Ellie's Brain

1/13/24

“I’m so proud of you,” my high school friend, Bella, said through tears as they squeezed me tight and lifted me a few inches off the ground. I couldn’t help it; I cried a little too. 

I had just graduated college, one and a half years earlier than the rest of my class. This happened through pursuing what was, for me, a decidedly easy major (English), and loading up on 18-19 credits every semester. I told myself it would be worth it, and once I was done with school (no plans for graduate school here), there would be nothing holding me back from doing all the things I wanted. 

When I moved out of my beloved apartment for the final time, my roommate from freshman year helped me. We became roommates by a combination of chance and me forgetting to submit a roommate request for the girl I’d actually wanted to room with, but after one semester with Gwyn I would feel extremely thankful for making this mistake.

 As she hugged me goodbye, she looked at me accusingly through tears and demanded, “Why aren’t you crying?”

I wondered this too, for I had been crying at least once every day for four days following my graduation, and here I was leaving an apartment I loved, situated in a neighborhood I adored, saying goodbye to one of my best friends, all with a dry face. Frankly, it was annoying.

I told her I didn’t know why, and this satisfied her. I loved this about her; she simply asked a question to receive an answer, even if the answer was unsatisfactory through most points of view. 

She waited on the sidewalk to watch as I drove away, my car jammed full of clothes, bedsheets, cooking pans, a guitar, my dog, decorations, my sugar glider, and God knows what else. As I turned the music up, I wondered if the reason I wasn’t crying was because I finally felt ready; ready to leave this life behind and begin my new one. 

Throughout my struggles in classes, I comforted myself with the idea that once I graduated, I would hunker down with my parents and my older brother (who was returning home from being a scuba diving instructor in Curaçao for the past six months) for a minimal amount of time before promptly heading out to a different state—preferably one across the country—and begin leading a mysteriously wonderful life completely different from the one I had inhabited before. 

In the beginning, I was very happy. I was living in a full house with my family once again, only this time we were further joined by my two international cousins for their winter break. After spending my final semester essentially living alone since my roommate spent no more than two nights a week at the apartment, I couldn’t believe how good it felt to be living with others again. 

Every night we talked and laughed; occasionally I would help cook, but always we would end the day eating the best meals I’d tasted in what felt like an eternity. We played poker, had jam nights, hung out with grandparents, ate more delicious meals, played card games, watched movies, and went on long walks. 

My first rejection came in– I had applied to be an apprentice on a beautiful, regenerative ranch in Clark, Colorado, and I got rejected. No interview, no additional comments. 

In hindsight, I wondered if I shouldn’t have been banking so much on this idea working out; becoming a cowgirl was one of those romantic career ideas I got every so often, and then immediately fixated on. This particular idea was inspired by a fictional book written in 1976 called Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, and it caused me to get swept up in a whirlwind image of how my life should or could look if this one specific thing were to work out for me.

I was disappointed by the rejection, even though I held on to the belief that everything happens for a reason. Thinking this helped to ease the pain of a common rejection, however it did nothing to dismantle the romantic illusion I had surrounded it with. I had thought this apprenticeship was the answer to my new life, and the rejection told me I was wrong. I wondered what else I could be wrong about. 

Hastily, I applied to more ranches. More often than the rejections, I received no response. 

Well, I had my answer, hadn’t I? Maybe cowgirling wasn’t for me.

I consoled myself for a bit, and after making peace with this newly recognized fact, I decided to turn my efforts towards a different career path. Perhaps cowgirling wasn’t for me, but farming could very well be the answer! 

Reluctantly, I let go of the vision I had of myself riding across an open range, herding thousands of cattle wearing a gorgeous leather cowboy hat paired with my pre-owned red cowboy boots, a thousand-watt grin on my face. 

Everything happens for a reason, I continued to tell myself through the weeks following. My stomach betrayed me. It twisted and poked, exposing my internal fears of things not working out and causing me to have trouble focusing on anything besides the looming question of:

 “What am I doing?” 

This question applied to both present and future me; unfortunately, neither of us had a satisfying answer. Unlike my former roommate, the vague answer of “I don’t know” wouldn’t satisfy me. 

It had been less than two weeks since moving home after graduation, but it felt like months. I filled my time staring at a computer screen searching for job after job, updating cover letter after cover letter, and sending so many emails to potential employers I lost track of who I’d messaged and what their farm did. 

I expanded my search to all sorts of states, but never Virginia. I refused to even consider a potential long-term stint in the state I’d lived in my whole life. Some crave the comfort of home after finally leaving the safety net that school provides, but I was frightened of it. 

I was frightened by the dependency I suddenly regained when I returned home, frightened of how relaxed I became, frightened by the utter lack of things I did when I was home. 

My former roommate wrote in a letter given to me after graduation, “You know how in movies…they say, ‘this town is too small for you?’ That’s how I feel about you and Richmond. You don’t belong here and it’s apparent you belong…somewhere where you don’t have to go on a big adventure every weekend to feel satisfied, where every day is a big adventure and every day you are doing what you love.” 

I cried when I read it, but now her touching words added another uncomfortable knot in my stomach. It was a privilege to have so many people who supported and loved me, who constantly encouraged me through my ventures and never doubted me, not even when I doubted myself. However, this privilege created its own batch of fears: fears of letting the people I cared about the most down, for not doing the things I said I was going to do. This scared me more than anything else. 

One by one, my cousins left the house and returned back to school. With each departure I felt my stomach twist a little tighter. It wasn’t that I necessarily missed them (although I did grow closer to them than I ever expected to), it was that I was envious. 

Envious of their return to an institution that I had worked so hard to leave…I mean the irony was almost laughable. I was envious too that it was them leaving first, and not me. 

When my first cousin left for Arizona State University, he left me a letter. He told me he knew I would find the job I wanted and wished me luck in chasing my dreams. 

I envied his faith in me. 

Before my second cousin left for James Madison University, she told me she felt anxious about going back, and about struggling in her upcoming semester’s classes. I gave her a little pep talk on anxiety and suggested how facing your fears and allowing those feelings to come is the only way you’ll ever be able to overcome them. 

My stomach must have laughed at me as I felt the ever-present knots clench tighter as I spoke. 

When I dropped her off at the bus station, I felt inexplicably sad. I hadn’t expected myself to still be home halfway through January, yet here I was. My friends were all back at school too, and somehow, even though I had graduated early, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had been left behind. 

‘I’m so lucky,’ I told myself, over and over again. Inside, my knots solidified. 

The other night, I finally broke down on the couch, hunched between my parents like a child.

I shared my fears with them, and they laughed. It was a surprised laughter, and not unkind. They were shocked that I had been so stressed lately about my job hunt and baffled at my feelings of being “left behind.” 

“You graduated early, Ellie,” they reminded me.
“I know,” I said. 

“You’re too hard on yourself,” they said. I could only sob. 

They hugged me and kissed me until I felt like a baby again. A few of my knots loosened enough to breathe a relieved breath, but the more tangled ones stayed behind.

I have two interviews next week, potentially three. The interviews are for jobs in Utah, Massachusetts, and Vermont. Knots and all, I can’t help but remain hopeful and excited. 

~

1/18/26

It’s been just over two years since I wrote the first part of that essay. I read it now and find myself wanting to tell her what I know now: 

I ended up getting the job in Massachusetts. For eight glorious months I was a full-time farmer, and it was awesome. I learned so many things, worked with a crew that felt like family, discovered an unexpected love for salsa dancing, and ate the freshest vegetables of my life; the real-life fruits of my labor. Even so, I realized after the end of the season followed by another endless round of applications and job interviews that farming wasn’t my true passion; I yearned to try something new. 

It took quite a bit of time, but nearing the end of March, 2025, I accepted a ludicrous job as a forager and moved myself and all of my belongings and pets to Philadelphia. It was my first time living alone, and it ruled. The job was a bit stressful due to the pressure that came along with being my boss’s only employee, but I never regretted the decision for a second. I fell in love with city-living, found a new community, and relished my independence far away from home. 

The job ended with the onslaught of summer, and I, for what felt like the millionth time, moved myself alongside all my pets and belongings back to my parent’s house. I spent four months scrolling through job postings, hanging out with my mom and her friends, and trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to do with my life. It was an all too familiar feeling and I felt stuck; as if I’d never really left home. 

As the seasons changed and I remained unemployed, I decided I needed to do something drastically different to shake myself out of the stupor I was falling back into. I took a spontaneous month-long trip to Norway, and spent the time working with a volunteer crew to clean up eight tons of trash from the rivers. It took that, and a housesit from hell upon returning home to make me realize what it was I truly wanted. 

Painfully, at the end of 2025, I rehomed my beloved dog to a new family in Kentucky. I knew the things I wanted to do involved continuous movement; contrarily, my dog needed stability. In making my decision I was hoping to free us both, and in the pictures his new family sends me, the joy on his face is undeniable. 

Now it’s January 18th, 2026, and I’m somehow back where I started. Like the me who wrote that essay two years ago, I still feel many of the same emotions and feelings that come with living with your parents at a time when you really shouldn’t be anymore. A question I tend to ask myself whenever I find myself back in this position again is, “Shouldn’t I have figured this all out by now?”

Perhaps the me of two years ago wouldn’t be pleased in knowing that I end up back in the exact same spot, many times over. Some good things stayed the same too though: I remained close with all the friends in my life from those earlier years, and I’ve even added a few. My parents are still my greatest rock, and remain a comforting source of love and support when my thoughts begin to spiral. 

Although, I can feel that things really are different this time around. In a little over a month, after I’ve worked at my new job through their peak months and saved up some more (I’m de-icing airplanes, who knew such a job even existed?!) I’m booking my one way ticket out. Norway re-introduced me to my love of traveling with a purpose, participating in projects I’m passionate about. I plan on doing this nonstop, slow traveling across the world, hopping from project to project until my heart tugs me elsewhere. 

Or…if not, that’ll be alright too, because who knows how these things really turn out. I’ve discovered some pretty magical things to come out of living the unexpected.