Being on the job hunt was a stressful pursuit. I applied to advertising agencies all across the country (Boston, New York, LA, Phoenix and Salt Lake) and received little to no good news. I blamed my lack of success on my less-than-prestigious work experience and the fact that the economy is a total bummer for people in my industry. But all blame and bitterness aside, I stuck it out and luckily landed a (probationary) job at ThomasARTS. Halelujah for employmnet.
While I am sincerely grateful to have a job, I've been slightly skeptical of having to move to northern Utah. As a BYU student, I had heard all the wise cracks about "Utahns" and what an "adventure" it can be to settle in the beehive state. And the jokes only got more outrageous as people discussed towns and cities farther outside Utah Valley and Salt Lake County. With that said, you can hopefully understand why my stomach sunk a little as I considered the fact that in order to save the most money possible during my temporary employment, I'd have to uproot out of good 'ole P-town and move into my parents' summer home located in a teeny tiny town within a close radius of my office. I realize I don't have to live there, but doing so is the most practical solution.
But that's life, right? People move all the time to accommodate their work situations. So I can't complain too profusely (Ok, Katie. Let's get real: you have a job. IN YOUR CHOSEN INDUSTRY. You shouldn't be complaining at all).
But, dear friends, I have a preconceived notion about living in a small town I just can't seem to shake. Especially little towns with population 300. Perhaps you can help.
You see, I've always been under the impression that if I moved to a small town, I'd eventually sink into a slow-paced lifestyle and whatever intellect, dreams and ambitions I had would mysteriously melt away. Before I knew it, I'd be completely content with having only one convenience store as the center of town; and the idea of having only two or three neighbors on my street would seem normal.
It's not that such a lifestyle is bad. It's just a stark contrast to the congested atmospheres I pictured myself living in post college.
Fortunately, I've had an experience in the past week that has humbled my snobby city paradigm.
On Tuesday I was running really late to work, and having a 75-minute commute one way makes late days all the more stressful. Little did I know, my back right tire was slowly but steadily deflating. Out of shear blessing, I was still able to make it to work at a decent time. But upon arriving I was informed my tire needed serious help. What to do? (BTW, one of my biggest pet peeves in all the world is an unexpected car expense. They suck the life right out of my savings).
I talked to my management team about the dilemma and they offered to help put the spare tire on after work that day. I was grateful for their kindness.
But anyone who knows me realizes that if I'm stuck, I WILL get myself out of a sticky situation and fast. I didn't want to wait until 6 p.m. to roll around--especially since I had to be back in Provo by 6:30 that evening. So instead, I assessed my situation, made a decision, sought validation from the front desk secretary and decided to ever so slowly roll my car up the street to a local repair shop. Of course, I called ahead of time to make sure they had availability and resources to fix a flat tire.
I was nervous as I started my car and eeked my way out of the ThomasARTS parking lot. All the while I kept praying out loud, "Please little tire make it to the repair shop. Just one mile. That's all you have to go."
I made it to the main stop sign, and then continued to make progress as I drove through Main Street a little more north to where my destination was supposed to be located.
I unleashed buckets of relief once I found the repair shop. Granted, it looked super shady as I walked up to a wooden shed and opened a creaking wooden door. I was greated by a man with grease on his glasses and all over his hands who said he couldn't fix my car because he had to go to the chiropractor "And I'm not gonna miss my appointment!"
Great, I thought. I have to sit in this musty old shed while I wait for Bob* to get his back cracked. I felt discouraged, and unsure of what to do.Should I try to roll my car back to the office with the weight of knowing I had just wasted 20 minutes of precious time? Maybe I should wait until Bob gets back. Or should I just sit in my car and cry until a feel more composed to handle the stress from everything?
That's when Mr. Haugen showed up. He was kind looking man with a blonde gotee and quiet voice. He asked me what the problem was and I explained the state of my flattening tire.
"No problem," he said. "Give me your keys and we'll get that fixed right away."
Within ten minutes time I had a freshly pumped up tire, a secure vehicle and my keys back in hand. All for the cost of no dollars.
I felt rescued. Saved. Even glad.
When I handed Mr. Haugen my credit card he told me not to worry about it. "Just be sure to take good car of your wheel and watch it closely." Those were his final words of advice.
Maybe it's normal for car dealerships to perform such service for free, but I was sincerely touched. I'd been suffering from chronic stress already with all the changes happening in my life, and this act of charity was a good reminder that there are great people no matter where you are in the world. People who want to help, to give service, to share the love. I would classify it as one of those pin-prick moments when you're reminded that God is very close by, in both the good and tough times.
And as long as I'm listing lessons learned, I should admit I was also reminded of the fact that being dramatic only makes life happenstances all the more stressful to deal with. (Give me a break people: I lived a relatively sheltered life.)
I hope that's a lesson most girls my age have to learn. I'd hate to be the only twenty something year old who has to learn that flat tires aren't the end of the world and that you don't always get what you want in life. But in the end, you're blessed with experiences that refine you. What could be more beneficial than receiving what's best for you?
Thanks, Mr. Haugen. You taught me a valuable lesson this week. Maybe living in a teeny tiny Utah town won't be so awful after all.
*name changed for safety precautions
While I am sincerely grateful to have a job, I've been slightly skeptical of having to move to northern Utah. As a BYU student, I had heard all the wise cracks about "Utahns" and what an "adventure" it can be to settle in the beehive state. And the jokes only got more outrageous as people discussed towns and cities farther outside Utah Valley and Salt Lake County. With that said, you can hopefully understand why my stomach sunk a little as I considered the fact that in order to save the most money possible during my temporary employment, I'd have to uproot out of good 'ole P-town and move into my parents' summer home located in a teeny tiny town within a close radius of my office. I realize I don't have to live there, but doing so is the most practical solution.
But that's life, right? People move all the time to accommodate their work situations. So I can't complain too profusely (Ok, Katie. Let's get real: you have a job. IN YOUR CHOSEN INDUSTRY. You shouldn't be complaining at all).
But, dear friends, I have a preconceived notion about living in a small town I just can't seem to shake. Especially little towns with population 300. Perhaps you can help.
You see, I've always been under the impression that if I moved to a small town, I'd eventually sink into a slow-paced lifestyle and whatever intellect, dreams and ambitions I had would mysteriously melt away. Before I knew it, I'd be completely content with having only one convenience store as the center of town; and the idea of having only two or three neighbors on my street would seem normal.
It's not that such a lifestyle is bad. It's just a stark contrast to the congested atmospheres I pictured myself living in post college.
Fortunately, I've had an experience in the past week that has humbled my snobby city paradigm.
On Tuesday I was running really late to work, and having a 75-minute commute one way makes late days all the more stressful. Little did I know, my back right tire was slowly but steadily deflating. Out of shear blessing, I was still able to make it to work at a decent time. But upon arriving I was informed my tire needed serious help. What to do? (BTW, one of my biggest pet peeves in all the world is an unexpected car expense. They suck the life right out of my savings).
I talked to my management team about the dilemma and they offered to help put the spare tire on after work that day. I was grateful for their kindness.
But anyone who knows me realizes that if I'm stuck, I WILL get myself out of a sticky situation and fast. I didn't want to wait until 6 p.m. to roll around--especially since I had to be back in Provo by 6:30 that evening. So instead, I assessed my situation, made a decision, sought validation from the front desk secretary and decided to ever so slowly roll my car up the street to a local repair shop. Of course, I called ahead of time to make sure they had availability and resources to fix a flat tire.
I was nervous as I started my car and eeked my way out of the ThomasARTS parking lot. All the while I kept praying out loud, "Please little tire make it to the repair shop. Just one mile. That's all you have to go."
I made it to the main stop sign, and then continued to make progress as I drove through Main Street a little more north to where my destination was supposed to be located.
I unleashed buckets of relief once I found the repair shop. Granted, it looked super shady as I walked up to a wooden shed and opened a creaking wooden door. I was greated by a man with grease on his glasses and all over his hands who said he couldn't fix my car because he had to go to the chiropractor "And I'm not gonna miss my appointment!"
Great, I thought. I have to sit in this musty old shed while I wait for Bob* to get his back cracked. I felt discouraged, and unsure of what to do.Should I try to roll my car back to the office with the weight of knowing I had just wasted 20 minutes of precious time? Maybe I should wait until Bob gets back. Or should I just sit in my car and cry until a feel more composed to handle the stress from everything?
That's when Mr. Haugen showed up. He was kind looking man with a blonde gotee and quiet voice. He asked me what the problem was and I explained the state of my flattening tire.
"No problem," he said. "Give me your keys and we'll get that fixed right away."
Within ten minutes time I had a freshly pumped up tire, a secure vehicle and my keys back in hand. All for the cost of no dollars.
I felt rescued. Saved. Even glad.
When I handed Mr. Haugen my credit card he told me not to worry about it. "Just be sure to take good car of your wheel and watch it closely." Those were his final words of advice.
Maybe it's normal for car dealerships to perform such service for free, but I was sincerely touched. I'd been suffering from chronic stress already with all the changes happening in my life, and this act of charity was a good reminder that there are great people no matter where you are in the world. People who want to help, to give service, to share the love. I would classify it as one of those pin-prick moments when you're reminded that God is very close by, in both the good and tough times.
And as long as I'm listing lessons learned, I should admit I was also reminded of the fact that being dramatic only makes life happenstances all the more stressful to deal with. (Give me a break people: I lived a relatively sheltered life.)
I hope that's a lesson most girls my age have to learn. I'd hate to be the only twenty something year old who has to learn that flat tires aren't the end of the world and that you don't always get what you want in life. But in the end, you're blessed with experiences that refine you. What could be more beneficial than receiving what's best for you?
Thanks, Mr. Haugen. You taught me a valuable lesson this week. Maybe living in a teeny tiny Utah town won't be so awful after all.
*name changed for safety precautions
You should be listening to James Taylor's "Carolina in My Mind"
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