Do Hard Things.

About four years ago, you could've asked me what I was good at, and I would've stared at you blankly while I thought long and hard about my skill-set and silently panicked. You could've asked me what I was passionate about, and I probably would've told you Gossip Girl. It wasn't that I had a serious lack of passion or sense of self... I simply- wasn't quite there yet. I was still figuring it all out.

At the time, I was a psychology major drowning in my science classes, barely passing neuroscience. I didn't know how I would ever pass my collegiate-level chemistry and biology classes. I thought I wanted to be a nurse or work with children somehow, but nothing really made perfect sense. When I finished my first semester at Baylor with a 2.2 GPA, it didn't take me (or my mother) very long to figure out I was headed in the wrong direction. Sorry mom.

When I was in 7th grade, I watched this MTV reality show (Miss Seventeen) for like three months straight. It was about these teenaged girls who were competing for a chance at an internship with Seventeen Magazine under Seventeen's editor-in-chief, Atoosa Rubenstein. I loved it. I wanted to be Atoosa; she was fabulous. And from then on, I just knew I wanted to move to NYC to study at NYU and become a writer. After all, I'd been writing stories in notebooks and in diaries since I was old enough to hold a pencil. And before I could spell, I wrote picture books with crayons and map pencils. I knew it was the perfect career for me.

Somewhere down the road, that became a distant thought that my 13-year-old mind had only made up. More of a highly-unlikely fantasy than anything. When I was 16, I decided I would become a doctor or a nurse, because 'those sort of careers have job security' and that's what everyone else seemed to want to do.

So that brings us full circle- back to a confused, clueless and unfocused sophomore in college who didn't believe she was much good at anything; simply because she wasn't stellar in neuroscience. Drama.

As a super-senior in college heading into my victory lap semester, having finally found my way into public relations and marketing, I sent an email to an email address I wasn't even positive existed - to a company I was pretty sure would write me off. I blindly sent a cover letter and my resume to someone I'd never met, and hoped they'd somehow give me an internship. I didn't have anything else lined up, and graduation was sneaking up fast.

Spoiler alert: they hired me. I'll never be sure why or how exactly I managed to swing that, but they did. And I worked four days a week for a total of about 20 hours weekly - on top of my part-time gig at a food bank, and taking 17 hours of classes.

One of the most important things I learned during my time as an intern was the value in hard work. I learned pretty quickly just how much managers appreciate employees who are simply willing to do the job they're hired to do, and do it excellently. I learned how growing companies will freely hand you more responsibility if you'll just take initiative and try.

My manager, Alissa, hired me to work full time as a sales associate in the retail side of our business after graduation. I didn't have anything else lined up, and I wasn't really sure where Drew and I would land, so I took it. The pay was low and the work probably seemed menial to anyone else, but I took it and I was so thankful and appreciative for it.

I remember acquaintances from my classes at my graduation ceremony asking what my post-grad plan was, and getting an "Oh, selling home decor? Well that's interesting!" response after explaining my new position. It seemed like everyone was moving off to big cities to become accountants and law school students and teachers and even future lobbyists. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't sad. Like I said, I was grateful, and even proud of my new job; I was just confused about what God was doing and how he was working in my life.

Though I was content, I was at a loss when trying to figure out what my long term plan would be. So I put my nose to the grindstone and I swept floors. I stocked shelves. I smiled and chit-chatted with visitors from out of town. I worked every Saturday - open to close. I stamped bags and tied tags and swiped credit cards and pretended to have a clue about home decor. And I freaking loved it.

Long story short, I worked my tail end off, and was able to learn the store's product inside and out. I learned the business from the bottom. I learned how to interact with customers, and I learned the kind of questions they tend to ask. I learned everyone's names and I soaked up as much as I could about the store's style and aesthetic.

After a few months, I was transferred into the customer service department. I looked at this like a huge promotion, though I guess, technically, it was more of a lateral move. I was so stinkin' excited to answer those phones and emails. I learned how to communicate clearly. I learned responsibility, and how heavily customers leaned on me to have follow-through. I learned just how right the customer always is. I learned about myself; and that I'm actually pretty good with people.

I was trained and managed at the time by one of the very best teachers in our whole company, and he entrusted me with even more responsibility. And so I was able to take on social media and newsletter writing. And then some e-commerce. And finally marketing; where I am able to write content, assist with photo shoots, sit in on brainstorming and strategy meetings, and soak up every last bit of information anyone wants to teach me.

Listen; if ever it was unclear to me what God was doing in my life before, it only took about four months until it became perfectly clear how much He had to teach me. How much opportunity He had in store. I might roll my eyes and pretend to be mad about it- but I'm typically the first one to volunteer to do "the grunt work" -  because, heck, I learned most everything I know by volunteering to do what no one else wanted to.

When it comes right down to it,  people in the real world don't care about your talent and your impressive resume, friends. They care about your willingness to stay an extra hour, if needed. They care about the fact you swerved out of "your lane" without complaint to get the job done. They care that you're willing to start as an intern and work your way up the old fashioned way.

Being where I am now, I could argue that I am sitting in my dream job, learning from a bunch of creative geniuses. Good people, willing to work and willing to fail.

Being just one year out of graduation, I couldn't ask for anything more.

If I could hop back to seventh grade, I'd tell myself to keep dreaming. It's okay to not want to be a doctor or a lawyer. It's okay to dream a little bit differently than everyone else. But if you want to get there, you have to be willing to put in the hours and work for it. So how bad do you really want it tiny, overzealous, 13-year-old Kaylee?