Paycut, Happiness Raise

I have a job I do not like

It bores my soul to tears,

But I’ve been hired to ride a bike

So let’s all let out some cheers! 

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Today marks my fourth to last day at my first post-graduation job. Upon graduating last December, I  had just spent months as a Recreation Therapy Intern at an acute psychiatric hospital. It had been an amazing experience, full of an interesting array of highs and lows. The patients there are incredible individuals, who were mostly an absolute joy to know. There were some openings for full-time positions that would have allowed me to go right into the field that I had spent four years studying, which was perfect timing. You really can't ask for a better deal when graduating. But as I considered applying, I balked. I just didn't feel like it was what I wanted to do.

So what did I want to do?

Jackson and I had been married for less than two weeks, so I wanted to be able to provide for us.
I wanted to feel safe and secure in the workplace (something that wasn't always guaranteed at my internship).
We also wanted a set schedule that would allow us to see each other in the evenings when Jackson was out of class.
Most of all, I wanted job security, even if I wasn't passionate about the position.

That is why I have been so grateful that I landed the job that according to my poem, "I do not like". It's at a company that creates educational computer software for children. I sit at a desk with multiple computer monitors for eight hours a day, creating quotes, contracts, and reports. It is a bludgeonly (not a real word, but "bludgeon" was the only accurate description) boring, even to the point of literal tears (as Jackson can attest to). However, when the dull monotony would begin to sink into my bones I would remind myself, "look at your list of requirements for a job! This is what you wanted! Be grateful!"

Again. My heart is full of gratitude that I was able to get a job that provided us with our specific needs at that time. I think I needed to box myself in a cage to truly understand what I wanted to do with my life. A couple of months ago, after an especially long and unfulfilling day, I ran across this quote by T.D. Jakes, "if you can't figure out your purpose, figure out your passion. For your passion will lead you right into your purpose."

And right now, my passion has everything to do with bikes.

Photos from me and Jackson's "mock bridals", taken by DIOSELYN CRUZ!!!!!

Identifying one of my most joyous passions allowed me to envision the possibility of letting that become my purpose. This led me to start thinking about the possibility of somehow working in the biking industry. Jackson and I actually fasted and prayed that I would be given a chance to chase this somewhat ambiguous dream.

Fast forward about TWO DAYS later and an opportunity to be Program Director for a youth mountain bike camp seemed to plop right into my lap, straight from the Bike Gods themselves. So yes! I am quitting my unbearably tedious desk job to force kids to bike in the blazing hot Utah sun! It may be a pay cut, but it is the biggest HAPPINESS RAISE I have ever received, a currency that seems to be the first to go in life decisions. As this position is a temporary one, I will have even more opportunities to explore who and what I want to be when I "grow up" once the summer ends. So all in all, very exciting and unknown things are ahead of us!

The program is a new one, so if you have kids in the Provo area who want to participate then let me know! It is through the Provo Bicycle Collective, a non-profit organization that wants everybody and their Great Uncle Norris to bike, especially those who might otherwise not have those kinds of opportunities (low socioeconomic status, children, etc.).

How wonderful it is to be able to do and be different things in this life. I wouldn't take back my experience of working at a boring desk job, because now I know I can do it if I need to. Feeling trapped inside a deathtrap every day made me more proactive in finding out how I could connect my passions with a career, as well as finding joy in the little things. (I'm looking at you, plants and daily running breaks during lunch). Wow. Life lessons learned. I am so wise, I am open for free career consultations.

Everybody chant with me! BIKES BIKES BIKES BIKES BIKES BIKES BIKES BIKES BIKEEEESSSSSSSS

Musings Of A Janitor

If you don't know that I am a janitor from 5 AM to 8 AM at the Tanner Building it is because you have lived in Nepal for the past 3 months or something. It has become apparent to me that I tell e v e r y b o d y about my job. Everyone. People who help me carry my bike up the stairs, cashiers, people in class... It seems to slide into all my conversations with people, not importing the original subject. I seem to wear it like a badge as if to pridefully say; I. DO. HARD. THINGS.

But if you haven't been a victim to my complain-a-brags, here goes.

I'm an early morning janitor.

Hahahahaha. Or I was, before I quit 4 days ago. Hallelujah!

And there are soooooo many things I've learned whilst you've been sleeping. Hang on my Pad Wan, this is learning time.

~ First, I learned that I am the type of person with the If-I- Can't-Sleep-Nobody-Can mentality. And because of this I always sent my friends and family members selfies of me taking out the trash with a urinal in the background.

~ The urinal pictures segue into another gem from my lifetime of knowledge... urinals are theeeeee most disgusting things ever. If my future husband asks if we can get one I will pee all over the floor and walls and say, "there. no need to get one now because I already fulfilled it's purpose." But really, the truth is that men have terrible aim and I refuse to clean one of those germ thrones again.

~ My Dad and I have the completely founded belief that we are the only truly sane people in the world. Exhibit A: My coworker who wouldn't come to work 60% of the time and the 40% of the time he was there would sing SHOW TUNES at the TOP OF HIS LUNGS at FIVE IN THE MORNING.
Exhibit B: Every person at work who liked to quote movies in Russian accents or start small talk long before the break of dawn.... NO. NO MORE COMMUNICATING, OKAY?

~ Something worse than Capital Punishment is vacuuming. As a child my beloved Father would make me vacuum over and over again until the lines on the carpet looked orderly. He also chased me around with the vacuum when I would be playing Barbies during clean-up time. Basically, the only real trauma I received as a child was the result of a vacuum. Why I would pick a job that involves doing it every day is beyond me.

I know this Let-Me-Tell-You-About-My-Job post just turned into a whiny complaining mess, but can we just observe all the chairs I had to vacuum under??? Imagine all those getting caught on the vacuum! The pain! The annoyance! The heart break!

~ Okay enough aggravating griping about all the things I didn't like. Honestly, my favorite task of the day was taking out the garbage. There was such a fulfilling aspect to it. Sometimes I would be on the verge of skipping work when I would sit up quickly in bed and think, "But the garbage! It will be overflowing onto the carpet and people will suffer! I must get up!" It was true. For some reason Business majors seem to eat an absurd amount of 5 dollar pizzas from Little Cesar's and the smothered burritos from The Blue Line. They may be rich one day but they'll have a buildup of MSG and clogged arteries as well.

~ Sad to say, but there were moments when I would come down with the Maid-In-Manhattan Syndrome. If you haven't seen Jennifer Lopez in that pivotal role, it's about a hotel maid who thinks she isn't good enough for a rich Senator guy. Sometimes I would actually feel inferior to the suit-clad men and pencil skirt wearing women who would come into the study rooms while I was cleaning the whiteboard and say, "ummmm.... excuse me? we reserved this room for a highly top secret and important presentation about stocks and robbing the common-man."Then I would be ushered out by their annoyed gazes and start thinking, "look at me. just a lowly janitor. what would it be like to be in the business school with sleek hair and briefcases?"

Then reality would set in. "GET OUT OF HERE MAID-IN-MANHATTAN SYNDROME! I actually am a student at the Business school! All my classes are in this building and they are not better than me." As my Dad once told me, "there is nothing undignified about working Alex. you should never be ashamed of contributing to society, however small it seems."

And if that little pep talk couldn't shake that false sense of inferiority I would remember finding this in the men's bathroom and know that at least I don't play basketball while pooping at school. Maid in Manhattan, indeed.

~One of the best parts of my job were the three hours I would have to listen to General Conference everyday. Coming back from a mission is a time of uncertainty and bouts of unexplainable sadness. I think it's like a mild version of PTSD, you feel displaced and confused. The time I had to wander the empty halls of the Tanner Building listening to the words of living Prophets and Apostles gave me comfort and guidance. It gave me hope for the future. It allowed me to dream up new dreams and to see the new role that God wanted me to take on in the world.

My oh my. I am so happy that I am no longer an early morning janitor. I get my full 8 hours of sleep required to be emotionally stable, I have energy to do everything I need to, and I feel so free! But I am so grateful for the things I learned and most of all I am glad that I CAN DO HARD THINGS, THANK YOU. May you never spit gum in the drinking fountain or look down on custodial workers, or draw on tables with pens.

The sign I basically worshipped as I passed it every morning. 

The Waterworks

This post is inspired by the above picture. It's a classic one. I'm 17, on the summit of Mount Hood.... and crying.

I cry so frequently that I have no shame in telling everyone. If there is one blatantly open cry-baby in this world, it is me. But according to Ed Sheeran, "It's alright to cry, even my Dad does sometimes. So don't wipe your eyes, tears remind you you're alive." THIS IS WHY I LOVE YOU ED. That, and your red hair and friendship with Taylor Swift and that music video where you ballroom dance.

So if Ed Sheeran says it's okay to cry. I accept.

As Of Late: Crying With Alex

• The time I went to get my Spanish paper edited by Fabian the flippin' Chileno. Man oh man. What a day. I just wanted Fabian to fix my grammar mistakes not delve into every tainted shadow of my soul! Quit it with the questions! But the tears began to change into sobs when Fabian stared at the bags under my eyes and asked, "when was the last time you slept? 2 weeks ago?" YES FABIAN. YES. I AM A JANITOR AND DON'T SLEEP. (But to his credit, Fabian did ask me on a pity date afterwards. Basically the worst day ever.) 
• Every morning when I have to be a janitor and pry gum off the carpet. Tangent: Why must people spit gum on the floors inside? Are we all heathens? This is the business school, people. Where is the so-called class? 
• Any kind of conflict. Send me back to prying off gum, but don't fight, I beg you. 
• I saw a video of a pig surfing on Instagram yesterday. *wipes away tears from belly laugh* The universe can blow up now.  
• We watched a video of someone giving birth today. At first I was like, "WOAH MAMMA! How is that thing going to get out?" And then I was crying? But let's be honest, childbirth is the most beautiful, spiritual thing ever. That baby was entering the world! A life had begun! It was breathtaking!  Says me, the perpetually single lady. 
• Perfume to the eyeballs. 
• That time when I went to the temple right when it was closing and realized I couldn't go in because I had forgotten my temple recommend. So I forlornly took pictures of the fountain and tried to think deep thoughts until I got too cold and went home and ate popcorn.
• GENERAL CONFERENCE. WATCH IT. click here!
• Not being able to eat sugar. At what point do I stop craving it? 1 more week.... 
• Any movie involving a dog dying. 
• Smacking my head on the bottom of my bed trying to reach the outlet so I can lie in bed and read other people's blogs...

Condensed version of the bullet points... I cry more than the average, 21 year old, independent woman. 

At least Ed understands me. 

Oh goose feathers. Please marry me so I can have 10 red-headed children that look just like you.

Don't Hire Me To Sand Your Floors

As someone who was always a victim of "That's what she said" jokes, I am a little stressed out about the title. Is this a sexual innuendo and I didn't know it? Will people snicker at my naivety?

Deep musings aside, let's talk about the past week in the Ostler household. My parents had the genius idea of starting one of their dreaded "projects". Nothing makes me want to scamper away in a panic like my parents mentioning a little "project" that needs to be done around the house. It's not that I don't like to work...but it is. I mean, it's all fine and dandy if you have a set shift and you're getting paid and you go home afterwards. But house-projects are the exact opposite. You never know when it will actually be done, you don't get paid, and you live in the construction zone. 

This past week we have been re-doing the hardwood floors in the kitchen. Such an asinine job. (10 points to Hufflepuff for using such a boss word.) I would say that we were definitely in over our heads and we were all unpleasantly surprised by how intensive the "project" actually was. At first everyone was like, "hey! it's like camping up in here! woohoo!" but it quickly turned into "i am going to die from inhaling all of these paint fumes and no one will care."

It also didn't help that I was downright awful at everything. It's important to not let go of the sander while it's on because it will grind a giant divot into the floor. I also sanded over my fingers, cried because my poison oak flared up from all the dust, spilled stain everywhere, taped the edges all wrong, and ate all the good snacks. But I am good for things like high self-esteem and comedic relief, so I do have some worth. 

A silent cry for help that was drowned out by the screaming of five giant sanders.

My suggestion? Hire someone.