I'm Twenty-Two and Interviewing

Sweaty palms: check. Flushed face: check. Stumble stuttering: check. The feeling of impending failure and living in your mom's basement: check. Yes, it's that time of year again.

I'm Twenty-Two and Interviewing.

It turns out, searching for a job is much more difficult than all of your college advisers lead you on to believe. We had the optimistic outlook of once we held a firm grasp on our completed higher education, then we would be granted the dream job that we had always yearned for, or at least thought we did.

It's during this time that we reflect on all of the things that we didn't accomplish in our four years of beer bongs, one-night stands, and part-time jobs. We reflect with a sense of hope that we're actually prepared for the future. Hell, we're all just hoping it's not as shitty as everyone who has shitty moods describes it.

We've concluded that if we can just ace that interview, then we're set. Then we don't have to interview for a decent amount of time. We can kick back in our mansion of a cubicle and rake in the $35k a year that we so rightfully deserve.

*Just a note: I use the term "we" as a collective grouping of lost individuals who are trying to find their place in the world. They even try to contribute to society a tiny bit.

I think this whole interviewing mindset is complete bullshit. Please don't excuse my profanity. You'll only waste your time. As the educated youth on the brink of adulthood, we owe it to ourselves to not limit our creative potential and a single interview. Yes, if you impress the suits with your candid smile and excessive volunteer hours then sure you'll get your name on a nameplate. Hell, you might even have your own phone number that people can reach you at. Don't even get me started on business cards. Just don't. Kudos to you kid.

The point I'm trying to nail here is, don't believe that once you land that job that your work is done. Sure, you have to meet the responsibilities required of you for your position. However, you still have to meet the responsibilities of your creative potential. Punch those numbers. Type up those reports. Guzzle that coffee. Make that sale. Your "work" is done, but you're not.

The real work here is yourself. You may have won over a firing squad of interviews. You may have the job. There's still one last interview left. You have to interview yourself. You must interview yourself every damn day. You must ask yourself all of the dirty, yet important questions that you're afraid to ask. Those include:

• Am I happy?
• Is this what I want to do for the next 50 years?
• Am I devoting enough time to myself?
• Am I overworking myself?
• When was the last time I got laid?

Most importantly:

• What else could I be doing that would make me and others happy?

These are just a few questions that you should be asking yourself. I could think of a million others, but those are for you intellectuals to figure out. 

Do yourself a favor. Interview yourself. Get interviewed by yourself. You're your most critical judge. Don't fluff your answers. Get gritty. Get raw. Get real. Get your shit together. 

I have an interview this week for a producing job. My first interview straight out of film school. Wish this guy luck. Muchos Gracias.

So here it is, I'm Twenty-Two and Interviewing.

Peace and Blessins,

Rev Out

I'm Twenty-Two and Buying Cheap Beer

The theory is as you get older you're able to by more lavish things. Some things that come to mind are designer brand hand soap, $12 sandwiches, or my favorite one, expensive craft beer. This ability to afford these luxuries satisfies a notion that we're moving up in the world. We believe that if we can march into a soap store, walk right past the free 1 oz. sample soaps that we've so naturally grown fond of in our dime scraping days, and we reach for the top-shelf quality soap. We grab it, throw it down on the cashier's counter, and slide that shiny piece of plastic. BAM! We just bought lavish soap. Give us a pat on the back. we deserve it.

Now, I wish I knew this feeling and could prove this theory true. I'm years older, and can't afford these luxuries. I'm a rent payment away from being piss-poor broke. I don't feel down on myself at all. I'm actually happy to afford the "cheap" luxuries, if you will. I don't know about you readers out there, but I got the most unbelievable satisfying feeling the other day. I bought a 30-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon at a local wholesale beer store. 

I'm Twenty-Two and Buying Cheap Beer

Euphoric. That describes my mood pertaining to popping the top on that first PBR after it was chill enough to drink. Not only did it satisfy my craving for beer and my budget requirements, but it solidified my new residence in this great city. This allowed me an outlet to drink my all time favorite beer. However, it also allowed me an outlet to share my old home with my new home. PBR was my beer of choice in college. It was mostly due to the low cost of it, but there is a certain appeal to drink this beer that you will always associate with your growing up in college.

You're on the brink of adulthood in college. This is when you shed your innocence, and emerge an independently dependable adult. You may want this innocence back one day. Actually, you will want it back. No questions asked. Usually, this feeling is triggered by a conversation with an old friend or participating in an activity. The unfortunate reality is that people tend to dwell on this feeling. They dwell so intensely that they engage in honest efforts to reacquire these minor moments of youthful euphoria. Obviously, this is the ultimate subjection to nostalgic quicksand.

I was a perpetrator of this condition. I was, until I read a little line from Mr. F. Scott Fitzgerald. In his American classic, This Side of Paradise, he comes to a realization towards the end of the novel regarding the letting go of his past. He goes on to say, "I don't want to repeat my innocence, I want the pleasure of losing it all over again." As much as I enjoyed my youthful ignorance of the world, I've acquired a profound respect for the wisdom that I have developed over my twenty-two years of existence. I've wise enough to realize I love losing my innocence and ignorance. I adore the learning process, or so I've learned. 

So yes, you've been exposed to my profound insights on growing the hell up. I enjoy it. Of course, there are times where I wish time would slow down so I could enjoy it a little more. It's times like this when I make my way to the heralded treasure chest of a refrigerator. I reach for the handle with the excitement of a child opening birthday presents. Just like that child, I have a great idea of what this package holds. For the child, it holds a childhood relic that they will always hold dear to their adolescent heart. For me, it holds the vessel that I will travel upon towards a past soaked in juvenile ambition and glorious immaturity. 

As I pop that can and throw back the liquid that I'm so familiar with, my taste buds come into contact with the shedding of innocence. This was such a triumphant time in my life that I continue the trend as I triumph over life's obstacles. I triumph over my the retention of my innocence. 

So here it is.

I'm Twenty-Two and Buying Cheap Beer.

Drink up all you cowboys and cowgirls.

Peace and blessins,
Rev Out

I'm Twenty-Two and Breaking In

I'm Twenty-Two and Breaking In a new life.

It's been 7 days since I stepped off the ship of past memories, and walked on the firm ground of a promising future in a brand new city that is by no means brand new. Philadelphia is America's city. The nation's first capital. Also, some important piece of paper was written here, and signed by all of these important people. Important.

Like an immigrant from a far away galaxy of a different land, I arrived with dreams, no papers (haven't received my college degree in the mail yet), and an insane abundance of adventurous spirit. That's what propelled my decision making to the great state of PA. Sure, I was running away from a place that suffocated me and limited my creative endeavors. Instead, of deeming it running away, I've deemed it running to what I will soon know. Maybe this will be the worst decision of my life. Maybe it'll be the most intelligent decision. Maybe it'll prove that the faith I've had in myself was pure. Maybe, just maybe I'll prove myself right. Prove myself right, that I'm worth a hell of a lot good conversations and even better fortune.

With all that being said, I'm breaking in a new city. I have so many sights to see and experience. Still haven't indulged in a Phamous Philly Cheesesteak. Still haven't seen Independence Hall. Even haven't climbed the Rocky Steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. However, I'm breaking in the culture. It's definitely a shock compared to that of Orlando, FL. There, everyone is passing by while on vacation. Here, people stay. They stay because they live here, and enjoy it. They enjoy the phreedom of food choices. They enjoy the phreedom of accessible forms of entertainment. To sum it all up: Phreedom.

However, come to think about it; Maybe I don't have as much say here as I thought. I actually don't believe I'm breaking in this city. It's not a new pair of running shoes or a new ball mitt. Philadelphia has been broken in for a long time. It is what it is because of the great people that helped construct it that way. It already knows what it is. That's such a pleasure to realize that, because even though I've lived here for a week, I already feel welcome here. Don't mind the crime, drugs, and homeless people here. Truly is the city of brotherly love. I was welcomed the first day I arrived.

Here it is: While I as Twenty-Two and Breaking In, Philadelphia naturally decided to break me in.

I'm Twenty-Two and Being Broken In.

Peace and Blessins,
Rev Out

I'm Twenty-Two and Making Friends

I'm Twenty-Two and Making Friends...Kinda

I've had great friends for the past four years in Florida. Yes, I had to make them, but instead of really going way out of my way to make their acquaintance; we naturally fell into each others' lives. One day I didn't know them, and then the next, they're my best friends. Now, I'm sure that the reality of that process spanned for more than 24 hours, but it all happened so quickly. It happened so quickly that I didn't take the opportunity to slow down and take notes on exactly what steps I took to effectively carry out this process. Major mistake on my part.

After 5 days of living in Philly, I would offer my soul up to the friend gods in hopes of acquiring those treasured techniques that would grant me friends that actually like me. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm no lonely. I keep in touch with my friends back home, and I have one of my best friends as my roommate. I'm blessed to have those people in my life. I really am.

I've thrown myself into the film community here and already jumped on to a project. I've met the people and they're unbelievable nice and conversational. I've already made connections with fellow baristas at my Starbucks that I work at. This is simple for me because these are environments that I come into my own. I'm confident in what I'm saying. Simply put, I am able to talk to people and not sound stupid.

With all of that being said, I'm eager to meet people who don't just make coffee and make movies. I'm eager to meet those who just want to grab a cup of coffee or "hangout" for the hell of it. I'm sure there are those out there. If any of those are out there and live within a 2 mile radius of Center City, Philadelphia, PA then please come find me. I give great hugs, I tell corny jokes, I have a decent beard, and I'm hoards of fun to be around.

I guess it's time to strap on the overalls, and go out into the world. Today I'm learning to ride the subway....Mom if I don't come back, I just want you to know, that the money you gave me to buy "groceries" back in college was spent on copious amounts of alcohol. I don't regret that decision at all. Just wanted to deliver to you some peace of mind.

So here I am.

I'm Twenty-Two and Making Friends.

Peace and Blessins,
Rev Out

I'm Twenty-Two and Walking

It's obvious from my last post that since I was packing up to leave that I would eventually need to unpack at my new destination. Of course, I skipped that. That fluff just takes up unnecessary space. You're welcome. So here I am:

I'm Twenty-Two and Walking.

Walking is a past-time for the inhabitants of Philly. You mention the word cars or parking and their blood pressure geysers exponentially. That was my first lesson when I rolled up here in my one-of-a-kind, too cool for school  white 1999 Dodge Grand Caravan, and I can't forget to mention that I'm missing a hubcap. My cool points add up quicker than Gryffindor's at the end The Sorcerer's Stone. As cool as that hot rod is, looks like he'll have to hang up his V4 engine for retirement. Why would I retire such an incredible lady magnet that's equal parts sexy beast? I'm walking. That's why.

I'm never one to turn my nose up to exercise. Having exercise as my primary form of transportation is what caught me looking like a deer in the headlights. I completely understood as I emerged, from the bumper-to-bumper hell of I-95, into another world on the streets of Philadelphia. EVERYONE WALKS EVERYWHERE! Even in the middle of the street...when my car is headed full speed across an intersection.

During my most recent 48 hour excursions of walking in the city I've come to cherish a natural ability that I typically take for granted. Whilst, yep I said whilst. It's fun to say. Even more fun to read the word whilst. Whilst gleefully marching towards my job at the Starbucks downtown, I pass by so much history. When I walk back the history hasn't left me. I could go on and on about what I see, but I haven't seen enough yet! I guess I'll just keep walking. 

This walking instills in me an entitlement to my own feet. Before, I was entitled to my car. I could go anywhere that I wanted or needed to. That was my safe haven from the annoyances and tribulations of the world. Now, I have these reborn fascination with my feet. No, not a fetish. Get your mind out of the gutter. I have a fascination with everything that they're capable of. They can walk miles. They can walk in rain, snow, and fire. Even better. They can walk.

I get to where I'm going. I plan where I want to go based on my feet's capabilities. I feel as if I haven't tendered to their wants and needs these past few years in college. They deserve some much needed TLC. I think I might take a walk to ponder how I could care for them a little better. Soon enough, they'll have proper protection (shoes) from Mother Nature's harsh seasons.

“But the beauty is in the walking -- we are betrayed by destinations.” 
― Gwyn Thomas

www.Goodreads.com

You've read it now...I hope.

I'm Twenty-Two and Walking.

Peace and Blessins,

Rev Out

I'm Twenty-Two and Packing Up

I'm twenty-two. That ripe age where "What the fuck am I doing?" and "Where the hell am I going?" run intense parallels next to each other. It's the age that surfaces the realization that you're not 21, yet quickly approaching that iceberg of 30 right before your life splits in half and succumbs to the frigid temperatures of the ocean. That's twenty-two for the unprepared, unmotivated, and unfulfilled.

I'm twenty-two and packing up. I'm packing up my tangible possessions and rocketing up north to Philadelphia, PA in a blaze of aspiration and uncertainty. I couldn't be more excited. I've been treading in a state of panic all summer as D-Day (Departure-Day) was inevitable. There was never a doubt of my going. There was always a doubt of my mishandling of myself. Not the typical financial or survival mishandling worries that plague many a sleepless night. No, mine was the mishandling of who this crazy kid thought he was starting fresh in a city he's never been to. He's never even visited on vacation or fathomed the possibility of setting up camp in the city of Brotherly Love. He was the most ambitious, yet dumbest kid that could have ever existed.

He didn't have a stable career yet. He had a metric-shit ton of of impending doom of student loans. He had nothing. Then I realized that I have everything.

I have family. I have ambitions. I have intelligence. I have laughter. I have family. I have friends. I have faith. I have God. I have freedom. I have a mini-van. I, Kyle, have Philadelphia right where I want it. I have it as my next destination on a road that is yet to be unpaved, yet full of potential. I have it in my mind. I have it on paper. I have it in my heart. I have Philadelphia.

Yes, I know that this is profound and preachy, but I honestly couldn't give two shits. I make mistakes, and I'm geared for some more that lay in my path. So here I am. I'm packing up my comfort zone. It's all set to go. It has a postage stamp marked for PA. It has a destination.

So, again, here I am. I'm twenty-two and packing up.

Peace and Blessins,
Rev Out