You didn't want to go to college, but you did.  And you're grateful. You graduated Magna Cum Laude.  You were recognized for several awards and even tutored students in English.  A national magazine asked you to intern in their fiction department and, when the stint expired, they offered to keep you on the team indefinitely, unpaid of course.  After commencement, your professors sent you on your way with a stack of glowing recommendations.  They promised to be persistent cheerleaders, if future employers were to call and check your references. 
    You move to Boston, because your sister is teaching out there.  She has an apartment and a bed, and sisters are accustomed to sharing.  You don't apply for a teaching license, because you figure education is the career you'll hold off on until after you've seen things and done things and made some money.  You want to have adventures after all, so you can tell your students about the mile long tides in the Bay of Fundy and the world's best insulated houses, which are made out of pumice stone mined from the salt flats in northern Chile.  So you apply to editing jobs.  Lots of editing jobs.  Thirty plus editing jobs.  You hear back from three; they are looking for someone with a little more experience. 
     You move back home where your parents buy the groceries.  You score an interview with a company called Green Box.  It's a start-up business that claims environmental awareness; their mission is to greenwash the planet and get everyone to sign up for a monthly box filled with a variety of natural products.  You have another interview the following Monday.  This time you find yourself at a group interview.  You are one of four candidates pleading for a bank teller position.  The recruiter explains that she already knows you would all make great bank tellers; you are at the interview to see if you want to be a great bank teller. "Your job at WellsFargo is to make the one percent richer," she says.  "You can walk out at anytime." There is a pause, and you wish you could walk out, but you have college loans to pay off.  You go home confused.  There were supposed to be opportunities for bright young graduates, options between being a government employee and being a pawn for the greedy.  You don't want to be one of Scar's hyenas, but you aren't ready to commit to a life of servitude.  You think back to the big choices you made.  Volunteering.  Check.  College Graduation.  Check.  Internship.  Check.  You did everything right.  Why are you so anxious for your Friday interview at Cloud City Ice Cream Parlor?