What's so funny?

It sounds like somebody's laughing.

Lately, every time I've sought out some new form of employment, tossed ideas from one side of my head to the other, applied for something I feel dangerously under-qualified for, or (sigh) something I have no interest in actually getting an awkward telephone call about, I hear something. It's like a tiny little chuckle, an air of oh-please-aren't-you-funny, maybe even wiping their eyes for mercy, oh come on, they say, stop, my stomach hurts.

Whew.

It turns out, it's me. The laughing is coming from inside my own head, which I can see is starting to present a different sort of problem than the one I'm focusing on. But the truth is, I find it to be a shame that we can't be our own advocate. I mean, I understand why, I suppose, in the face of such a daunting task, in the every day likelihood of being rejected or, worse, ignored. I mean, obviously I have yet to be hired, let alone get a single response, so it does sort of seem like the world's biggest practical joke. Here are all the available positions, they say, give it a whirl. So you do, you take your best guess, you close your eyes and swing for the center, and suddenly all the kids are howling at you, you who is standing nowhere near the pinata, but instead somewhere by the neighbor's car or under the wrong tree waving a giant stink in the air like a lunatic.

It's circumstantial, sure. But the human side of me is having trouble hanging on to hope, all the way to the point where I have begun finding hilarity in my own determination. Being turned down is certainly in the natural order of things; it wouldn't really be right to have all things going for you at the same time. Ask anyone; it really doesn't happen.

Still, if the theme here is still perseverance, then I guess we have little choice but to continue on.

One of my favorite writers, Anne Lamott, who ironically had her own form of struggle before she could do what she loved, has said something on hope that I find both endearingly and pertinently honest (which tends to be her constant mode of communication):

"Hope is not about proving anything. It's about choosing to believe this one thing, that love is bigger than any grim, bleak shit anyone can throw at us."

She's really not giving us any wiggle room here. Either you believe or you don't. She doesn't seem to say anything about believing fiercely, though, which I know (and she knows) is not always easy to do. Still, if I know anything about Anne from reading her boldface prose, she is perfectly aware of our ability to err. She almost acknowledges our mistakes as a necessary part of the process, and I find I'm in agreement with this sentiment. If we were always good at being hopeful, there would be no such thing as disappointment, bad days, getting angry. We'd always be on the lookout for a good thing, and heaven knows that is not the case.

At Anne's advice, however, the best combination of both of these two trying worlds would be to acknowledge the shit. Know it by name, face, what have you, be aware that it's never far behind from where you stand. But if at all possible, put more effort into the faith of better things. It's, as she says, a choice to be made, often times over and over again.

Hope is really the only reason you will keep applying, keep rewriting your resume, keep searching out new avenues. Yeah, you need a better paycheck, you don't like what you're already doing, of course. These are real reasons, too. But they're driven by the expectation that somewhere someone will find you worth hiring.

That's a hope, no matter how you spin it. My grasp lately has been a little slack. Should you feel a similar stagnancy, hold onto it anyway. For the love of it, for the sincerity of Anne's charge, hold tight.