Welcome to LA, Sarah with an "h" in apartment number 3.

I was frustrated while coming home from work tonight. I just accepted a promotion at work in a field I never saw myself working in. I should have left the office at 6, and I ended up leaving much later having me park my car at my apartment at 7.

I was hungry, I was tired and I was cold.

While waiting for the gate to open so I could park my car in the garage, I noticed a car right on my tail--hurried to park behind me. I sighed and muttered (as if they could hear me) to "get off my butt" and took my time pulling in. The car sped down and I noticed it's the bright red car that always parks next to me. It hasn't been parking there long, maybe a month or so.

The girl waved feverishly with a big smile as I shifted into park. I tried to manage a smile but groaned, this girl was way too happy to be excitedly waving to a complete stranger parking next to her.

I prepared myself for an overly joyous conversation that I figured was about to take place.

I took my time gathering my stuff and I noticed she slowly closed her door and practically waited for me to get out of my car.

Sure enough, she smiled again and said hello. I decided to put all my crap from the day behind me and smiled back.

"I'm Sarah," she put her hand out in front of me.

I partially laughed. "I'm Sarah, too, actually." She laughed and shook my hand, informing me she was Sarah with an "h" (a very common conversation I have with pretty much every Sara(h) I meet) from apartment number three.

I said I spelled my name the same way and we started the walk from the underground parking to our apartments above.

She just moved to Southern California one hundred percent by herself. She's looking for a change because she didn't like what she was doing back home in Alabama and decided it was now or never. She loves to write and has a passion for good music and positive people. She misses her family like crazy (her mailbox is overflowing with letters from home asking how she likes California and reminding her she can always retrace her steps) but she loves it. She loves it because it's different and crazy and adventurous and it makes her feel free.

Listening to her story I kept thinking, "God, she just sounds so familiar."

This girl is me, circa 2011. And listening to her story and hearing what she had to say was the reminder I completely needed today.

Had you knocked on the door of apartment 106 on Gramercy and 7th in Koreatown two summers ago, you would have found a girl with wide eyes and a smile for days. She was probably eating a cup of Ramen noodles and you would have found a stack of applications strewn across the desk. She was sleeping on the floor that belonged to some other girl and earned her stay by taking out the stranger's dog and paying a mere portion of the rent.

She would have told you she didn't know what she was looking for, but she knew she wanted change and she knew she wanted to be happy (just like this Sarah with an "h" explained to me earlier).

Putting aside the feelings of pure frustration I felt today, I can honestly say I've found that. No, I'm not in the field of work I always thought I would be--but it's new and it's change; all things new are a little bit scary at first.

Looking at the big picture? California has been everything I thought it'd be--it's different, crazy and adventurous and I know every second that I'm here I have never been more free before in my life.

So thanks, Sarah with an "h" from apartment number three. And welcome to Los Angeles, kid.

When the world said I couldn't, I went and did it anyway.

Many times in my life, I've been told I couldn't do something. Not necessarily because someone wanted to discourage me; mostly they wanted to save me the trouble of the hurt or the consequences of failure.

So, generally, when I was told I couldn't do something--I typically didn't do it. Instead, I'd make up excuses as to why I had changed my mind. I never truly fought for anything that I wanted, which was one hundred percent my fault. I never gave myself the chance to do something.

Not until I moved to California.

I've never been told I couldn't do something more times in my entire life. Friends of family, friends of myself, people I grew up going to church with--everyone had something to say about how bad of a decision moving to California would be. I definitely understand why.

I had a job I had maintained all throughout college; one in which they were willing to offer me a management position where I would most likely work for the rest of my life. I was living in Orlando, a booming but affordable city in the middle of Florida. I had friends, family--the university I had graduated from. A world of comfort and familiarity was set before me.

But I chose to blindly take a flying leap.

Besides the hope I had in my heart, I had nothing. I hoped every single day that I would land on my feet. I've definitely had my rough patches, but I'd like to say I landed pretty steadily. Maybe I wobbled a little bit here and there, but mostly I landed and I started moving.

I've gotten comfortable again. I know what to expect when I come to work. I know what's expected of me. And now the time has come for this amazing company I work for to offer me a promotion.

Even though it might not sound as scary (or maybe scary at all), it's terrifying. It's a huge leap in a direction I never saw myself taking. But just because I didn't see it before doesn't mean it's not going to be great. Or maybe it won't be great, that's always a possibility too.

For the last two weeks I've been stressing out over how this was never part of my plan. I wasn't supposed to start a career in finance (though I've never really known what career path I really want to take). I'm not nearly as qualified for this position as someone they would hire off the street would be, but they've assured me they know I will learn and grow and evolve to fit the position--and they're willing to give me time to do that.

Two years ago, I would have said no, but thank you for the opportunity.

Today I am reminded of the scared girl who was always so used to saying no, but thank you when the world advised her she couldn't. Today, I'm politely telling her to hold on; because today I know I'm capable of saying yes.

Fight for what you want; fight for who you are. It might just be worth it in the end.