Autobiographical Personal Narrative

I have always loved Christmas lights. The Christmas season in general has been a great

source of joy and light in my life ever since I can remember. My family and I would set up

Christmas decorations immediately after Thanksgiving, at my insistence, in order to stretch out

the Christmas season for as long as possible. After the initial set up was finished, and all of our

neighbors had caught on and done the same, I found myself absolutely mesmerized by the lights

that come out at Christmas time: outside lights intended to light the way for Santa’s sleigh,

indoor tree lights, etc. I could stare at them for hours on end and I often did. I remember,

distinctly, that every year on Christmas Eve, my family would take my brother and I driving

around the various neighborhoods to listen to Christmas music on the radio and just look at the

Christmas lights. Sitting in the backseat of our family car, heater on, soft Christmas carols

playing in the background, I would get lost in a whole other romantic world peering out the

window in wonder at all of the lights. It was at this moment in time that I felt pure, absolute joy.

To describe it in a way most people can relate to, it gave me the same feeling as when you first

kiss someone who you have been wanting to kiss for a long time. It feels like you’re floating,

everything builds and finally it happens, and you’re in the air. I have spent my whole life on

what feels like a quest to have this bliss be a part of all aspects of my life: to attain unadulterated

delight.

As a six year old, though, that level of intensity of emotion and passion is quite a lot to

handle, especially when you lack the emotional knowledge to understand it. Unconsciously, I

was terrified at losing this joy, this little ball of light in my world, it was too bright for my small
self. Unable to cope, I ran from this joy, allowing it to only be a part of my life during Christmas

time, in the lights.

In my escape, I found distractions to keep myself occupied and to avoid longing for the

little ball of light. Achievements proved incredibly distracting for me; they became my drug of

choice. I did incredibly well in school, getting A’s in all of my classes and on all of my exams.

Being the best became my main focus; I wanted to win. I recall, in particular, the empowering

feeling I got when report cards were sent home, mine filled with A’s and Outstandings, but my

brother’s lacking in achievements. At the time, it did not matter if others succeeded, I just

wanted to be better than them. I did not realize that I was learning to use people as stepping

stones to get to where I wanted to be. Just as an addict will do anything for their fix, I would do

anything for mine.

I can recall various instances of feeling proud when I succeeded and others failed. In my

Algebra course in middle school, my teacher handed back exams but did not return mine. Upon

inquiry into where my exam was, she stated that, since I had received a perfect score, she was

using mine as an answer key so she did not have to print one out. I felt boastful and proud, not

caring about how other students may feel knowing that they did not do as well in this course.

This fixation on success continued and grew in my later adolescent years. I maintained

over a 4.0 GPA, passed AP exams, got the lead in the school play my first year. Addiction,

however, comes at a cost. Selfishness prevailed in my life: the only thing that mattered to me

was getting my fix. Personal relationships never took with me because they did not matter as

much as achieving my goals. They were simply obstacles that were in my way. Looking back, I

can recognize that these personal relationships may have presented an opportunity to feel
something more, something like the bliss I felt when surrounded by the light of Christmas, so I

ran from it, afraid that it would not last. I never even considered that my actions were anything

but justified, just as an addict never thinks they have a problem. I thought I was just ambitious, a

career-woman; I thought that this is what makes me happy.

This trickled into my leadership abilities and approach. In group projects, I demanded

control and often did not have to fight very hard to get it, my classmates just knew that I

expected to be in charge. Looking back, that is not something you really want from a leader, is

it? I suppose I was more of a dictator, demanding control rather than inspiring leadership. During

my final years of high school, I began to realize that this was not the leader or person, for that

matter, that I had hoped to become. I was constantly called selfish and lost many of my friends

due to my tendency to use people as stepping stones or as a means to an end. I decided to leave

the past behind me in a very literal way: I moved away to college, dyed my hair, and changed my

name. In a sense, I demanded a whole new identity for myself.

It was during this first year of college that I had a brush with the romance I had felt

during Christmastime. I met a boy, let’s call him Tom. Tom was a lot of things and none of them

were nice. He was so interesting though, almost electric. He was so unlike any person I had ever

met that I could not stay away no matter what the people around me or my logic insisted I do. I

quickly fell in love with Tom, the first and only time I had ever been in love. This went against

everything I had ever thought about myself: I did not form these kinds of interpersonal

attachments, I did not need anyone. I was my own person and love was merely a distraction in

the way of getting what I wanted. Yet, there I was, eighteen and in love. However, as I said

before, Tom was not a nice man, he was abusive and manipulative. This became increasingly
prevalent in our relationship and in the way he treated me. I lacked even the courage to break up

with him; in my mind, he was the only chance at love I would ever have. If I lost him I lost my

one chance at love. In the end, Tom broke up with me. Despite the way he treated me, I was

absolutely devastated and heartbroken. I cried in bed for a week. After a couple of months of

healing and coming to terms with how he had treated me, Tom came after me. He tricked another

student into letting him into my building and banged and yelled at my door for me. Luckily I was

not home at the time. I had finally accepted the man Tom truly was and knew that I was right to

be terrified. When I reported it to the school and they asked me if I was afraid for my life, I knew

the answer was yes. If he found me and couldn’t have me, he would kill me. Colleges, though,

are not often known for being big supporters of victims of abuse and assault, so they were not

much help. The friends I had found during my time on campus though, rallied around me. One of

them was an RA for a different part of campus and pulled a lot of strings to get me moved to a

different room on the other side of campus where he could not find me. My friends would wait

outside of my door and walk me to my class, then pick me back up again once class was over

and walk me back in the weeks following to make sure Tom would not come for me again. Some

of them even slept on my floor in case he showed up at my new dorm. This was a support system

that I had never had before and had never known I needed. I found myself finding the value in

human connection, which I had previously neglected or run from. I learned that, especially as a

leader, having a support system or being that support system is vital to the human experience. I

wanted others to feel the same compassion and understanding that the people in my life gave me.

I never wanted anyone to feel fear I had felt during that time, which helped me become an

empathetic and compassionate leader and person, always emphasizing concern for others.
 Further along in college, I found myself still figuring out who I was. I continued to place

a heavy emphasis on being a good person and on being kind-hearted. In this search, I happened

to find myself in need of a job. Having always been an avid Starbucks customer, I decided to

apply to a store in a nearby small town. Shortly after, I was hired at a location in Monterey,

California. My manager, Sarah, was incredibly charismatic and positive. She was often referred

to as “Sarah Sunshine” because of her big heart and positive demeanor. Sarah was incredibly

kind-hearted. She leaned into vulnerability and ensured each and every partner felt cared for and

appreciated. She knew they were people, not just bodies designed to do a job. This was the first

time I had ever worked under anyone who so obviously cherished her followers as human

beings. I recalled back to how I had distracted myself with ambition and wanting to be better

than everyone else, leading by demand. I was disgusted that I had ever been that person. I

realized, under her leadership, that I could still be ambitious and want success, but that I did not

need to hurt others to get there. Sarah truly believed in me and in my ability to create meaningful

relationships and be an authentic leader. She quickly promoted me and supported me as I made

the transition.

During this first year as a Starbucks partner, I began to allow that bliss and vulnerability

to enter into my workplace and the relationships I formed there. I found a new family in my

partners and spent many important days behind an espresso machine, including Christmas. While

I attribute much of my success and leadership style to having worked under Sarah for that time, it

really is Starbucks Coffee Company as a whole that impacted me the most. I made it my goal to

live by Starbucks’ values, as I resonated so highly with them. The company’s values put into

words what the person and leader I had hoped to become. I truly began to fall in love with
Starbucks, in a very different way from the love I experienced with Tom. This love supported

me, treated me as the human being that I am, and cared about me. I felt elated at having found

something that meant so much to me. I wanted other people and other partners to feel the same

joy. I, therefore, translated that into my leadership tendencies. By leading authentically and

vulnerably, I hoped to give my partners even a glimpse of what this love felt like.

Having come full circle, on a night in December, I had just closed my store and decided

to walk around the town and look at the Christmas lights, just as I had done every Christmas Eve

during my childhood. I walked through the streets of the small shopping center in which my

store was located, feeling the crisp night air on my skin. I once again felt the pure joy that I had

always felt when absorbed in the light of Christmas. At the same time, I felt no different from

how I felt in my everyday life. I recalled my quest which I had long neglected in obtaining this

adoration I felt looking at Christmas lights in all parts of my life, and realized that I had done it.

In becoming a Starbucks partner, in learning to lead through vulnerability and authenticity, in

crafting meaningful and impactful relationships with my partners, I had found a job that gives me

that same feeling of love. I had completed my quest unintentionally but in the greatest way

possible. Now, I aim to give other partners and other people in my life the opportunity to have

that same feeling, to fall in love with what they do, to connect through authenticity, vulnerability,

compassion, and love.

I had never considered myself a romantic. Probably because most of my life, as just laid

out, I was not. Or I tried not to be. It turns out, I was just a terrified romantic who coped by

turning herself into an ambitious optimist at best. I focused on distractions in success and

winning, but that never stopped the underlying longing for that joy I felt looking at Christmas
lights as a child or the joy I now experience everyday because of what Starbucks has given me. It

was not until I sat down, and wrote about it, that I literally gasped at the realization that I am and

always have been, in fact, a romantic. I thought that my college boyfriend would be the only time

I was ever in love. I was terribly mistaken. I first fell in love with the romance of Christmas and

the lights, I fell in love with goodness, then again found love in coffee and a company that sees

everything “through the lens of humanity” (​Mission Statement​). I fall in love every day at

Starbucks and aim to lead my partners through that love.

 References

Mission Statement. (n.d.). Retrieved August 24, 2020, from

https://www.starbucks.com/about-us/company-information/mission-statement