speak your brain.

I'm always more interested in the job applications that have weird or unusual questions. 


I recently submitted an application that asked me to write a six-word memoir (you've heard of those, right?). I can't remember what that particular day brought forth, but today's might go something like: Sleep escapes me, every goddamn time. (The writing life is known for it's insomnia-inducing tactics, among other things.)


I've come across a few applications that want to know what I'm reading (appropriate, considering the context of the work I'm interested in), some that want to know my blog link (a very AHA-moment for me, if you will), some that want to know what magazines to which I subscribe, which blogs I visit the most, some that want a sample of my work and some that only want to know about the last three jobs I've had, if my references are reliable, and if they may contact my previous and/or current employers. 


This week, I was taking the time to submit my resume to a company I admire. I was feeling undeniably positive about the entire process, as well as the faintest tinge of excitement that could-this-be-the-avenue-I-actually-take, could this be the job that works out, somehow, maybe. It's been awhile since I took such an upbeat turn about this job search of mine. And when I say awhile, I mean, the variance in my day-to-day attitude about it, though slightly alarming, is probably natural. It's a task that will wear you thin, unfortunately, but one that only quits if you do. As for me, I'd rather keep moving forward, however slowly, however singularly. 


When I came to the end of my submission, just rereading my answers and checking for errors, I realized that I had yet to answer the final question before me: 

In 150 characters or less, tell us what makes you unique.

Even though I am in fact me, despite the truth that I understand who I am and am best aware of my strengths and faults and quirks, I have never been exceptionally adept at answering a question quite like this. What makes me unique? What makes me different from you or someone else? Lots of things, I suppose. Does it have to pertain to the job at hand? Does it have to be something I've experienced, something about my personality, a phobia, a recantation of the dream I had last night? (Trust me, nobody wants to hear that stuff. I find that my sleeping state, however sporadic, has a far more terrifying imagination than the truth of my waking life.)

The fact is, we can be a little blind to our own weirdness, simply by being ourselves. If we are a certain way and we always have been, or if we do a handful of odd things that we've always done, then we are simply in our own form of normal, however crazy it may seem to everyone else. I think places that ask this sort of question aren't really prepared for you to admit to your total lunacy (no? just me?), but rather are looking for a person who stands apart, who has more to offer than a professional letter of recommendation, someone whose personality is apparent and intriguing. Not too crazy, but just crazy enough. Memorable to the point that after scanning your letter and finding you interesting (you hope), you will be the person they return to, after all the others, because you said something that wedged in their mind, something beyond the ordinary.


So? What could I do but say, "I can draw my own brain and talk in a rat voice, and it only gets weirder from there." 


While a rat voice is a topic for another day entirely (and a good one, at that), and while drawing your own brain could, for some folks, immediately bring them to either very gruesome or anatomical depictions (trust me, most days, my mind is neither), it is something that lately stands me apart. It is something that, should the process go further into, say, an interview-type setting, would require some explanation, some details, some delving into how I have other avenues of releasing my creative urges, of practicing craft, of the ways I spend my valued time, of the way art plays into my being as an essential, like breathing, like water, like sleep. Though in terms of the last example, only sometimes. 


I think the bigger part of me hopes to send my written portfolio, my resume, my plea, across the desk of a person with an approach like mine, with an openness, with a sense of humor. I imagine that the place that accepts me will do solid, honest work, and will expect that out of those that they employ, as well as appreciating the differences we all contain, however strange, however unbelievable. There is a place for this, I believe, a place that I have to hope has a Helen-sized space, a gap for a girl who owns Sharpies in every possible color, one who can't stop thinking for even a second, one who has the urge to write everything down, and for those times when the words deflate: a mind's picture is all that seems to do.