from Chapter 1

When I graduated from college, I didn’t know who I was. And I sure as hell didn’t know where I was going. If you want to know the truth, I was scared. In fact, I was terrified. I was terrified because I didn’t think I could survive in the “Real World.” I didn’t think I could be happy and successful there. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true.

Overall, I enjoyed my time in college, and I loved the illusion that I was in control of my life. For four years, I only took classes that interested me, and I only hung out with people who liked me (which admittedly wasn’t a lot of people). I came and went as I pleased, and I didn’t have to answer to anyone. I loved that lifestyle, and I didn’t want to give it up.

Now, in the interest of fairness, I should mention that my parents were paying over $30,000 a year so I could have that lifestyle. So yes, it was definitely silly of me to claim that I was in control of my life. I wasn’t in control of anything. But that was the illusion, at least. And abandoning that illusion was not appealing to me. Not at all.

Then again, I can’t blame myself for feeling that way. I can’t criticize myself for hating the “Real World.” When I was growing up, my dad always told me that my college years would be “the best years of my life.” When I was in college, that seemed true enough at the time. But now college was over. So I had a new perspective on that overused cliché. Now it meant, “Life is all downhill from here.” Can you see why I was a little concerned?

Furthermore, I had no experience in the “Real World.” You see, I’ve led a pretty sheltered life. There’s no point in denying it. I grew up in the wealthiest part of the Philly suburbs. My dad was a doctor. A plastic surgeon, actually. So needless to say, money was not a huge issue in our household. I knew money would always be there for me. And I never had to work a day in my life. I’m not proud of that fact. But I’m not embarrassed about it either. I just brought it up as a partial explanation for my anxiety about post-college life. Crap, I bet you don’t like me very much at this point. I probably shouldn’t have brought up that whole money thing. Sorry about that.

But leaving personal finances aside, I’m not equipped to survive as an adult. I’m really not. It has to do with my personality. I have no real identity. I don’t have a lot of confidence in my opinions, and I don’t have a lot of faith in my feelings. I’m the kind of guy who won’t ask the waiter for extra bread at a restaurant. I’m the kind of guy who, if another guy bumped into me, I would say “sorry” – even if it was his fault! I’m the kind of guy who, if I noticed a girl staring at me, I would assume that meant I had food on my face. After all, how could a girl possibly like me? I’m pathetic. I bet you think I’m being too hard on myself. But trust me, I’m not.

I remember one night – about three months before Graduation Day – I was alone in my dorm room when I started crying for no apparent reason. I was just sitting in a chair – reading a textbook or something – when I started bawling uncontrollably. I’m not even kidding. It was really weird. Looking back on that night, I think the stress of entering the Great Unknown finally caught up to me – and released itself. But I can’t be sure.

Of course, I probably wouldn’t have been so God damn emotional if I had actually taken the time to plan my future, like everyone else I knew. All of my friends were either going to law school (which is fine if you’re into that sort of thing) or diving headfirst into the corporate world (which is a little more disturbing, but certainly understandable).

But my own future remained a mystery. I couldn’t plan my future because I was too busy playing video games, reading mystery novels, and taking naps. Now, I admit, this wasn’t a very good use of my time. In fact, it was a pretty shitty use of my time. But here’s the thing: I just wasn’t motivated. I know I should’ve been motivated (considering the rest of my life was at stake), but I was content to do nothing. And when Graduation Day arrived, I was fucked in the ass. I had no job. No prospects. No place to live. Nothing. It was pretty fucking depressing, I can assure you.

I was tempted to go home and live with my mother in Philly– at least for a little while. Let’s face it, having my mom pay for all my bills (while I leisurely looked for a job) was an appealing option. But I nixed that idea for a couple of reasons. First and foremost, my mom and I don’t get along very well. It’s nothing personal. Well, maybe it is personal. I really don’t want to get into that right now. Second, I knew that boomeranging into my old neighborhood would be a total dead end. So when my college career came to its conclusion, I drove down to Washington, D.C. to live with my cousin, Evan.

The nation’s capital was a logical destination for me. For starters, I majored in political science. Plus, I’m a quintessential political junkie. I can name all the Presidents, most of the Senators, and a good chunk of the Congressmen. I don’t mean to brag, but it’s true. The irony is that I don’t have very strong political beliefs. I think it stems from my rare ability to see things from the other person’s perspective. Plus, the world is so messy and complicated, I think it’s smart to keep an open mind about things. I just don’t see how anyone can feel certain about anything. At least that’s my opinion.

OK, I’m getting off-topic. Back to the story: Evan was a great guy to live with. Plain and simple. He was a thirty-five year old bachelor who edited a computer magazine by day and watched The Gameshow Network by night. He never pressured me to leave. In fact, he genuinely encouraged me to stay. I suppose he was lonely or something. But I felt a sense of duty to find a job and move out as fast as possible. And actually, once I put my mind to it, I found a job fairly easily.

I was hired as a researcher at America Next, which is one of the city’s most prominent think tanks. If you don’t know what a think tank is, basically it’s a non-profit organization where a bunch of old, bearded men publish studies on just about every political issue you can think of: taxes, Social Security, energy, foreign policy, all that jazz.

I was assigned to one of the company’s most boring departments – the one that investigates regulatory issues. Every day, I answer phone calls, make photocopies, and fetch coffee for a couple of middle-aged scholars. I won’t try to glorify my job, because it isn’t very glorifying. Any monkey can do it. But I was still happy to have it. I know it sounds quaint – and perhaps outright bizarre – but I was proud to be making a contribution to society. After a lifetime of taking and taking, I was finally giving something back to the world. I no longer had to apologize for my existence. My work – as humble as it was - gave me dignity.

OK, I’ll stop talking about my job. Like I said, I’m happy to have it, but I refuse to define myself through my work. I learned a lot of stuff during the next year of my life – stuff that fundamentally changed me as a human being – but I didn’t learn shit from filling out my bosses’ expense reports.

And yes – at the risk of killing the suspense - that’s what this book is about. It’s about my first year out of college, and all the crazy shit that happened to me during that year. It’s about how I survived, and even learned to thrive, in the “Real World.” I should warn you: This book isn’t just a typical coming-of-age tale; it’s also a story about the power of ideas – specifically, ideas about love and faith, truth and happiness – and how those ideas shape our lives, and control our destiny. If that ain’t your cup of tea, close this book immediately. But if you’re like me – and you enjoy books that actually have a point - keep going. You won’t be disappointed.

You know what I just realized? I haven’t even told you my name yet. That’s so retarded of me; I apologize for that. My name is Brian. Brian Raines. I bet you’re also wondering what I look like. That’s a reasonable thing to know. I won’t hold anything back.