Gosh. It's been almost a year now I've been out of a job. Thankfully, I finally got an offer after painstakingly applying to hundreds- no- thousands- of them. This was a particularly difficult time in my life because I had always been one to "achieve" if you will. Get good grades, go to a good college, have good mental health, have a group of friends, etc. These expectations for how my life should look made me feel trapped. By consistently reminding myself of all that I had done wrong to end up here, I could no longer look to the possibilities of the future. My locus of control was all out of control. These thoughts, mirrored by my parents words, created a cyclical effect that led to my usual optimism drying out as well as my confidence in myself drained.

Funnily enough, I don't necessarily feel better now that I have a job. Maybe it's because I haven't started it yet or because this headspace is my "new normal," but I think shame continues to play a role in my perceptions of myself and the world. I am having a hard time fully crossing that bridge onto the next, not knowing how to leave it behind. Clinging to these negative feelings about myself, holding onto that torch that will light that bridge, waiting for something, anything but the sound of mine own.

Maybe this was the hedonic treadmill forewarned. I have reached my destination, but my mind stays the same. To let go I must investigate why I don't want to let go. I suppose it is the feeling of fear-- that if I stop reminding myself how poorly I performed in this past year, I will slip into low productivity. That if I believe I am not good enough then I could never be great. Despite this deeper feeling, I know this is a great fallacy in thinking. I must yet again consider myself an entrepreneur of life, riding on self-created winds and not get blown away by a dust devil off my path.

"Introducing Her Imperial Highness, the fifth princess Arenil!" Shocked gasps sweep through the crowd and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. It's my declaration, after all. Skipping it, while tempting, would completely waste a perfect opportunity to really shock everyone. Although, I think their shock might be more due to the outfit I chose for today. I suppose no one would have expected a princess to wear pants.

"Wicked woman, get off the stage!" I blink at the fool who just shouted that and internally shake my head as the guards escort him away. I know what the populace thinks of me -- a dissolute, promiscuous, self-indulgent waste of Imperial blood. It's not true, but no one cares about truth.

I send the officiant a bored look, and he startles. "May Her Highness bless us all with her wisdom this fine morning." He bows, and I take my cue to step forward.

"Hello." I say into the magic stone, staring out into the crowd. "Thank you for gathering here on this beautiful day to acknowledge my debut birthday and witness my declaration."

I flick my eyes toward my mother, the third concubine. I didn't tell her my plans, but I've always felt like she knew more than she'd been told. Her gaze is steady on mine, and I know that no matter what I say, she won't be disappointed in me.

"I understand that I've shocked you all by daring to wear pants as a princess, but if that's enough to scandalize you, nobody is going to like what I say next."

I hear my guard groan quietly. He's always trying to convince me not to provoke people. I stifle a smile and continue. "I recognize that the declaration is intended to be a time given to the heirs to announce their intention to compete and to begin their campaign by explaining their platforms and views and future plans. I also recognize that absolutely nobody wants me anywhere near the crown, as certain people have disobeyed the order to refrain from harming or besmirching heirs who've yet to reach marriageable age."

This time, several people flinch. "While I don't particularly care what people say about me and have no desire to engage in a pointless argument, I feel compelled to clarify that yes, I am still a virgin, no, I haven't spent even half as much money as is allotted to my budget, and for Land's sake, going outside the palace does not mean I'm starting scandals." I hear the crowd muttering, but continue anyway. "I am not here to gain your favor or create a public image. My purpose here is simple. As an Imperial daughter, I am required to give a speech in front of the people on my fifteenth birthday."

Their wide, shocked eyes amuse me, but I hold it in. "My declaration is simple. I will not be competing for the throne. I have no desire for the crown or any of the b******t that goes with it." I ignore their gasps. "Nor do I want any part of politics. I will be pursuing a separate career after attending the International Hunters Academy. Any attempt to draw me or those around me into your politics or scheming against my or their desire will be considered an attack and handled accordingly. I refuse to join your five-dimensional chess game. Am I clear?" I look directly at my family.

My siblings all nod without hesitation. My withdrawal means one fewer competitor, and having announced it so publicly means I can't deny it later. My father seems pensive, but unconcerned. My mother is smiling, though the other concubines appear simultaneously bitter and triumphant. It's my extended relatives I'm worried about, though. Competition within the palace tends to be surprisingly clean, since the rules require the overseers and judges (aside from the Emperor, who holds the final authority) to judge interference between heirs harshly. Our mothers and aunts and uncles and maternal grandparents and cousins are the ones who scheme. I maintain my silence until finally, all of the extended family in attendance bow their heads. I dip my head toward them, just slightly.

My father cuts through the silence. "Are you relinquishing your right of succession, then?"

I tilt my head to the side. "I wanted to. I was told that it was a bad idea. Apparently, even if I don't want the throne, it's best that I remain as a... 'backup candidate', I suppose. I consider myself out of the running entirely, but I guess if some cataclysm occurred and I were actually needed, it would be better if I were still legally an option."

My entire family blinks at me before my second brother clarifies. "So we don't need to worry about you trying to overtake us, but if we all die, you'll still take over?"

I tip my head. "I would rather you not all die. It is convenient to keep the authority to tell people to f*** off. That's all I'm saying."

There's a long moment of silence before my brother starts laughing uproariously, the others joining in until eventually most of the crowd is laughing. I just shrug. I meant it when I said I don't care what they think. This is my decision, and I will stand firm. I run my hand across my pants again, knowing that my etiquette teacher will scold me later, and wait. When they all calm down, I simply smile. They all turn quiet. Usually, heirs end their declaration by doing something big, making a statement of some sort, and I have a great one planned.

"In honor of my declaration to pursue a career through the Adventurer Guild and their Academy, I will display my dedication to this decision, lest anyone suspect me of lying." A silence spreads through the crowd, and I suppress my smile again, keeping my expression solid as I prepare.

It takes them a moment to realize what I'm doing: removing my glamour. My cloak grows, no longer covering just one shoulder but rather both, with strips of fabric across the front to wrap around my abdomen and hold it in place. My loose pants shrink and tighten; one leg shortens to mid-calf and the other to mid-thigh, both now close-fitting but not restricting. My flowing blouse morphs into a tank top that stops at the bottom of my rib cage. My entire outfit is now appropriate for a high-mobility close-combat adventurer, including the daggers strapped all over my body, just barely visible.

I shoot a challenging look at my etiquette teacher, already vowing to jump out the window when she tries to lecture me later, and pull a single dagger from its sheath. The guards tense slightly, but make no move to disarm me. Even if I killed myself here, no one is allowed to intervene in the declaration unless my actions directly endanger another member of the royal family. Fortunately, that's not my plan, and I bite back a smile yet again. I lock eyes with my mom. I don't think she's realized that her disapproval would kill me, but even as I raise the dagger to the base of my braid, I see nothing but pride in her eyes.

I slice.

The waist-long braid that my mother's family insisted I should grow to become a 'proper princess' falls to the floor.

I sheathe my knife.

In those few seconds, I feel all the tension drain from my shoulders. My mother is still proud of me. I don't care about the rest, about the uproar from the citizens or the horrified expressions of my relatives or the shock on my siblings' faces. I just cut off my hair, which is commonly known as a woman's pride, and removed all my royal vestments, effectively denying my title, and declared I wouldn't pursue the throne, leaving her forever a concubine rather than Queen Mother as I'm her only child... and my mother is still proud of me.

This time, I let my smile slip free.

It was the 1970s, a time of change and upheaval. I was a nine-year-old girl with long hair, a life of trauma, and a completely misunderstood free spirit. Sitting on a log and listening to Billie Holiday on my portable cassette player, I heard that Lynyrd Skynyrd would be playing in a few hours to the crowd of stoners and hippies that hung out daily. It was the Almond Festival, and the one-street town I grew up in was raging with excitement.

I kicked up my chucks and sat under the shade of a huge oak tree, watching the crowd with radio silence, when I noticed a man walking towards me. He was big and burly, with a leather vest and a bandana tied around his head. He introduced himself as Jake. I looked at his patch; he was the President of the Hells Angels.

At first, I was afraid, but he soon put me at ease. He pulled out a cigar and lit it, filling the air with a sweet heady smoke that flavored the blood still pouring from my busted bottom lip. Corina Couture had caught me off guard in the alley of the Pits earlier that day and punched me so hard I was blindsided by stars. He asked if he could join me, and I shook my head yes. He didn’t ask about my black eye or how I had managed to split my lip. He just began to whisper to me about life, about how things aren't always fair, and how sometimes you have to fight for who you are. I told him that I was the gentle kind, never wanting to start a quarrel, but trouble always seemed to find me regardless.

As we talked, I realized that he was more than just a leader of a motorcycle club. They were a family, a brotherhood, and they lived by their own code. He spoke of brotherhood and taught me that loyalty and honor were everything, and that you had to stand up for yourself and those you cared about, no matter what.

He spoke about the importance of honesty and love, how they had the power to bring people together, to heal wounds, and to inspire change. He told me that Led Zeppelin was one of his favorite bands, and that their music was a reflection of the times. He reached into the pocket of his thick leather vest and pulled out a cassette tape.

He handed it to me and started to calmly carry on about how Led Zeppelin had a different approach to their song arrangements. Jimmy Page’s seminal riff-based rock guitar contributions were probably only intended to serve as an element in a much wider whole in the earliest days of Led Zeppelin, but they would quickly overshadow the more bluesy guitar work of the time and become a style in their own right. The guitar ‘riff’ was really just a way of using a repetitive lead pattern in the context of rhythm playing rather than as a solo, but no one had previously exploited the principle in the way Jimmy Page did. None of it made much sense to me at the time. I asked if the music was a reminder of the struggles that people were facing. He stared at me and softly pinched my cheek, telling me I was different, in a good way, a way that has the power to make a difference in the world.

As we talked, I felt a sense of camaraderie with Jake. He was a tough man, but he had a soft side, a kindness about him that felt like home. We sat there on that log in the park for at least two hours. My lip had stopped bleeding, and I was thankful for the company of someone who really understood me for the first time in my life. He taught me many important life lessons that day, Looking back, I realize that that chance encounter in the park was a turning point in my life. It showed me that people are not always what they seem, and that there is always something to learn from those around us. If you have the courage to shut up and listen. But the most important lesson, never judge a cassette tape by it‘s cover.

There is a unique pain in being a server. If you've been one you know. There is another level of shitty people that only crawl out of their shit hole to go out to eat. ***Please emphasize the word shit when you read through that.

I have been yelled at for the dumbest things. Human decency? They don't know it. Did the ice melt in your drink before I refilled it? Was I unable to tell you how spicy everything on the menu is? Did I tell you that you cannot order something we literally have never served? Was your bill higher than you expected because you didn't bother to check the prices?

That all sounds like a lot of not-my-fucking-problem.

Let's not forget, it's not just the customers. It's the managers, coworkers, and exhausting schedule. Working for 11 hours sounds like hell at any job. But putting on an act for tables of people, that may or may not leave me a tip is grueling. Dealing with bitchy servers, who will talk behind your back, and steal your table if you're not looking is worse than high school. Listening to managers who complain, and say things like "if you have time to lean, you have time to clean," 7 hours into your double shift feels worse than breaking a bone.

If there was a ranking of things I have complained about in my life, serving would be near the top. Talking about it with other servers is like finding out you both hate the same person. Satisfying, justifying. And to all the people that treat servers, and anyone in customer service, like shit, fuck you.

I have this character that I like to build into various scenarios. I built an entire world around her, but she doesn't have her own story yet.

She's confident. She knows her own body and all of the ways it can move, what it can and can't do. She knows her partner and their team. She knows her people, her world, her life, and has the sense of surety that comes from knowing she's walked through hell more than once and come out the other side stronger for it.

She's a warrior. Physically, she and her team almost won a war on their own. Mentally, because she bears the weight of inheriting an entire planet. Spiritually, because she survived war and capture and torture and experimentation and didn't break until she was home safely. Even then, she fought her way back and glued herself back together with just a little help.

She's human. Not literally, because she was born in a different race, in a different world, but in her emotions. She's strong in every way, but gentle and humble. She's not overconfident and arrogant, but simply comfortable in her own abilities. She will eliminate people who threaten the innocent, but then turn around and gently carry small beings to their families. She'll destroy invading armies, then decide to dance or cook or sing like she's never seen blood in her life. She lives the story of the strongest monks sweeping temples.

At the same time, she's wild. Feral, even. She has no mercy for those who threaten innocents. She doesn't blink at carnage. She doesn't hesitate to kill. Her morals are all focused in the same direction: protect.