I didn’t take things to heart though. After graduation I applied for a couple of personal trainer jobs at local gyms, but I had no luck there either. Every listing was looking for someone with experience and proven results, but the problem is that I just graduated. Where were they expecting me to be getting this experience?! There was frankly no solid way to break into the industry, and it’s the way the whole job market is set up. Honestly, with the way things are right now, the next generation is going to be doomed for failure.
Nonetheless, I caved and applied to teach at a yoga studio. It’s not exactly what I had aimed to do with my degree, but at least yoga holds a lot of the same values and projected outcomes I was aiming for in my personalized health plan business. I’m also really into Buddhism and several other totemic religions too, so yoga fits well with that.
After all, the overarching philosophy of yoga is that it is a way of life, rather than just an exercise routine. Yoga is about bringing peace, clarity, and balance into your body, your mind, and your lifestyle. Teaching holistically makes me feel good, and I can see the change it causes in my clients as well, so things have turned out okay actually. I enjoy what I do, and am happy to guide people on their journeys in life. The only downside to it is the pay, or lack thereof, to be more precise.
Most yoga teachers don’t make much, but they do okay. The problem is that I don’t even do okay; I do absolutely horrible. It’s partially because I’m new, but it’s also because I couldn’t find a studio in New York City that would hire me. The talent pool here is too deep, and studios are able to pick and choose.
As a result, I took a job at Evolve Yoga in New Canaan, a suburb of New York City. To be honest, it’s a nice place. New Canaan itself is peaceful and quiet, and the women are your typical suburban types: a lot of moms with strollers, and a lot of ladies who wear Lululemon day and night. But it’s not just that. New Canaan, unfortunately, is a long commute from Hell’s Kitchen, and I have to do it several times weekly, if not daily.
Luckily, after about a year of saving up I was able to put a down payment on a Honda Civic with a salvaged title. It’s a 2001 manual transmission with over 150,000 miles on it. I’m not proud of my ride, not to mention the line of credit I had to take out to get it. But it cuts my commute in half and opens me up to booking other gigs in the surrounding areas too. Otherwise, I’d be at the mercy of the NYC transit system, which is notoriously unreliable.
All this has put me in a precarious financial position. After all, I was commuting long hours as a yoga teacher, and even with a full schedule, I could hardly make ends meet. As a result, I’ve taken a second job, but it’s a secret one. Unlike my yoga stuff, I don’t announce what I do in my LinkedIn profile or social media pages.
It all starts with my friend Rose. I was suffering financially even when we were at NYU, and fortunately, I met Rose early on. During our first week of school, Rose and I found ourselves sitting alone at the same table in the dining hall and awkwardly began talking. But we got along great because my friend is sassy, outgoing, and a lot of fun. Soon, we were dining together on the reg and eventually moved on from mere residence hall acquaintances to friends.
But it turns out that at some point during her college career, Rose found herself in a similar situation to mine. She went to school for art history and was quickly realizing how hopeless her job search was. Fortunately, Rose stumbled upon a simple, yet controversial, way to make money.
For years, I had no idea that Rose even had a job. Sure, she had nice things but I always figured she was from a rich family. It was only one day, when she pulled out a pair of designer pumps that I decided to confront her.
“Rosie, those are five hundred-dollar shoes from Prada! Where did you get the money to buy them?”
My friend giggled and shrugged.
“The salesman liked me, that’s all.”
I shot her a pointed look.
“No one likes anyone enough to give away five hundred-dollar shoes. Come on, how did you get them?”
That’s when the story came out. Rose was actually working for an escort agency, and many of the men paid not just for drinks and dinner, but for a lot of extras as well. At first, I was scandalized, but Rose assured me that she didn’t get paid for sex. At least, not if she didn’t want it. She only slept with those men who were hot and handsome, and generous too. It was a win-win, for everyone.