First degree

I am a college graduate — and I am spending my days checking groceries at the store in my hometown. Sometimes, this is depressing. I'm itching to write stories and edit things. I want to sit in an office and ponder how to design this great magazine. And I want to be using my degree in communication to change somebody's life through something I write.

But until that point, I try to find happiness in the little things that happen at the grocery store. There's the guy who looks like Tom Selleck (I don't really know his name) and comes in a few times a week to get some groceries with his daughter. There's the lady with gigantic tinted glasses that magnify her eyes to at least three times their size — and she has a heart even bigger than her eyes. And there's the guy who always tells me, "You don't want to know" when I ask how he's doing, although he always seems to be in a better mood when I hand him his groceries.

It's easiest to pass the time when I focus on the funny little quirks of my town and the people I grew up with and love. It's fun to joke with the down-to-earth farmers and the worn-out moms. But most of all, it's nice to have a little bit more time in a community of some of the best, kindest people in the whole wide world. A degree can't buy you that.