I took a chance at being an adult and thought that finishing my MFA would grant a better life — or at least it would seem like it after being disillusioned for the first time. But I was wrong since the anxiety kicked in and I found myself in limbo the next six months after quitting my job.
The stress took its toll and I was in hell for a few weeks trying my best to look for a job that could make me pay my bills. The MFA was a costly excuse that I took a chance on just to put on my resume so I could impress my future employers. I wanted to tell them that I was a part of the system now. I wanted people to see I was worth something although the truth was being a writer meant having a practical portfolio with paragraphs and not poems in it.
So here I am, in the middle of a move, penniless and struggling with myself to make a makeshift portfolio full of copy.
They don’t teach you anything practical in school. You only have you, your niche, and the internet to give in to the hustle.