Escaping The Collective ‘We’

Falling Back Into Old Patterns

I’ve been distracted—chasing who I’m not instead of who I want to be. It’s so easy to fall back into old patterns, and no matter how disciplined I tell myself I need to be, I’m not immune to it.

The last few weeks have been a mess. I’ve been unhappy with where I’m at, and when I feel like that, I get busy applying to the same practical opportunities that thousands of other average yet intelligent people are chasing. It’s a quick fix—or at least it feels like one—but it never works. You can’t stand out in that crowd. You’re just another number, a cog in the wheel, part of some collective identity, because you couldn’t discipline yourself enough to find your own.

I know that sounds harsh—maybe even mean—but it’s exactly how I feel. Sure, you get a paycheck and a “comfortable” life, but what kind of life is it if you can’t even be yourself?

The Comfort Trap

I don’t want to be average. I’ve dreaded being average my whole life. Never fitting in with the exceptionally brilliant crowd, but knowing deep down that I’m not cut out for the cookie-cutter life either—the job, the family, the house in the suburbs.

I’ve always wanted to go against the grain, to embrace my entrepreneurial side. And it’s more than just a corporate identity with my name stamped on it. I want the creative, messy, authentic, and beautifully chaotic life that leads to something new—something the world hasn’t seen before.

Maybe it’s a book. Maybe it’s a way of thinking. Whatever it is, I want to give something to the world that matters—something that changes how people see the future, or even the present. I want to be a changemaker, someone who works on something bigger than myself. Not dragged into the boring corporate grind full of drama and meaningless arguments about things that won’t matter in five years.

Because the truth is, that world doesn’t want people like me. It’s too busy playing the same tired game—one where everyone fights for power and influence, and no one has enough room to breathe, let alone create.

When Passion Meets a Dead End

I’ve put my heart and soul into work before. I’ve given it everything—my passion, curiosity, ideas—and for what? It doesn’t recognize that kind of effort. It’s comfortable being mediocre, staying in its lane, and keeping things exactly as they are.

I even went as far as using my master’s thesis to try to reshape the organization I was working for at the time. I poured hours into research and strategy, developing ideas to help the company grow and thrive. It wasn’t just about getting a degree—it was about creating something meaningful. But no one cared.

And it wasn’t just there. Over and over, I’ve shown up to interviews with detailed plans for change, innovative ideas for the future, and genuine excitement about what could be. But they didn’t want it. They wanted someone to stay in their lane, to keep the status quo intact.

It made me feel like I didn’t belong. Like I wasn’t good enough.

Crawling Out of the Pit

That rejection did a number on me. It made me question everything—my worth, my ideas, my future. It made me believe that passion, curiosity, and hard work meant nothing.

But maybe it wasn’t about me. Maybe it was about the world I was trying to fit into. A world that’s cold, political, and stuck in its ways.

Even now, I find myself crawling back to it. Thinking, This time will be different. But it never is. It’s the same pasture, just a different farm. The same drama, the same chaos, the same soul-sucking grind.

Choosing My Own Path

I’m done letting that world pull me back. I can’t keep giving it the best parts of myself only to have them crushed or ignored.

I need to make time for me. For the path I’ve always known I should be on—the one where I can write, read, and explore who I really am. Where I can show the world something real and maybe even spark a little change.

It won’t be easy. It’ll take discipline and boundaries. It’ll mean saying no to all the practical, logical distractions that try to drag me back into the mold.

Maybe it’s a midlife crisis. Maybe I just took the wrong path from the start and I’m finally waking up to it. Whatever this is, I know one thing: I’m on a new road now.

And for once, I’m staying on it. No more detours. This time, I’m doing it for me.

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.

Encounters Beyond the Known

Haunted Thoughts

As Halloween approaches, I find myself thinking more about ghosts and hauntings—two things that have always fascinated me. I’ve watched the ghost hunter TV shows, and I’ve even met people who swear they’re real. Though I haven’t experienced a ghost myself, I’ve had moments where odd happenings made me question things. Moments where I wondered if what I was experiencing was a part of this life or another.

It’s strange to think there could be a world beyond the one we know. Religion tells us about an afterlife, but I feel there’s so much more—a complexity we can’t fully comprehend. Maybe there are different dimensions that we can’t see or feel unless we have a psychic sensitivity. And it’s likely more intricate than a simple heaven and hell. We humans categorize and classify things to make sense of them, but what if none of it makes sense in the way we understand?

There’s no math to compute these unknown worlds, so why should our language or reasoning be able to explain them? That’s why I feel we need to be open to a broader understanding of our existence—one that mixes science and all religions. I believe that within this all-encompassing view, there are patterns, similarities, and peculiar nuances that can guide and explain, but never tell us the full story. The story remains unfinished, incomplete, beyond anything we know.

Encounters of a Different Kind

One of my strangest experiences came through an ex-boyfriend. He once shared how, after experimenting with a Ouija board with friends, he started experiencing bizarre incidents involving a ghost that seemed to try to choke him and his parents at night. A priest eventually had to bless the house to make it go away. He never wanted to discuss it, and when I tried to get him to open up one night, he became visibly uncomfortable. Just then, we heard a loud bang on the ceiling of our apartment. It was strange because our apartment was made of concrete—we rarely heard our neighbors. We never spoke of it again, but I still feel it was tied to some sort of energy from his past. I’ll never know for sure.

A Guiding Presence

There was also a time in my life when I felt truly lost—alone, struggling to find my way. I was dealing with a breakup, jobless after college, and living at home. During this dark period, I had the most vivid dream: I was driving down a pothole-filled road, somehow avoiding each one. In that moment, I felt my Grandma’s presence wrap around me—she’d passed away over a decade before. She whispered that she would guide me, help me find my way, and catch me if I fell. I woke up in tears, feeling as if she’d really been there with me.

Not long after, things began to turn around. I found an internship, moved to a new city, and slowly began building a life. Sure, there were more potholes along the way, but I made it through. And perhaps, just perhaps, my Grandma was there helping me the entire time. I’d like to believe that.

Messages from Beyond

The most recent experience happened within the last ten years, shortly after Nic’s maternal grandma passed away. I struggled to sleep, feeling guilt and sadness. I regretted not being there with her in her final moments. We’d visited two days before she passed, but when I suggested staying with her, Nic resisted. He was afraid, not wanting his last memory of her to be her death. I understood, but I couldn’t shake the guilt of not supporting his mom at that moment.

One night, as I lay in bed, a voice—somehow both mine and not mine—spoke out loud: “It was not your place.” I repeated it, and I knew immediately what it meant. It was his Grandma, telling me that being at her bedside was not my place. It was a moment for her daughter and son. Though a trace of guilt lingered, I felt more at peace. I knew it was okay that I hadn’t been there.

Then, a couple of nights later, Nic and I both had the same dream. We saw his Grandpa sitting in his chair, with Grandma standing over him, watching. It felt like a message, a reminder that his Grandma was still present, somehow.

Beyond the Shadows

These aren’t typical ghost stories. They’re subtle, personal, and perhaps all in my head. Humans, after all, try to use logic to explain what can’t be explained. But I believe these experiences are glimpses of something beyond, something spiritual that connects us to those we love, even after they’re gone. I may never feel their presence this strongly again, but I believe they’re still there. I believe Grandma watches over Nic’s grandpa. I believe my Grandma guided me when I needed her most.

I believe in ghosts. There, I said it.