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By B.E.

Today was the first day of the rest of my life. The very beginnings of an existence fraught with pantyhose and sensible heels; faxes and conference calls. Or maybe I'm just being dramatic and long for a musical number like Claire Fisher, singing away my corporate cares.

Today was my first official foray into corporate america, replete with an orientation meant to motivate the new hires to a fever pitch as they have just become an exclusive member of what must the greatest company to have ever existed in the US of A, or so the 15 minute welcome video of panning black and white stills and smartly choreographed sound bites would lead one to believe.

Last year I took my toe off of the proverbial line between office living and the beautiful chaos know as freelance.

It was a difficult adjustment for me.

Since childhood I have vacillated between the world of a Puritan Poster Child Mother and a Beatnik Father who narrowly avoided his destiny to be either poet or an Allman Brother.

Leaving the world of clocking in, corporate cafeterias and eternal meetings (discussing the minutea of pie safes and appropriate dish ware for a Thanksgiving feast) segued straight into midnight phone calls, last minute photo shoots and utilizing a boy scout's talent for reading the time by the sun’s position in the sky as opposed to a clock or some other sort digital device.

Giving way to reckless abandon has always been difficult for me, and this was no exception. I'm punctual and professional, yet am the first to admit that working on your couch midday (in sweats that could easily house a family of 5) is one of life's sweetest joys. Taking full advantage of my ever vanishing feminine wiles has certainly been fun.

After nearly a year of floundering in a very grey world I was offered a position at black and white headquarters. After weeks of scrutinizing, analyzing, and bemoaning my good fortune, I chose to accept.

Today's brush with hallways resembling those in Joe vs. The Volcano and talk of 401ks and emergency childcare has left me both confused and intrigued.

In a state of perpetual green grass just out of reach, who is to say what is better? The structure of the life expected or the freedom of the life unplanned.

Clearly I have my own opinions, a possession for which I am never wont, but a curious proposal nonetheless.

Perhaps the beauty lies in the fact that I can pay my bills on time and travel to foreign countries with no game plan and no reservations; call my grandparents weekly and jump in the back of a black sedan with strangers heading to lord knows where Jersey; wear my cardigan to a hip hop show and my bangles in corporate america.

B.E. is a photographer and aspiring freelance writer residing in New York City.

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