The Unexpected Ending

A Moment of Triumph

I expected every door to open when I finally walked across that stage and got my degree. As the first woman in my family to graduate from college, I thought I had accomplished so much. After years of toiling in high school to graduate in the top 10% of my class, and then five more years to get that coveted piece of paper, it was exhilarating. I felt like I was on top of the world. My parents took my sister and me on our last family trip to NYC to celebrate, and I reveled in the excitement, believing that my hard work had finally paid off.

When I came back to Minnesota, back to my college apartment with my boyfriend at the time, Greg, I felt like everything was about to begin. I envisioned a future filled with opportunities, excited to carve my path in the world. But with every beginning comes an end—and mine came sooner than expected.

Staying Behind for Greg

As I stepped into this new chapter, I was quickly reminded of the choices I had made along the way. Greg still had another year of school left, studying electrical engineering. It was so demanding that most people took an extra year to finish. I’d already extended my stay by an extra year—I could’ve graduated the year prior. But because Greg had two more years at the time, and I wasn’t ready to step into the world just yet, I held on.

That last year before I graduated, I felt out of place. The people I started my broadcast journalism major with had already graduated, and I was just filling time with extra advertising classes. Or was I? Maybe staying back and taking extra classes wasn’t just filling time—maybe I already knew, deep down, that this future wasn’t really mine, and I was just living someone else’s dream. I remember sitting in those classes, feeling a deep sense of disconnection. As my classmates passionately discussed news stories, I struggled to muster any enthusiasm, grappling with the nagging feeling that I was on the wrong path.

A Question of Fit

With my mind filled with uncertainty, I began to question my path even further. I enjoyed being in front of the camera—originally, I wanted to be an actress, but my mom talked me out of it because it wasn’t 'practical.' Yet, as time went on, I started to feel like I didn’t belong in journalism either. While my classmates seemed to live and breathe news, forming close bonds and racking up internships at local stations, I felt like I was just going through the motions. They were nice enough, but I never felt truly included, like I didn’t have 'it.' That elusive something that makes you fit into a world that never quite felt like mine.

I experimented with my looks a lot in college—tanning, bleaching, perming, chopping my hair off, then growing it long again. I’d appear on camera in ill-fitted, cheap suits I got from JCPenney with my employee discount. I wasn’t ugly, but I didn’t feel like I was good-looking either—just disheveled and not myself. Each time I looked in the mirror, I felt a pang of sadness, recognizing how much I was trying to mask my insecurities with superficial changes. It became clear when Jake, an all-star student a year behind me, complimented my natural hair color after months of blond shades. That was the first nice thing he ever said about me. I thought it was a sign, as I had blond hair in my sizzle reel—it definitely wouldn't help me get a job because looks did matter in this industry. And I was a mess: disheveled, uncertain, and desperately trying to figure out who I was supposed to be.

Job Hunting and Self-Doubt

Feeling out of place and questioning my identity, I moved on to the next chapter: the job hunt. Back in my college apartment with Greg, I started applying for positions. I was sure I’d land an interview at channel five in Alexandria, Minnesota. I had glowing references from my advisor and professor, so I felt confident. When I got the call, I was ecstatic. This was it. I toured the station, seeing everything from the newsroom to where the anchors sat. But that’s when the sinking feeling began to creep in. As I explored the space, excitement turned to dread; the job demanded you wear multiple hats: producer, reporter, anchor. It felt overwhelming, and my mind raced with doubts. Was it even possible to handle all that without burning out? And then came my biggest mistake—I asked about the pay before even getting an offer.

The producer’s vague answer—"enough"—made me realize I’d blundered. The uncertainty gnawed at me. When weeks passed without a response, that pit in my stomach grew heavier. I still wanted to work in TV news, though, so I applied to every Minnesota station, regardless of openings. I even sent follow-up letters to Alexandria, expressing my continued interest, but never got a reply. It seemed my journalism career was over before it started. Each rejection felt like a wound, and I struggled to reconcile my dreams with the reality of my situation, feeling increasingly adrift and unsure of my worth.

The Relationship Breakdown

As the job rejections piled up, my relationship with Greg began to feel just as uncertain. Maybe I should’ve moved on, left that college town behind, started fresh in a new state, and walked away from my retail and movie theater jobs. But I needed the money to start paying back loans, and without a steady income, I’d have to ask my parents or Greg for help. I also wanted to wait around for Greg. I saw a future with him—thought maybe we’d end up working in the same town. But my obsession with the Alexandria station and lack of communication about our futures foreshadowed the distance between us.

As months passed without a job, Greg and I grew apart. He was consumed by his studies, and I was stuck in limbo. We barely saw each other outside of work at the movie theater. Then came the nights Greg didn’t come home, claiming he was too tired after studying at the fraternity. I started driving by to check if his car was there, but it never was, and with each passing day, I felt my heart sink further.

One night, while I was working at the theater, a female coworker I considered a friend told me Greg had been spending the night at her place. She apologized, but I was in shock. How could this be happening? How could Greg like someone like Melissa? We were total opposites. She then told me something even harder to hear—Greg thought I was too good for him. That I was out of his league. My heart shattered at that moment, as the crushing weight of betrayal and inadequacy settled over me like a heavy fog.

An Ending and a Beginning

Despite my anger, I felt guilt. I’d leaned on Greg too much, constantly pouring out my insecurities about not landing a job while not being there for him as he struggled through school. I realized I wasn’t even sure if I was attracted to him anymore. Our relationship, once intense, had fizzled out. We were on different paths, and neither of us had really acknowledged it.

So I left. I left our apartment, left my jobs, left Greg. We broke up, and it was devastating. When I confronted him about his infidelity, he didn’t deny it—just let me tearfully yell at him. The final blow was learning he had bought an engagement ring but never gave it to me because he couldn’t make me happy. And, honestly, how could I be happy with him if I wasn’t happy with myself? The realization struck me like a lightning bolt; I had been seeking validation from someone else instead of finding it within.

Back to Square One

As I faced this unexpected ending, everything felt like it was crashing down—my career, my love life, my plans for the future. I moved back in with my parents and started working at the local movie theater again. It felt like I was right back where I started. The familiar sights and sounds felt suffocating. But everything had changed. I had changed, yet here I was, living the same life. That’s where my college degree got me—back to square one. It was the lowest I’d ever felt, a stark reminder that the path I had envisioned was not the one I was walking.

But little did I know, this was just the beginning of facing failure head-on. Each setback would become a stepping stone toward rediscovering who I was and what truly mattered.