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I’m beyond grateful when two of his colleagues walk over and hand him his key card. “Ogilvie wants to meet with us pronto,” one of them says to him.
I take that as my cue to flee. “I better check in. Enjoy your stay.” I make a beeline for the check-in desk before Brad can corner me with more chitchat. He glances back at me as he follows his colleagues outside.
Not a chance in hell, Brad. I’m definitely not here to get picked up by a junior assistant in a bad suit. My ambitions are on overdrive. Besides, I have way too much to achieve to get bogged down by a relationship, no matter what Earl might have joked about.
I wait in the check-in line. The hotel is busy with happy, relaxed people. Some are obviously here for the conference and are dressed in now-wrinkled business clothes, but most of the guests are wearing bathing suits and tropical prints. The more suntanned they are, the more relaxed they seem to be.
As I wait, I gaze out past the row of rocking chairs that line the deck, where people are reading books and sipping cocktails, to the beach and the cluster of surfers in the distance, catching wave after perfect wave. I’m already counting down the minutes until I can slip into my bikini and immerse myself blissfully into that blue, blue water.
I still can’t believe this is real. I’ve flown business class to one of the most beautiful places in the world without having to pay a cent for any of it. In fact I’m being paid to be here.
Until a few hours ago, I’d only been out of the state of Texas once in my life.
The truth is, the struggles I watched my mother deal with my entire life have been implanted in my brain by now, and they motivate me to work like nothing else could, until the universe has no choice but to hoist me out of the rut my family seems to have been mired in for a long time. After my my dad went AWOL when I was four years old, my mom and my older sister Skylar and I moved into our tiny bungalow in a lower-rent neighborhood (at the time, at least) of central Austin where my mother has lived ever since. She spent my childhood working day and night to meet our very basic needs. Both Sky and I started working as soon as we were old enough to help her.
And she did meet our basic needs. After searching for my dad but always coming up empty, she finally gave up. We later found out he’d changed his name—what a hero—then died in a drunk driving accident two years later.
So we made it work on our own, because we had no choice.
It was a struggle. We never had any extras. My mom used to make light of it and call it our no-frills lifestyle. We ate what we could afford, we had one pair of shoes each and we bought our clothes from thrift stores. When my friends took trips to Europe and vacationed in the Bahamas, I stayed at home with my paper route. When my classmates bought all the latest gadgets, I watched them play with them. And as I did, I set goals.
I read somewhere that you’re 43% more likely to achieve your goals if you write them down. The room I shared with my sister was so decorated with Post-it notes, she complained. I started a dog-walking business when I was seven. I got a paper route when I was ten. I got a job in a coffee shop when I was twelve, working under the table until I turned fourteen. When I wasn’t working, I was studying.
UT was within walking distance to our house, so I started going to the library there when I was in sixth grade, skimming my fingers along the rows of books, watching the college students with their stuffed-full tote bags, their shiny MacBooks and their colorful Longhorns merch. I vowed I would not only get accepted into UT, but also put myself through college, graduate near the top of my class, and land myself a job that would pay me enough money to help my family and make sure we no longer had to struggle so damn hard every single day of our lives.
And I’ve done it.
The way the sunlight is sparkling on the white-capped blue waves is reminding me that all my hard work has finally paid off.
My new job might not be perfect but it’s one step closer to the security I’ve always craved. My next goal: to land my dream job in New York City.
I visited my roommate from college in New York the summer after my freshman year and completely fell in love with the energy and the buzz of the place. I was enchanted by the look of it and the glamour. The opportunities to build something incredible out of your life had me hooked—that feeling that you’re in the center of the world, where anything can happen. You could feel every lyric to all the songs that have been written about New York City. Concrete jungle where dreams are made of. There’s nothing you can’t do. It’s up to you, New York New York. I wanted to be a part of it so badly I could taste it.
So I’ve been working my heart out every day since to get there.
“Next.” The woman behind the desk smiles.
I step forward. “I have a reservation under Rose. Dusty Rose. I’m here for the Emerging Into Investments conference.”
The receptionist types in my information. “You’re here with Stellar Investments?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I’ll just need your ID. The room is fully pre-paid.”
She types in my info, sliding two plastic cards into an envelope. “Welcome to Hawaii, Ms. Rose. Your room is on the fourth floor. Number 417. Courtyard view, which is the best view, in my opinion. Here’s your key and this card is a towel voucher. Swap it for a towel at the desk next to the pool and when you return it they’ll give you a new card. Here’s the finalized agenda for the conference, which is being held right across the street. And here’s some information about the excursions and activities we offer if you have some downtime. Wi-Fi is complimentary and the elevator is right over there. Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you.” My heart feels so full it might burst.
I find my way to the elevator, pressing the button for the fourth floor, charmed all over again by the surreal scene outside the open doors of the foyer, which leads to a bar area where a grand piano sits.
As the elevator takes me up, I scan the conference agenda. It’s a two-day event with a jam-packed line-up of speakers, starting first thing tomorrow morning. At four-thirty each afternoon, the conference winds down, replaced by a cocktail hour.
My room is as beautiful as the rest of the hotel. There’s a king-sized bed and tropical-themed art on the walls. Open French doors are framed by plantation-style shutters, leading out to a tiny Juliet-style balcony that looks out over the courtyard and beach. I can hear the live music.
After all the hours of studying, the exhausting internships, the working two jobs to pay my way through college: all of it—right here and right now—finally feels worth it.
For a second I just take it all in, wondering what it would feel like to come back here on your one-year anniversary, or your twenty-fifth. To revisit this magical place and reminisce about that one weekend where it all began.
