Undrafted.

It's been 4 months since my last post.
And almost that long since I graduated from Brandcenter.
Since then, one might say I've been AWOL.
Missing in action.
Simply avoiding the hard-nosed truth that I'm just like 16 million others.
That I'm simply unemployed.

Well, that's not far from the truth.
I have been missing.
Not from rebellion or reflection.
But for action.
For fighting the good fight.
Whether that means reminding myself,
"It's the economy. You don't suck completely, Kris."
Keeping from the ledge by convincing myself,
"I wouldn't have been happy if I didn't quit my job and gone to grad school."
Or surfing the job boards like a junkie searching for one last hit.
It's been a fight.

I've been forced to move home to sunny Wilbraham, MA.
A pretty place where no one knows my name.
Except my parents.
Me, a 26 year-old writer, stuck at home.
My parents like to jokingly add that not only am I living off their dime,
but that I'm doing so with three degrees.
All in good fun, for sure.
But like all good jokes, its roots are in truths.
And my truth is that moving home marked defeat to me.
At least it did.

Alas, this isn't a sob-storied rant.
Nor some Mighty Ducks, Rudy-flavored inspirational crap.
This is a declaration of a change in mindset.
Fuel to keep my sanity in tact.
And keep the good fight going.
A weathered realization, if you will.

See, all summer long I've refused to sit on my hands.
I've had the good fortune to work freelance.
I've worked on projects for a French international event planning client.
I've worked on the launch of a new Creative MBA school in India.
And worked on various ad agency projects,
like the launch of a new Taco restaurant.
Even a new beer.
I've had the chance to enjoy my family for the first time in a long time.
And have been blessed with the opportunity to hang with my little bro,
now miraculously recovering from a cancer relapse
that a year ago had a 10% chance of survival.
It's been good.

When I graduated 4 months ago,
it was not unlike draft day.
That day when professional sports franchises reek
of the over-promises of superstardom.
Where hard-working, talented kids
are looked to shoulder the futures of whole organizations.
And like draft day, so many went home empty-handed and forgotten.
Left to ponder what the hell all their dedication was for in the first place.
But I've always been interested in those untold stories.
Those underdogs forced to work harder and smarter to make up for what they lack in talent.
And do so with passion.
I've always loved people who love the game not for what it can give them.
But what they can give to it.
The Kurt Warners of the world.
That's why I refuse to sit on my hands.
Refuse to be considered AWOL.
Unemployed.
Defeated.
I'd rather be called undrafted.
And I hope others do, too.