Have you ever read The Alchemist? I’ve read it so many times I could recite whole chapters from memory. It appeals to my wanderlust, my quest for happiness over anything material, my boundless imagination. It’s become my philosophy for life, and whenever I get lost — or overwhelmed — and stop ‘listening to my heart,’ Life has a funny way of reminding me that Paulo Coelho had it right.
It’s been a roller coaster of a week. Everything inside of me ached for adventure. EVERYTHING. I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw — What happened to the reckless chic who followed her heart in the face of reason? Where’d the girl go who leapt before she looked only to end up on the greener side? When did my dedication to my work eclipse my passion for life?
So I reverted.
I sent my CVs to the crew agencies, I paid a ridiculous fee for the course, and I began my path towards junior stewardess of a luxury yacht. I listened to my heart, and the world shifted to make my dream happen.
Only the world had other plans. I wanted adventure more than anything; it didn’t have to be on board. So while I grew more and more excited, the day came for me to tell the three bosses, and life took yet another turn.
One boss, upon hearing the news, literally almost fell off of her chair.
One fought back.
“You’re too old to work on a boat!”The third locked me in a room with the other two. That’s when I realized they weren’t going to give me up without a fight.
“No,” I responded coolly, “I’m only 22.” Sometimes it’s convenient to play the age card.
“What do you think this will do to your resume?” she demanded.
I had my answer prepared. “It’ll make me look more interesting; it will add international experience and show I’m not afraid to try to new things.”
“No it won’t! It’ll make you look like a pain in the ass!”
‘At least then,’ I thought, ‘it’d paint an accurate picture of me.’
My heart reacted accordingly. I looked at their faces and grew tense. I realized the work I’d been doing this week was fun. The media was receptive to my clients. And my colleagues and I were having a blast playing just as hard together as we worked. I sat on the couch looking at these incredible women and lost my breath.
“Relax,” one said, the roots of her hair unusually gray. It was rare that I saw her and thought she needed better grooming, but I found that it was the only thought I had as their words surrounded me. They threw gifts and promises, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. There’s no way they’d give me what I needed. Plus, I wanted to see the world.
“The world will always be there,” one said. I hated that answer. I want to see it now.
But I promised to think about it. I received e-mails throughout the night from the leadership saying awfully sweet things like, “I couldn’t sleep without telling you how much we value you,” and “You are a unique person with great gifts — leadership, energy, creativity, among others” and “My door is open to you any time. I am very fond of you.” They were signed with things like, “Sleep tight” and “Sweet dreams.” I had nightmares about boats and offices.
The next day I consulted my sources, and they all said I’d be a fool not to take them up on their propositions. That’s when the president called me down to her office for Round Two.
I was fed up. At this point I thought I’d probably take their offer, but I had demands—closing bonus, more staff beneath me, a BlackBerry that worked—and I wanted to make sure they knew I was serious—This wasn’t just a crisis I was going through because my mentor was leaving the firm. I'd listen to them once again in this meeting, then give them an answer on Monday. "I need the weekend to think about it," I'd insist. Yet in Meeting II, nothing went as I had planned.
I thought it would be just me and the president, but as I marched down the West Wing, I saw her co-owner seated in the office as well, clinching papers to her chest. I thought nothing of the fact that the president's husband, our CFO, was lingering in the doorway. He smiled warmly at me as I walked in, then quietly dismissed himself and shut the door behind him. I was suddenly trapped in the office, slightly annoyed and preparing for more empty promises and desperate words.
The co-owner launched the conversation, “We’re not ready to let you set sail just yet.”
I found myself quickly flustered and overwhelmed, so I dug up the one line I had planned to say on Monday, when I approached them to talk about the deal on my own terms. I had been practicing it in my head all morning: “Tell me how this would work.”
Of course, having thought I’d have the weekend to plan follow up lines, I was suddenly speechless.
“We want you to know just how serious we are, so here’s a check for you,” the president said from behind her giant desk. “It’s here, handwritten — against the CFO’s advice — because he’s going out of town but I insisted we have it for you now.” She laughed nervously.
My mind screamed. ‘What do you mean, a check? Here? Now?’
I didn’t have to wait long for an answer. The co-owner reached over from beside me and said, “Here’s a check for $XX. After taxes.”
The paper touched my fingertips and my mind went blank. They were talking about the other financial considerations — what I’d make in future pay checks, what they were putting into my 401k, how much my vacation days were worth. I don’t remember any of it or if I even spoke.
In my hands I saw school in Paris. I saw my dream become real. I saw an adventure that didn’t involve cleaning toilets.
Somehow their voices echoed in my ears. “You have to know you’re really special to us.” “We’ve given you incredible freedom and license to do whatever you want, and we’re happy with what you’ve done.” “We can appreciate the financial implications of graduate school and want to make it comfortable for you to stay.” “You don’t have to give us an answer right now, but…”
Suddenly I was aware of four eyes burning into my soul, and I forced my mind away from the paper quickly weakening from the sweat of my hands.
“Ok,” I said. “I’m yours.”
Funny how if you take the leap and truly follow your heart, the world falls into place before your feet. I blindly jumped after an adventure. And while the shifts took me in a different direction than anticipated, I can’t remember the last time I felt so happy and relieved. Nothing’s perfect. You don’t want to think you’re the type of person that can be bought. But I feel good about myself and this decision. I feel optimistic about the future. And I’m incredibly grateful for what these women have done for me in the past, and what they’re enabling me to do next.
Needless to say, there will not be a boat in my future. But my last day of work is June 20th, and I'll strart pursuing an MPA in September. In Paris.
