Cold

I’m sure I’ve belabored this point before—when you blog irregularly, and you don’t have that many followers, it’s somewhat more logical to repeat yourself—but I have decided, yet again, to give up my job search.  In total, I think I was rejected for seven or eight jobs over the course of the months from May to September 2016, although I did receive, for the first time in history, positive feedback during the first interview.  My second interview proved yet again that I am far better on paper, as when I open my mouth to answer the boilerplate questions, I might as well be speaking a foreign language.  My third interview never happened at all—I was scheduled to meet with someone, told after I arrived on time to wait until they were available, and then left to decay.  I think it was probably a sign from above; I wasn’t meant for the job.  After thirty minutes of waiting, I left.  No one called to check on me afterward, so perhaps it was a mutual sign of discord.  The other rejections were the standard form emails, or no response at all, which is always a sign that A) nobody wants to even bother calling to say no, or B) they’ve already hired their cousin/uncle/childhood friend, and were only advertising the position under the guise of fairness and equity.

People might read this and think I’m lazy—and don’t feel guilty, because I’ve had relatives not-so-subtly suggest that I am a shiftless, overeducated wimp—but I can assure you I am not.  I didn’t go to college for seven years because I thought it might be fun—it decidedly was not—nor did I take out a ton of student loans to benefit my health.  I wanted a good education, and I still want to work to earn a living.  I would love to travel, marry, and have a family.  Hell, I’d just love to have any kind of social life at this point.  As it is, my primary interactions occur at the post office and public library; every few months, I talk to a neurologist, two or three nurses, and a few lab technicians.  Otherwise, I spend more time alone that a scientist positioned at the North Pole weather station.  It just seems as though the opportunities that are out there—or that I thought would be out there—are open to everyone but me.  I never want to be arrogant, but I would actually love to have self-esteem at some point in my life.  More often than not, I feel defective, as though I never developed the necessary skills needed for life.  Perhaps when God was handing them out, I had stepped out of line to watch Days of our Lives.  There are so many things others seem able to do without effort that don’t even seem within the realm of possibility for me.  I have manners, and I try to be affable and kind toward people, but I’ve just never been what you would term gregarious.  I may have been as a child, but my peers and teachers, at least from the age of ten on, quickly knocked that out of me.  I can’t even whistle, for goodness’ sake!  I’m pretty good at self-pity, though, and I was a decent writer before my brain grew a tumor and damaged my short-term memory.

If you’re reading this, better be sure to bundle up.  The first Arctic air of the season is heading south.  To quote the great poet Jason Aldean, I could use a little more summertime.   

The Truth

After five years of unemployment, multiple failed interviews, and scores of rejections, I am ready to admit the truth:  being hired has nothing to do with what you know, and everything to do with who you know.  Positions are only advertised under the façade of equality; if you are not related by blood, marriage, or some other tenuous connection to the person in charge, your qualifications and/or education might as well be non-existent.  Prior to sinking your valuable time, money, and years into a college education, you’d better make sure beforehand that a job will be waiting for you upon graduation or you will have one very hard row to hoe.  Don’t believe me?  Take your perfectly-good résumé and apply for a position at a place where you don’t know the hiring official or aren’t related to the man in charge, and see what happens.  Trust me—you’ll wind up in the same boat as me, but hopefully with less debt.

Desperately

Applying for jobs has to be one of the stranger processes we encounter in life.  Applications, résumés, and cover letters head out into cyberspace, or the mail, and we have little knowledge of how they are received, or if they are ever given anything more than a cursory glance before being tossed into the slush pile.  Regular followers of this blog will recall that finding a job in the years since I completed my master’s degree has been impossible.  The longer it takes, the more I grow to accept that I am simply never going to be employed in a library.  There are too many new graduates being turned out every semester, people with better connections or a deeper base of knowledge or a fresher understanding of the latest technologies.  From the beginning I was diverse in my applications, submitting my information to a variety of institutions, including but not limited to factories, hospitals, schools, and colleges.  It is interesting to note that my abilities to compute have never been put into use; I was even passed-over for data entry jobs.  It was in this jobless environment that I first put pen to paper and decided to write a novel.  I enjoy writing—creating alternate universes and in essence creating friends and family for myself provides a lot of happiness.  However, unless I sell a book to a screenwriter, I am not sure that it will be a quick ticket to riches.  I still have bills to pay, which is something that employers overlook during the interview process—a person may need the job more than they want it.  Life isn’t always about having fun; I was raised with the belief that adults had to work hard to earn a living.  I remain in arrested development—I cannot financially support myself, though I will admit to understanding the value of a dollar.  Frequent solitude has turned me from an introvert into a super-introvert.  I am less than forthcoming when people ask me questions, if for no reason other than I have been forced into an even deeper level of social awkwardness.  I recall an incident in graduate school in which I was supposed to be recognized at a ceremony, only to be forgotten and ignored.  This led me to further paranoia when it comes to sending emails—if I don’t receive a confirming correspondence, I figure my message was lost in cyberspace.  I ultimately received the recognition I had been promised albeit not at that ceremony.  I also have difficulty with long-term friendships.  As time passes, most friends fall away and forget about me.   The few strong ones I have cultivated live no closer to me than one hundred miles.  And if you do live closer, please let me know.  I’d like to see you.  I know I shouldn’t throw people under the bus, but I find myself in the company of people who are supposed to be friends but use me as an object of derision, the “point and laugh” person.  I’m not fond of that.  I crave genuine friendship and human connection.  Sharing jokes is one thing, but I don’t want to be the joke.  Once again, I have gotten off course.  I recently applied for a job that two years ago I never would have considered.  Not too many years ago I sat in on interviews, then later on performed the interviews and did the hiring myself.  I’m not sure how many people actually know that about me.  It was an interesting process, but I am unknowledgeable about how other companies and organizations do it.  I think, however, that it is time to start over and forget about my dream of working in a library, just the same as I tossed aside my dreams of being an architect, psychologist, and schoolteacher.  Some dreams are attainable. Some are not.

 

Running Down a Dream

An ancient proverb tells us that patience is a virtue—and if this is true, then I am pretty darned virtuous.  My whole life is a waiting game, and I never advance any closer to an end goal.  And yes, I know that life is a destination, not a journey, but mine is neither.  I have increasingly realized over the past year that I have no concept of fun, or relaxation, or hobbies, and part of this is because I am just too poor for them.  Hobbies require some kind of income, unless you’re hiking (and even that requires the money to buy proper shoes).  I have also realized that if I ever find a real job, I won’t have time for fun.  I’ll be too busy working.  At this point, though, I don’t guess it matters.  I am single and hardly surrounded by a plethora of friends—nearly everyone I am close to lives miles and miles from here—but it would just be nice to make money.  It would also be nice to be married and have children before I grow old and die—but that requires money, too.  I guess writing is the cheapest hobby I could imagine, but the stress of my life has pushed me into a period of writer’s block.

 

Continued

The good news is that I’ve applied for two jobs so far this week.  Not anything I’m likely to be hired for, of course, but one never knows.  The bad news is I’m still woeful, more depressed than I can ever remember being in the past.  And much like a huge immovable boulder, I don’t see a quick way around it.

Currently listening to “Bigger Man Than Me” by George Strait

Searching

Much of my life has been spent searching.  At a young age I searched for acceptance for myself, the weird kid that spent most of his free time drawing, building, or reading.  Then I searched for strong friendships—and I still am.  As I grew older I began to search for love—which I’ve never found—and my place in the world.  Never found that, either.  I searched a wide variety of career options and degree programs.  Even though I found a master’s program that wanted me, no one in that world wants me as their employee.  Often times my life is incredibly difficult and lonely.  And I’m not wallowing in pity because so many are worse off than me—they are trapped in terrible situations and will never be able to escape.   One way or another, someday I want to be wanted.  With all that said, I think I look better now than at any time in my life.  I’ve finally grown into my own skin.

 

Currently listening to “On a Night Like This” by Kylie Minogue  

Randoms

Some random musings from my brain this week...

• Just finished reading "Looking for Alaska" by John Green.  It's interesting--I think I understand the themes in young adult fiction far more now than I did when those kinds of books were in my milieu.  The book had a lot to say in its brief 221 pages about the struggles of life as a whole, not just young life, and it also had lots to say about faith and believing in a higher power. 
• Rediscovering lately my love for Shania Twain and her music.  It's never really gone away, but with so few albums to her credit I wind up gravitating toward other artists.  Her second album in particular seems to define a time and place in the mid-90s when I was moving from kid-land toward young adulthood, but still blissfully naive of life's problems.
• Making good progress on editing this book. I always wind up forgetting a certain amount of the story and through the editing process I am reminded of passages and high points.  Ultimately, I am reminded of why I started writing this novel in the first place.
• No progess on the jobs front.  I did update/edit my resume for the 459th time, so that's something to report.
• Nice weather this week.  I tend to like the in-between, not-brutally-hot-but-not-quite-fall- yet weather.  Am I ready to break out my sweaters?  Um, no.
• Getting lots of nice feedback about my novels.  It's fantastic to be appreciated, read, and enjoyed.

It's Not Just Me...Is It?

Over the past week I took a sabbatical from my blog while I vacationed.  Even in the midst of relaxing, I still managed to fit in a lot of reading, writing, and thinking.  As much as I don't want it to, a third novel is germinating in my brain as I work tirelessly to edit the second one.  I am making great promise editing the novel, but my personal life is falling apart all around me.  I have received two job rejections in just the past two days, and I can feel myself slowly coming undone.  I already have no confidence in my skills, education, and abilities, each rejection just makes it all worse.  Why should I feel encouraged to promote myself when no one else finds me a valuable commodity?  Pardon the metaphor, but is it really necessary that I must kiss so many frogs before I turn into a prince.  Things were so much calmer, peaceful, easier while I was sitting on the beach and staring at the water.  Here at home, the world is still a mess.


Currently listening to "Sign of the Times" by Prince

Under Cover Letters

I get the feeling that there is a perfect method for writing a cover letter, but I have yet to find it.  Why is it so easy for me to write fiction, but so difficult for me to write about myself?  Even when I read sample cover letters, I struggle to find my own voice.  In some ways I think this is a sign of humility; in this corner of the world I was raised to be proud but not a braggart.  In another way, though, it is a lack of confidence that keeps me from promoting myself.  I consistently wonder if my accomplishments measure up to others.  Others have had more opportunities to travel and do internships; I did the best I could with limited resources, working consistently throughout college and focusing on my studies.  Is writing cover letters easier for those with a long list of accomplishments?  Putting yourself out there is always a little disarming and frightening. 

The entire process of searching for a job can be soul-draining, but once we give up hope we have nothing left.

Currently listening to:  Flashlight by Chris Young