It Can't Hurt to Ask

In the early 90s, I began my campaign of asking. A small-town West Virginia girl, I wasn't born and bred for the worldly curiosities that consumed my heart and mind, but it was a done deal. So I did what came naturally: I expressed myself. From letters to MTV and E! to cold-calling modeling agencies in South Beach and NYC, I took shots in the dark better than a college kid in an underground bar. 

Since I'm a writer and not a TV host, you can see my early asking didn't work out. I did, however, come close(ish), being hired as an agent's assistant by a South Beach modeling agency after persistently asking for an internship and then showing them what I was made of (i.e., a strong work ethic with a side of attitude). When the agency director from NYC came to visit, he decided I was big-time material and whisked me away to their offices on Gansevoort Street in the meatpacking district. My journey from the hills of West by God to the grid of NYC culminated in a fine salary and a title: Junior Agent. My big-city glory died a quick and relatively painless death, but my motivation lived on. 

After the city chewed me up, I landed like a spitball back in my second hometown, Morgantown, West Virginia, to finish college. A couple of years later, I graduated with honors: BA, English, creative writing concentration. I don't mean graduated as in "wasted money on a cap and gown and spent a whole afternoon sitting in an uncomfortable chair at the WVU coliseum." I skipped that and got my diploma in the mail. It was the least I could do as a burgeoning iconoclast. 


A few years passed. 

Where to? asked The Salty Barista who spent her days behind the counter sparring with halitosis-wielding political junkies, coffee-guzzling tech nerds, Guiness-sipping professors, and lawyers lunching over egg salad bagels. So I closed my eyes and said a prayer. “For some strange reason it had to be. He guided me to Tennessee.” And there I was in Memphis.

A new acquaintance hooked me up to interview with the president of a big theater downtown. A big, tall, older gentleman, he was either a tyrant or a delight depending on who you ask. For me it was the latter. We respected each other’s fire. However, my fire for assistant work fizzled out quickly. With no experience, I applied for a copywriter job at a B2B agency. Aced the writing sample. Salary and benefits, signed on the dot. This job was where I met my first rooftop lounge and my first Apple computer. I felt very fancy with the agency playlist on iTunes as I wrote copy for international shipping and medical device companies.   

Days in the office started to stretch too long, and I felt that familiar urge to ask. Ask for more. This time, I was asking myself — for permission to leave stability behind. So I did. 

What now? asked the writer, the runner, the pitbull lover, the single woman creating a life far from home. Be your own boss. 

My agency experience was a springboard. I soon became a regular presence in agencies around the city, writing tri-fold brochures and proofreading printed design drafts that are done digitally these days. My experience at one agency was particularly formative, leading me to a job as the copy editor of a regional health and fitness magazine. Along with handing over clean copy, I asked for more, like improvements in our publishing process, eventually resulting in a new title: managing editor. Our small team was led by two women channeling a combination of Thelma and Louise and Laverne and Shirley, and so I functioned as the voice of reason in the group. Which goes to show that everything is relative. 

I managed a magazine and freelanced on the side for a number of years. All the while nurturing big dreams of bylines in magazines and books. Until the stork made a surprise delivery. Since then, coming upon 11 years ago, plus one more stint in the delivery room, I’ve been asking bigger and harder than ever before. The sheer number of letdowns — as unkept promises, un-implemented contracts, unanswered emails — could crush the spirit of Thich That Nhan himself. Yet the wins keep coming. A new client here. A publication there. It's enough.  

It can’t hurt to ask. My mom’s favorite phrase of encouragement has held fast to my heart for many years. I ask because I’m my mother’s daughter. Because I’m my children’s mother. Like anyone who chooses the path to Fulfilment, I never stop asking.  

What's next? asks the 46-year-old woman who can’t help but believe.