—friends, mentors, growth opportunities. Yet after less than two months, my dream crumbled.
Six weeks in, I packed again, heading to Charlotte, North Carolina, to live with my recently relocated parents. Defeat. Failure. Screw-up. Those words looped in my head. I'd chosen the wrong job, wrong dream, wrong path. At 22, starting over sucked. I couldn't see beyond my mistakes.
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But six years later, I'm in a Charlotte café overlooking the skyline—a transformed person from the one who cried across state lines in her PT Cruiser, blasting Alanis Morissette, mourning lost dreams.
You will find a new dream and life. And you might be surprised at what you achieve.
My career isn't what I imagined— I now work for a credit company in an unexpected industry. Yet I've found a role that excites me daily, with criteria like financial stability to pay bills and debt, ample time off for travel, flexibility for personal pursuits.
I'm not helping people as originally envisioned, but I volunteer with time to spare. I teach at a yoga studio that's become my second home. I'm surrounded by growth-minded people. I write. I've built a fulfilling life in Charlotte.
College graduation dreams have evolved. Part of me ponders 'what if' about staying in Chicago—where I'd be, if I'd returned to school. I don't know.
What I do know: Quitting was my best decision. Recognizing a mismatched path or dream isn't easy—admitting defeat, reassessing life choices takes courage. But if you do, you'll uncover a new dream and life. You might just surprise yourself.
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