Column: Late bloomers take life at their own pace

I’ve always been late to the game and in the spring of 2004, it showed.

I was a college senior and couldn’t wait to graduate. I was done with living in Champaign, Ill. and was dying to move to Chicago. I envisioned myself wearing beautiful J.Crew suits, flared Seven jeans with peep-toe pumps on casual Fridays, living in Lincoln Park: a real working woman. Slight problem was that I didn’t have a job, let alone a resume. I’m not sure who I thought was paying for my Ally McBeal meets Sex in the City lifestyle.

After graduation, I moved back home to Western Springs, the suburb where I grew up, and began my job search. I was oblivious to the fact that my peers had been prepping their resumes and going on interviews during the second semester, even though my roommates would ask to borrow my car to attend job fairs. I’d toss them the keys, yell “good luck!” and then settle back into my spot on the couch to watch “MTV Cribs.”

After a nutty summer internship, numerous interviews and getting rejected from an event planning company three times, I got my first job as an assistant at a company. I didn’t understand what the company did, but they were willing to pay me $35,000 a year with health insurance, so I took it, packed my bags and moved straight to Wrigleyville.

One day I met my friend for lunch. She worked for the company that rejected me thrice. During that interview, my friend’s boss, Cindy, asked me, “Do you want to be rich when you’re older?”

“Definitely,” I answered.

“Well this is not the industry for you,” Cindy replied.

Woah, woah, woah. Trick question, Cindy! First of all, who doesn’t want to be rich when they’re older? Second, what’s older when you’re 22? 25? 31? I just wanted the means to move to the city; I had no idea what I wanted to do.

That day at lunch, my friend told me she was joining the East Bank Club, an expensive health club that most 22 year olds can’t afford. She told me she was willing to go into debt, because she was investing in herself to get a husband. She suggested I do the same. I wholeheartedly agreed. I was a 22-year-old virgin, but now seemed like a good time to find a husband.

Fast forward 18 years later. My friend is happily married with three kids. Her plan worked. I, on the other hand, never made it to the East Bank Club. On the way to sign up, I stopped at a 7/11 and bought a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and a pack of Marlboro Lights. No husband for 22-year-old me. Nowadays? Well, maybe I should look for a boyfriend first. Some of us are late bloomers, you know.

Bridget McGuire is a Chicago-based storyteller, stand-up comedian and is a co-producer of “All That Good Stuff,” a traveling comedy show that started on the southside of Chicago. Follow her on Instagram at @bmcguire82.