TMI

My favorite writers and bloggers are those who are transparent, genuine, and relatable — without desperately trying to be those things. I like people who can generally be self-deprecating and self-aware to a point where I’m like, “Yeah, you’re human, just like me. I appreciate you showing me that,” because most of the time, it’s a lot easier to hide behind a public, social media facade.

I think it exudes a certain amount of humility to lay it all out there, and humble is what I strive for, so I thought I’d offer up a few facts about yours truly today that aren’t common knowledge. This post might stem from the over-sharer in me — okay, fine, it definitely does (I once told a complete stranger in the line at Starbucks how I had just failed a Spanish test when he asked me how my day was… over-sharer problems) — but you know what? I want Freckles and Figs to be a place of raw honestly, so raw honesty is what you shall get.

(I know probably you didn’t sign up for any kind of raw anything by typing my website URL into your search browser, but stick with me and maybe you’ll like it around here? One can hope!)

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The Irony in Getting What You Want

Once upon a time, I interned at a magazine in its editorial department. It was my senior year in college, which I like to think was just yesterday but, in reality, was nearly three years ago, and I was pretty sure I was winning at everything in life. I interviewed fun entrepreneurs and interesting professionals, wrote several articles a week, and was certain I was the next Diane Sawyer (print edition).

I wanted to work for the magazine more than anywhere else after I graduated — so badly that I even applied for the receptionist position, which made about no money and obviously had nothing to do with journalism. From my whopping seven hours a week spent in the office, I was positive the people and atmosphere were everything I could ever dream of in a first job environment. (Clearly seven weekly hours is enough to tell something like that, right?…)

It all seemed ideal, except for this one girl.

She was a full-time employee, and I worked with her on a couple fact checking assignments. I knew her job vaguely revolved around fact checking and data analysis within the editorial department, and I can clearly remember watching her walk down a hall one day with a sullen look on her face, a norm, and thinking to myself, I would hate to have her job.

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