When life hands you lemons…and that’s literally it

The year is 2021. I’m living in the house I once shared with my ex, now sleeping on a futon in the living room because—of course—he took the mattress. (How poetic.) I’m waiting to move into a new house that I’ve been remodeling and redecorating from scratch. Channeling all my energy into it. Because if I can’t be happy in this moment, maybe I can be happy building something new.

One day, in a spontaneous high of main character energy, I open a fresh Google Doc and decide to write out the life I imagine for myself. A full rebrand. New woman, new world, new plotline. No specifics needed now, but let's just say I had some bold ideas for where I wanted to live, work, and become—ideas that felt entirely out of reach but suspiciously clear.

The twist? I wrote about a place I had only visited once in my life, and a job that felt straight out of a movie. But I felt pulled there. Inexplicably, wildly pulled. Like when you hear a song for the first time and you already know the words. Like when something brand new feels deeply familiar.

So I wrote it all down and then… forgot about it. Life moved forward. College, responsibilities, distractions. The Google Doc sat untouched like a secret spell waiting to be cast.

Fast forward to summer 2022. I find myself in New Jersey again—this time not by accident, but because I found a tattoo artist on TikTok whose work felt exactly like what I wanted inked on my skin. She just so happened to be based at the shore. I drove up with my mom, the windows down and the vibes immaculate. And something about being there just… clicked. My mom even asked me to check house prices in the area (which, if you know my mom, is the ultimate sign she’s vibing too).

Later that year, I returned to North Jersey and wandered through neighborhoods I had never seen before, yet somehow felt like home. The streets were unfamiliar but the feeling? Unmistakably right. That’s when the plan I wrote for fun—the one I hadn’t looked at in over a year—started feeling less like a fantasy and more like a prophecy. I wasn’t just dreaming anymore. I was declaring.

But life has its own sense of humor. I didn’t move right then. I still had school to finish. I wanted to enjoy life a little first. (Translation: I procrastinated.) And if we’re being honest, part of me thought that maybe the universe would just plop this dream life into my lap if I waited long enough. Like a cosmic DoorDash delivery.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

So I got serious. I put the dream back into motion. Wrote plans, updated my résumé, started interviewing. And in true cinematic fashion, my first ever interview? Saks Fifth Avenue. One of the very places I wrote down in that Google Doc. First ever interview, dream company, final round. I was thrilled. I was terrified. I was... not amazing.

If I could time travel and redo that interview with the confidence I’ve gained now, maybe the story would’ve ended differently. But hey—first tries are never flawless. And the fact that I even made it that far? Kind of iconic, honestly.

Then came the decline emails. Dozens. Hundreds. “We’ve decided to move forward with other candidates…” I started collecting them like trading cards. I made it to final rounds with incredible companies and still—nothing. It didn’t matter how good I was, no one would take the chance on the girl from a small town who just happened to love New Jersey.

Until one did. But it wasn’t the right job at the right time. Everyone around me said, “You can’t take it. It’s not smart.” My heart screamed, “Go! This is the chance!” I didn’t listen. I declined. And quietly, my heart cracked.

Still, I kept going. Interviews. Applications. Trips. More decline emails. At one point, I even flew out for an in-person interview because hey, I was never mad about a reason to visit. But nothing stuck. I kept trying, kept failing. Try. Fail. Try. Fail. Over and over again. My dreams started to feel distant. Dusty. Unreachable. And worse, I stopped visiting Jersey.

The reality of life was heavy. I had bills to pay. A job to show up to. People depending on me. And the energy to chase a dream just wasn’t there anymore. I didn’t give up—at least not out loud. But I pressed pause. Not on the hope, but on the action. Because I had nothing left in the tank but a dream and a Google Doc.

So now what? Do I pivot? Settle? Pretend I never wanted it in the first place?

No.

I reframe.

Because somewhere along the way, I stopped living my life and started trying to manufacture one. I became so obsessed with reaching the finish line that I completely neglected the version of me who was supposed to cross it.

So now, I take care of her.

I stop counting down the days and beating myself up for not being “there” yet. I start living again. Moving my body. Nourishing myself. Taking the pressure off. I put the puzzle pieces in place—not in panic, but in peace. I bought a new car. I opened a savings account. I picked up side work. I’ve quietly been preparing this whole time, even when it felt like nothing was happening.

And maybe this story doesn’t end with a big job offer or a perfect city apartment or a bow-wrapped reveal. Not yet. Maybe this story isn’t even about that.

Maybe it’s about the fact that sometimes, the life we want takes more than one draft. Sometimes, the first version of the dream gets us started. And the second version? That one gets it right.

Because I’m not looking for sugar to make lemonade anymore. I’m building the kitchen. I’m buying the pitcher. I’m planting the damn lemon tree.

And this time, when the next chance comes?

I’ll be ready.