Tag Archives: life lessons

Real Things

A year ago today I left what I thought was the adventure of a lifetime– living in NYC. I will always remember peering out the airplane window, watching the statue of liberty stand in the distance as I left what had been my dream for so many years. A part of me felt remorse because although NYC had been so much of what I wanted– connections, once in a lifetime experiences, glamour, inspiration and lifetime lessons– the city of dreams had also shone a harsh light on the reality of the situation–I was young, unprepared and hopelessly insecure.

As I wrote a year ago, “I moved to NYC to find something…For as long as I can remember I have been searching for the greener grass; thinking that my life would be so much better if I had fame, more money, a bigger dream or a hip city to call home.”

After my time in New York, I realized that although these things are nice, they are not the foundation to build a happy, successful life on; so I came back to build that foundation.

Today I am writing this on the back porch of my parents’ home in the small town I grew up in, and I am overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude. I would be lying if I said my move home removed every insecurity I’ve ever had and that my life is now perfect because I built a foundation– this year home has presented me with a new set of lessons, mistakes, heartbreaks and a few crazy nights that can only be responded to with “WTF?”. But what I have gained is so much more important. Through a gradual process of discovering what is real and what is fake I am rediscoving who I am. It’s becoming easier for me to recognize what is superficial hype and what truly matters. Despite my moments of choosing the hype, I am so blessed to have friends and family, new and old, that continually affirm that I am lovable and enough just as I am.

For any young adult in our society, one of the biggest questions we must answer is, “Who am I?”. In a world like ours with so many distractions and opportunities it can be difficult to separate what is real from what is merely an illusion of something that matters. It’s easy to think that the frame of a person (what they wear, where they live, how much money they make, what they do) defines them more than their content (how they make you feel, how they treat people, their integrity and love), but nothing could be further from the truth. I am humbled by the grace I have been given from the people who have the most amazing content I could think of and I am eternally grateful for the role each person and experience has played in bringing me back to myself and back to the real thing.

Don’t get me wrong, I still have a love for the glitz and glamour, but this year in Oklahoma has taught me these things do not define me. Enhance me? Perhaps, but never define me. For so long I have searched after doing and getting whatever it was I could in order to decorate the frame so that everything LOOKED good, despite how I felt. I am now ready to look deeper and focus on my inner content. I have had more moments of contentment this year then I have had in a long time and I think it’s because I’m learning to trust the process. I still have my moments where I freak out and wonder how I can do anything of impact from where I am but then I am reminded that the details have a way of working out. I am able to trust that despite the chaos, there is a plan in place and that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I can’t say for sure when I will move back to NYC, but I now know that when the time is right, I will once again, gaze out the window and see the statue of liberty, standing in the distance, exactly where I left her.

With all my gratitude,

Katie Hoffman

Victim or Victor

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Confession: I can be quite the drama queen (for those of you who know me I’m sure this is shocking) When situations go differently than I would like for them too, I have been known to start the water works and adopt a “poor me” mentality. Earlier this month, when I wasn’t able to buy my plane ticket home for my sisters birthday, the pity party began. I called my Mom in tears explaining how it wasn’t my fault; I explained how if the credit card company would have taken my payment sooner or if work would have been busier or if this or that would have happened THEN the situation at hand would be totally different. Her sympathetic response: “You get your @$$ on that plane and be home for her birthday.” Let me tell you, that dried up my tears real quick. At first, I was shocked, How dare my mother tell me what too do? She has no idea what I’m dealing with! Well as usual, after my spunky self calmed down, I realized she was right. In this situation, just like every other, I could make an excuse or I could find an answer. I could be the Victim or I could be the Victor.

I first heard that phrase eight years ago when my Pastor taught a sermon about choosing to overcome; it has stuck with me ever sense. In life we all have moments where we have the opportunity to adopt a “whoa is me” mindset. Sometimes it even feel good to think of ourselves of helpless victims of a cruel world that just won’t give us a break, it feels good to cry and feel down on our luck and put blame on someone or something else. I GET IT! I’m the queen of hissy-fits! While I don’t see anything wrong with a moment or two of frustration with bad circumstances, the danger lies in not CHOOSING to see the problem differently.

NEWS FLASH: All people are presented with setbacks, disappointments and opportunities to be the victim; but the characteristic that separates the good from the great is that the great decide to quit being the victim and make stuff happen anyway. We can not control the fact that life will throw us curve balls, some sharper then others, but we always have the opportunity to decide if those curve balls will break us or be used to shape us into the people we are called to be. It’s not always easy, but that, my friends is the difference between the victim and the victor.

So whatever it is you are dealing with today, I encourage you to join me in deciding which you will be: the victim or the victor? Will your disappointment break you? Or will it be the catalyst for your greatest change? Will you place the blame on someone else? Or will you step up and be the change? The choice is up to us.

Have a FABULOUS day,

Katie Hoffman

NYC Lesson 1: Where Ever You Go, There You Are.

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I moved to New York to find something. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but I was confident that whatever I was missing could be found in this city. For as long as I can remember I have been searching for the greener grass; thinking that my life would be so much better if I had fame, more money, a bigger dream or a hip city to call home. I am not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the road I bought into the idea that in order to heal, I needed to out run the demons that chased me. What was I running from? Well that is more than I can explain in one post, but the short answer is everything. Despite my sunny disposition and overall blessed life, I have had struggles and circumstances sprinkled throughout my life that have left me tired and broken. I have always coped with these less than enjoyable experiences by smiling, dreaming big and pushing forward. For much of my young adult life I have hid beneath a well constructed surface of “having it together” although the foundation beneath the surface was unsteady and beginning to crack. I was convinced that my issues and discontentment were merely a result of my being stuck in the middle of the country, far away from all the people and things I needed to make me happy. Imagine my surprise when I finally got to NYC and my fear, insecurities and lack of preparation came right along with me.

Upon arrival in NYC the chase was on. My desire to “be someone” and “run the rat race” was at an all time high. I worked hard for what I thought were my dreams and did everything in my power to make them happen. Anyone who has followed my blog for any length of time knows how passionate I am about pursuing dreams and working to make them a reality, but this was different, I was obsessed. As the months went by, my personal worth became based upon the appearance of achievement. If something went well, my heart soared but if moments stood still my emotions plunged to the other extreme, leaving me feeling worthless and unable to do anything I set out to do. After several rides on this emotional roller coaster I began to realize my unhealthy dependence on these outside circumstances for my happiness. I was so afraid to fail because I knew that beneath the well-decorated surface was nothing– no foundation, no security and no plan. But instead of going back to the drawing board, recharging my batteries and giving myself something solid to stand on, I searched for new ways to adorn the facade that had became my life. Depression had become my constant companion and the only way to deal with it was by fooling myself and everyone around me. “I’m totally fine, this is normal. This is what pursuing your dreams is supposed to feel like” I reasoned as I felt myself becoming detached from everything that truly mattered in life. My friends and family worried and I became more disappointed with myself and the double life I was living– happy on the outside, terribly lost and miserable on the inside.

I cried almost daily. On one shoulder my ego raged, “This is what YOU wanted, you have to fight for what you want; suck it up!” And on the other, that still small voice of my true self whispered, “There’s no shame in needing help. Fix yourself and you’ll have the life of your dreams.” The problem was that what I thought I wanted had fixed nothing, I was still the same, broken girl with nothing to stand on. But my ego was relentless. As the days passed, the colors faded, each grey day blended into the next; the highs weren’t so high and the lows became lower. I would do things to feel okay– hook up, flirt, spend money– each escape ultimately making my emptiness worse. I had become so depressed, it hurt my finances, relationships and family.

For months I knew that something needed to change. If I wanted to stay in NYC I needed to get it together, start managing my money better and find a way to get happy. But for one reason or another nothing changed. My Mom suggested that I come home, “You just need a little more time in the oven, sweetie”. Week after week I refused, I just couldn’t give up that easily. After many more moment of the S%*# hitting the fan I began to give the idea of returning home a little more thought. It was the hardest decision I can remember making. The way I saw it, I could stay in NYC (where I wanted to be) and keep up with the grind, hoping my rocky foundation and personal issues would fix themselves and that the surface didn’t collapse in the meantime. Or I could take a huge blow to my ego, return home and work on me first. I was torn between the two options for days, I had no idea what to do, until one morning, I sat on the roof of my Chinatown apartment talking to my Mom…

“What do you want to do Kate?”, she asked.

Instead of offering the usual, “well I don’t know!” I decided to throw something out there and see how it felt.

“I want to come home…I want to come home.”

For the first time in months I felt a peace and grace that I can not explain. I no longer cared what anyone thought or what my ego told me. I knew without question this was my next step; return home so I could heal. It’s true you can find healing anywhere, but when I thought about where my healing should take place, the advice that crossed my mind many times was go where love is– and love, for me, is in my home town. The place I’ve ran from and now run to. It’s with my family and closest friends who have been there while I’ve chased answers everywhere but where they actually are — inside myself. Love is in the subtle wisdom of my Grandma and the diligence of my Father. It’s in the jokes with my sister and the forgiveness of my friends. These are a few of the things I left behind in my search for God knows what, but I now know there is nothing in the world that can replace them.

My Momma has always said that raising me was like walking Marmaduke– I pulled her the whole way. Well, I guess it took the biggest city in the country to tame me. I’m coming home too heal, ready to learn and ready to work on the foundation that will allow me to soar when I’m ready. I am not broken.. but I am malleable, like clay and ready to be shaped and molded into the young women I know I am supposed to be. Several people have asked me, “Well what about your blog?” My answer to that: this is perfect. This blog is about the journey, the process we all go through, the lessons we learn while we are on our way to getting to where it is we aspire to be. And what better story than one of a major detour that I am confident will make the destination so much sweeter? I assure you, this time home will not be a destination, rather a pit stop that will prepare me to return to NYC knowing more of who I am, what I want and how to get it.

And to New York, thank you for the lessons, the magic and the miracles; for teaching me who I am and reminding me who I am not; for bringing me the most amazing people and reminding me of the ones I already had. You’ve been the biggest lesson of my life and for that I am humbled, grateful and inspired. Thank you for a great part one, I am SO excited about part two.

There is no part of me that feels like I have failed, I have learned so much and succeeded in ways I never expected. In the end, I know exactly what I went to New York to find… and the answer is right where I left it.

The Journey Continues,

Katie Hoffman

If the “Genes” Fit…

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I used to work at a Saks Fifth Avenue in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Throughout my time at this luxury department store I began to notice a trend with some of the shoppers, it usually went down like this:

An attractive, fit, women would walk into the store looking for a new pair of True Religion jeans. I would ask, “What size do you wear?” Let’s say she said a size twenty-seven. With the hopes of finding my client the perfect pair of jeans, I would send her to the dressing room with multiple pairs of size twenty-seven jeans. Despite the ladies best efforts, the jeans were to small. When I would offer to get her a pair of twenty-eights, she refused, saying something along the lines of I just need to lose a few pounds, I’m sure they will stretch out or my personal favorite, they really aren’t that tight (even though the button looks like its about to pop off). When this scenario occurred, the women would always leave either with the too-small jeans or empty handed. This drove me crazy! I could not understand why a women who was obviously in good shape was so opposed to just getting a different size jeans. It was obvious to everyone, including her, that they didn’t fit, yet she was willing to diet, suck it in and compromise her own comfort just so she could keep that twenty-seven.

Designer denim is not the only place people can be seen choosing something that doesn’t really fit– it happens all the time in romantic relationships. From Eminem and Rhianna’s song Love the Way You Lie to Carrie and Big’s roller coaster romance on Sex and the City, pop culture illustrates the often occurrence of relationships that don’t really fit but still continue. (Sex and the City fans: How many times did you say, AIDEN IS BETTER? or WHAT IS BIG’S PROBLEM? Let’s be real, that was a hot mess.) It is not limited to pop culture, I see this occurring everyday in my own life and the life of my friends. With that in mind, I pose the question, Why are we obsessed with “genes” that don’t fit? Whether you believe in soul mates or not, it is hard to argue that some people fit well together and others don’t. Of course, every relationship will have its struggles but we can all attest to the fact that some seem to just flow naturally and others are an uphill climb. So why is it that so many people are willing to do whatever it takes to cram themselves into a relationship that doesn’t really fit when they could just get another pair of “genes”? I see a few possibilities: Perhaps it’s the challenge. Many men and women find a steady, happy relationships to be boring and need the constant drama to feel as though the relationship is real (That’s a different post entirely). Another possibility is love; some people are truly in love with a set of “genes” that may not be the best fit for them, but because of love, kids or history they are willing to emotionally lay on the bed, suck it in and cram themselves in the relationships because it’s better than the alternative.

The last is the one I want to focus on– being insecure in oneself. Insecurity has a way of making us think that their is something wrong with us; that we are doing something bad and in order to fix it we must be willing to do whatever it takes to fit the “genes” in front of us instead of choosing a pair that is a better fit. Insecurity also causes us to think, I better take this relationship because I may not get any better. At different points in my dating life I have felt insecure, and as a result change myself in order to be a good fit the guy of the moment. I’ve been the “just friend”, the trophy girlfriend, the designated driver and the “chill-girl who-doesn’t-care-if-you-smoke-pot-and-play-guitar-hero-all-day”– NONE of these thing are who I am, yet because they are what the guy of the moment needed, I completely reworked myself to fit them. I am getting much better at this, but it is still something I struggle with and unfortunately I do not know how to fix it. I can’t leave you all with three steps to choosing “genes” that fit (yet). But from my own experience, I am convinced of this: it is essential to the health and preservation to our relationships that we become secure in ourselves first. Then, and only then, will we be able to decide which “genes” are a good fit for us and which ones aren’t.

The Sammy Davis Jr. song, I’ve Got to Be Me said it best, “I can’t be right for somebody else if I’m not right for me”. That is true. I believe the first step to choosing the right “genes” is to become completely secure in our selves. How do you do that? Well I’ll get back to ya. But if we can learn love ourselves, and know who we are and what we want, then perhaps we will be one step closer to picking picking the “genes” that fit us perfectly.

Love,
Katie Hoffman

Summer in the City

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The only emotion greater than my humiliation was my determination; I left her elegant apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan to take a walk through the park. In the summer of 2010, I had big plans to move to New York City. After many twist and turns, I ended up with more than I expected.

The sounds of cars and construction filled the New York air as I made my way to the haven of Central Park. I sat on the stone wall protected from the concrete jungle that roared outside, seething with more emotions than an afternoon soap opera. Nearly a month ago, my best friend and I embarked on what promised to be the road trip of a life time. We threw a month’s worth of swim-suits, shoes, and make-up into huge laundry baskets and hit the road, headed for the East coast. For Ashley, my best friend, the trip was just a spontaneous visit home to see her family. But for me, it was my chance to finally find my place in New York City. This dream had started a year and a half earlier when I visited New York for the first time. Ashley, our friend Sydney, and I rode the train from New Jersey and arrived underground in the big city. As I walked out of Penn station and into the city for the first time, the aroma of snow and lights permeated the air—it was Christmas in New York. We were only there for five hours, but that was all it took. As our taxi made its way through the gently falling snow, I said to myself, “Sometime, in my young adult life, I will live in Manhattan.”

Ashley and I's first of many cab rides in NYC

A year and a half later, I was in Manhattan with the same dream. I knew my cousin had a point, but what about faith? What about hopes and dreams? Do those things not matter in the big city? Janie, my third cousin and I had never met prior to this trip. One day I mentioned to my grandparents how much I wanted to move to New York, and they told me I had a cousin who lived there. With nothing more than her address, I contacted her six months before my spontaneous road trip, saying I would love to meet her and talk about life in the city. We hit it off from the moment we met. She was so kind and eager to help me in my cross- country move. She introduced me to her husband, her nephews and friends. With this new found support, I was certain that I could find a job and finally make my dream a reality. This is it. Of course, I don’t have much money, but that’s what jobs are for. I can get one of those! I have always been optimistic; kind of a “where there’s a will there’s a way” type of gal. Apparently, New Yorkers, even my sweet, formerly supportive cousin didn’t share my same blind- faith mentality.

After an hour in Central Park contemplating our less than encouraging conversation, I knew what I had to do. I remained determined to pursue my goal. So with my new found zeal I set off to get a job and find a place to live. My first appointment to view an apartment was near Old Ukrania, somewhere around East Eighty-Second Street.

“You like it”? The eager broker looked at me expectantly as I peered into the doll- house- sized kitchen.

“I do,” and I did, even though it was a little space challenged. “How much is it listed for?”

“Sixteen hundred a month, plus deposit and first and last months’ rent”, she said.

The words rolled off her tongue and hit me full force. I felt like a little kid, standing outside the windows of Bloomingdale’s with nothing in her pocket but pennies and lint. I thanked the broker for her time and told her I would get back with her. What I really meant was, let me find a job, and then we will talk.

New York is considered the restaurant capital of the United States. Surely, a waitressing job wasn’t too far out of reach. I returned to the hectic streets of mid- town to apply at a popular Mexican restaurant. As I sat down to fill out an application, I noticed the line of people doing the exact same thing. I felt like an Oklahoma version of Dorothy from Wizard of Oz: I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. I turned in my resume and application, receiving nothing more than a polite nod. Perhaps my cousin had been right; maybe I wasn’t ready for this.

The city that smelled like snow just a year and half before, now smelled of soot and heat as I walked to the train station to return to New Jersey. The train ride home was filled with brainstorming. I still felt convinced that if I could just find a roommate or apply at a few more places, I could make it. When I returned to Ashley’s beach house, I had an email from my cousin. My heart soared in the hopes that she had seen my tenacity and realized I could make it after all. Unfortunately, that’s not what I read. “This city will spit you out. You are not ready; I withdraw myself from the situation.” Her words jumped off the screen, piercing me like a dull blade. My heart sank; I felt as though I had just been rejected by the love of my life. I knew she was opposed to my move, but the day’s events, plus the realization that I had no one on my side forced me to accept reality—she was right, I was not ready. I was disappointed, but more than that, I was humiliated. For the first time in a long time, I felt too young, too naive and too inexperienced. I could not believe I had fallen for such a fairytale. In the real world, dreams and faith really weren’t enough.

The salty ocean air streamed through the screened in porch of my friend’s beach home, as I sat on the couch with my fairytale gone wrong. Ashley’s uncle peeked around the corner begging me to get out and have some fun, “Come on Kitty, it’s been three days. Why don’t you go outside, you will feel better.”

Reluctantly, I agreed to take a bike ride. The sun gleamed down on my pale, sheltered shoulders in a way that was comforting and inviting. I peddled vigorously along the boardwalk, with thoughts of my future bearing down on me. After ten miles of shore line had passed, I stopped—to think, to plan and to pray. The afternoon waves crashed calmly onto the empty beach, while I sat in the sand; for the first time since my failed attempt to take on New York City, something seemed clear. Perhaps my dream hadn’t been enough to permanently get me where I wanted to be, but it had been enough to teach me what I desperately needed to learn. I had the dreams and the faith, but I lacked diligence and the steady application of work that must be implemented in order to make anything worthwhile happen. Prior to this trip, I did not fully understand that dreams and diligence worked hand in hand. I come from a family that has worked for everything and faith had never really played much of a role in our accomplishments. But for one reason or another, I got the idea that I could snap my fingers and make whatever I wanted happen. I knew what I had to do—work diligently to one day, make my dream of living in New York City a reality.

Fun in the Sun-- New Jersey, USA

Although, my summer did not end with an amazing story about how I overcame all odds and still made it in Manhattan, it did end with a lesson; one that is far more valuable than finest penthouse on the Upper East Side.