Welcome to Adulthood

Lessons that neither a college degree nor a first job can teach.

My dad was my number 1 fan, and I was his. My mom would probably take offense if she heard that statement, but she couldn’t deny that I was the epitome of a daddy’s girl and I had him wrapped around my finger since that fateful Valentine’s Day I entered this world.

18 years later, armed with an Economics degree and a dismally-paying non-profit job, my dad and I took a trip to South Beach Miami where I would be working to scope out an acceptable place for me to live. I soon realized that pepto-colored bath tiles, a shared outdoor laundry facility, and the kind of “open concept” listing that meant your bedroom and living room were one and the same were small prices to pay to live on Lincoln Road.

That, and at a mere $700 per month (in 2009 dollars), it was one of the only places I could afford. Lincoln Road is a one-mile stretch between the beach and the bay predominated by a pedestrian mall of stores, restaurants, art galleries, churches, bars, and cafes, including 3 Starbucks within as many blocks.

It seemed like adulthood was going to be a paid version of my college experience, but a couple days into my big girl role, I realized the position was much less managerial than was originally portrayed in my interviews and much more feet-on-the-ground canvassing for donations from strangers at the peak of a recession.

I had knots in my stomach when I called my dad a few weeks after the move to let him know how it was going. Then, like waving a magic wand, he made it all better by telling me “life is too short to be that miserable over a job.” The next day, I quit. With his blessing and my resume in hand, I walked up one side of Lincoln Road and down the other, applying to every restaurant along the way. The next day, I was serving tourists sushi with more flexible hours, better pay, and a 5-minute walk to work.

It was fun, but I felt like a failure due to the fact that I had just graduated magna cum laude and moved 14 hours away from family to serve curry and mojitos. Only in hindsight could I realize that it was exactly what I needed. My dad took his life just a month later. The time spent with him exploring the city and looking for an apartment, the phone calls home to discuss my future, and the lessons learned about what to value in my career and in my life before I would no longer have him to turn to were what that first crack at adulthood were really all about.