Dream Pig

My junior year of college, I was inducted into Sigma Tau Delta (the English honor society). It felt like a big deal. I had proof that not only was I an English major, I might actually be good at it. I'm pretty sure President Helmer even gave me a hug. Every inductee was allowed to invite two guests (usually their parents) but that's a long drive for a short ceremony, so my littles came as surrogate family. They took pictures of me and patted me on the back and held my rose while I chatted with my professors, and I felt very very loved.

[Admittedly, getting into an honor society was not the type of thing I fussed about. My identity wasn't tied to my grades, and while I did well, I never cared about making dean's list or proving how smart I was. I was invited to other honor societies I didn't join because I didn't want to pay for them. No one (except maybe my grandmother) cared how many cords I wore on graduation. But for whatever reason, Sigma Tau Delta was the validation I needed in calling myself an English major. I was real. I had a pin that proved it. It was something I valued, and made a goal for, and met.] 

Since my parents couldn't be there, my mom got me a congratulations gift-- my Dream Pig. 

I was a cutesy idea to save money for my writing dreams (get it? Dream Big? Dream Pig?). If I started throwing change in it, I could start to save up for an apartment in Chicago, or take writing classes in LA, or whatever I wanted to do now that I was starting to consider using my English degree for something beyond an excuse to drink before noon (I kid). 

Today, I opened the dream pig... so I could get quarters to do laundry. 

In my apartment in Youngstown.

The day before I start my job--

in marketing. 

Is it what I planned? No. Am I disappointed? Not at all. 

Two years ago, I might have been. But I have a great apartment, and this job is a great opportunity that I worked hard for. It's not glamorous, but good stories don't start glamorously. I may not be using the dream pig for anything special, but I can afford a dream bank account now. In one year I'll have more money saved for my dreams than the dream pig would have collected in 10 years of living in New York. 

So while I'm not taking the conventional road to starving artistry, I'm pretty happy with the one I've found. Think of me when I start in the big bad corporate world tomorrow (or more accurately, a company with 1500 employees that hosts a prayer circle every monday morning) and start my new life direction. 

I believe in adapting your plans.