The Art of Being Honest
There’s this Tate McRae song I’ve been listening to, and she says at 22, it's a little sad, but it's fun, and I could not agree more.
Well, I would use it to describe 23. I’m about a month away from turning 24, and I wanted to share my biggest lesson this lap around the sun.
Because I do feel like I lived 9 lives this go-around.
This past May, I stopped asking “why me” and finally sat down and got honest about what I actually wanted out of this stage of my life.
When I started telling people I was leaving NYC or that I was moving to Atlanta, they looked at me as if I were insane.
So why did I move out of NYC? People only see your life through the lens of what you post on social media, which is rare for me anyway. The truth is, I hated it.
When I graduated in 2024, I convinced myself I wanted it because NYC was trendy, exciting, and there was always something to do. And don’t get me wrong, I loved living in New York, and I will visit many, many times in my life. But I hated living there. It was expensive, I love driving, and the work culture is very ugly (for lack of better words).
People always think I’m talking it up when I say my solo trip was life-changing, but for me it genuinely was. I truly believe that March was my month of clarity. To go back a little further, I vividly remember having a terrible day at work in February and walking to St. Francis of Assi Roman Catholic Church in the pouring rain before my Junior League meeting.
I consider myself to be a cradle Catholic and a “light Catholic.”
I’ve had my battles and mental struggles with the Church growing up, but that’s truly a post for another day.
It was Ash Wednesday, and I was bawling my eyes out in the pew. I remember asking God, Jesus, the Virgin Mary, and any Saint that could hear me for guidance on what I should do. If you’ve ever had a condescending manager from hell, you know that feeling of knowing you have to get the hell out of there.
I believe it was that night I booked my trip to Punta Cana, because I knew I needed some sort of break to figure out what I wanted to do. I was in the middle of interviewing for new jobs in NYC when I had a light go off in my head. Why am I doing all this when I don’t even want this?
To me, NYC always felt like a transition period instead of actually living. I felt like I had to stay in New York because of the friendships I made, the dues I paid for Junior League, and this idea of life that I had in my head.
Part of me felt like I had to survive a few years at a toxic agency, so maybe I would have enough experience to land something in a city where I actually wanted to be. If you’ve worked in PR, then you know it’s hard as hell to land entry-level jobs outside of NYC, Chicago, or California.
But I decided fuck it, I’m going to try.
After choosing to leave NYC, I was scared of being perceived as a failure. My first job was hell on Earth and not the fabulous experience I wanted. So my dad and I packed up all my stuff (well sold most of it), and I moved back to Louisiana to figure my life out. Something about going to Howard has always made me put an insane amount of pressure on myself to be the best. But I realized looking like “the best” isn’t worth it when you are unhappy or crying every day because you hate your job, which is consequently making you hate your life.
More than anything, I learned the art of being honest with myself.
I thought having a gap on my resume would be the worst thing in the world, but now I’m so grateful for it. That time gave me space to sit down and think about what I actually want out of life instead of constantly rushing to the next thing. I’m grateful for all the trips I’ve taken, the time I’ve spent with my family, and so much more, because without that pause, I’d probably still be in a tiny four-hundred-square-foot apartment, crying on the subway to the World Trade Center every morning.
