The Twentysomething Nursery Rhyme (Part Two)

Twentysomething Nursery Rhyme (Part Two)

Read Part One of the Twentysomething Nursery Rhyme here


There was a twentysomething who was ready to move out of a shoe.

After talking with Alex Trebeck, she knew exactly what to do.

Since college, she’d gone from working at Starbucks, to a cubicle, every day shackled to a desk.

Then she realized her office chair was imprinted with her own butt grooves, and she felt nothing but unrest.

Enough! No more! My life is supposed to mean more than this!

I’ve wasted years. Writing emails. And honestly I’m really quite pissed.

Twentysomething Nursery Rhyme (Part Two)

Picture by L.C. Nottaasen – CC

Life is too short to be cc’d to death. {Tweet that}

I don’t want “…that sums up quarter one. Sincerely, Melinda…” to be my final breath.

I know my parents would say I’m ungrateful. Idealistic. Work is not supposed to be fun.

But there’s too many miserable people for me to be just another one.

So one day Melinda just did it. She quit. She followed the lure.

She couldn’t even spell it, but heck, she was excited to become an entrepenure entrapaneur antraprenure entrepreneur.

It was surreal to pack up four years into one cardboard box.

She knew her company wouldn’t miss her. They’d just chain up her desk to another data-entry-ox.

But that night she tossed and she turned, fear and excitement bubbling over like a science experiment.

What about her loans? Insurance? Could she even afford rent?

Visions of failure terrorized her, turning her face into a scowl.

But then she woke up to a cough, and there sitting in the corner was Mr. American Idol, I mean, the X Factor himself, Mr. Simon Cowell.


“Don’t look so shocked. Yes, it’s me. Who’d you expect?

I visit every person on the night of their great leap when they’re feeling suspect.”


“Mr. Simon…I think I made a huge mistake.

I can’t do this. I’m not talented enough. I’m clearly a fake.

I should’ve clung to that desk. It was permanent. It was safe.

Who cares if my butt was beginning to chafe.

I can’t do this. I can’t breathe. Oh God, I’m going to be sick.

Tomorrow I’ll plead to have my nameplate back. The dependable, yet dying, Ms. Melinda Vanwick.”


“Oh do shut up”, Simon said with a snap.

“Your excuses are deplorable. Your whining such crap.

So you quit your job. Big whoop. Any idiot can do the same.

I don’t mean to be rude, but if you don’t stop this right now then yes, you’ll go up in flames.

This won’t be easy, yes that’s most definitely true.

But playing it safe. Obsessed with comfortable. That’s all such horse sh–, sorry, horse poo.

There’s too many lifeless people too good at being lifeless for you to give them yours.

You know you’re on the right track when the sweat is gushing from your pores.

You’ve got talent. I know this to be true.

But talent means nothing if you’re not willing to crawl unglamorously through miles of horse sh–, sorry, horse poo.

You can’t win if you’re not willing to be embarrassed.

Those who go for it even when petrified, truly are the rarest.

Success is painful work. There’s thousands of hours of practice, and jerks like me telling you to quit.

But you’ll know you’re on the right track when you can look them in the eyes, smile, and say, ‘No thank you. Now please go shove it.’

Offices are overflowed with boring for Millennials to be threatened to join the ranks.

The world is full of insecure people who clamor for compliments and words of thanks.

You must be willing to walk forward alone with no one clamoring for an autograph.

You just take steps forward and refuse the temptation to look back.

If you don’t jump on stage, that’s when it’s guaranteed you’ll never win.

Just sit in the crowd whining that no one will give you a chance. Here let me get out my little violin.

No matter how the movies make it look–being brave is not sexy. {Tweet That}

Most won’t understand you. They’ll just stare at you with disgusted perplexy.

You’ll never know if you can do it if you keep trying to think it through.

Sometimes you have to put your thinker to rest, pack your bags, and just do.

I might be an ass, but I know a thing or two.

And if you’re brave enough to walk forward scared, soon, very soon, you’ll know exactly what to do.


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