The Post-Interview Update

Since graduating college in May of 2009 I have had four job interviews: one with Starbucks Coffee Company (ahem), one as a barista with Small World Coffee, where my apron would have been red (which I sadly had to turn down), one as a cashier with Whole Foods Market, which did not pan out, and one as a part-time teller with Beneficial Bank.

So, when people say the economy is bad, they're not fucking kidding.

(About that, though. I'm a little worried that we're gearing ourselves up for a comeback that isn't quite in on the horizon just yet, isn't even on the other side of things, far into the distance but close enough to be a speck or a dot or a fleck of nothingness so that we can all put our hands to our brows and say, "What's that, what's that coming up there over the hill?" I don't see it yet, and I don't see it soon. Not to be a frowny-face or anything, but every time someone says things like, it'll turn around, give it time, or it's a bad market for everyone, I want to shake my head or roll my eyes. Even though I recognize the truth of these things, I'm afraid "time" may end up being a little longer than we'd like to imagine it. But more on this later.)

So my most recent interview, with Beneficial, was this past Tuesday morning. It went well, actually. Sarah, my very eager interviewer, educated me in the history of Beneficial's founding, its merging with Farmers and Mechanics, its functional policies. She told me I seemed like a very intelligent person, a statement that I found flattering in lieu of my rather rusty interviewing skills.

For example:

1. The answer to any question is never "Uh," unless that question should specifically be, "What is the wrong thing to say when hoping to make a good impression of your communicative skills?" (See also Um, Like, Yeah, and Dude.)

2. When you haven't worn a (yellow! yes!) pencil skirt and heels in, well, months, finding the appropriate way to sit isn't the easiest thing in the world. Crossing at the ankles is probably always your best and least-fidgety bet, ladies.

3. It's okay to think about your answers. I mean, that way you avoid Dilemma #1, plus that way you're really giving honest, reflective responses. (For more tips in this department, go here.) I'd rather see someone think before they speak, awkward pause included, then cringe as they stumble over their words without really saying anything at all.

But. I don't want to be a teller. Or a banker. I don't want to approve loans or settlements or talk people into upgrading their accounts. Plus, I'm really bad at math, which I'm assuming in this circumstance would be an automatic strike against me.

Still, overall, it was fine. I'm not stoked on the job itself, but we'll see what happens. In fact, I reeeeally don't want to do it. Being only part-time, I suppose it has potential to be a second job, which wouldn't necessarily aid in the de-stressing I've been hoping for, but it would up my income, which is an altogether different peace of mind.

If interviews don't turn into jobs, or aren't even for jobs that you necessarily hope to get, it's still good practice for the bigger, future interviews, whenever they should show themselves. If I got called tomorrow for a more promising prospect, I'd be a little more prepared for it than I was one week ago. It's reason to be grateful, OR it's finding a reason to be grateful. It's forcing the silver-lining just a little, but I'm okay with that. If that's the only way to find it, then find it. Over and over again.

And so ...

Today a strange thing happened.

A woman named Sarah with a cheery phone persona, who informed me that she loves the summer heat (it's true, she said it), called and asked if I would like to come in for a job interview.

At a bank. As a part-time teller.

In the same town in which I already already work.

HEY. An interview is an interview and while I'm not over the moon about it (I'm not, am I?), it wasn't a bad feeling to be called by someone, anyone, who found me interesting enough or at least QUALIFIED enough to do something.

I'm doing my best to not shut it down in my head before I hear the details of the position, plus the important stuff = what it pays, the benefits, etc. Because whether we want to face it or not, unless it's the dream job and we're doing exactly what we want to do and dental be damned, then those things have to matter and factor into our decision-making.

Realistically speaking, it's probably not going to pan out to be more beneficial for me than the situation in which I already (annnd regrettably) find myself.

However, it IS a salute to that hope I refer to every now and then, which glows a little brighter now with this slight encouragement. Sure, it's a candle, not a torch. But I'll take it. Though I tend to be the queen of prejudging most situations (which takes a fight, trust me), I'll try to wait until I can draw a real verdict after 10AM this coming Tuesday. My impatience is itching at me, like wearing wool in this goddamn heat wave. But a few deep breaths and the realization that hearing Sarah out won't cost me a thing, might inform me, might enlighten me, might clear a certain air, that will help.

Right?

(A reminder, to myself more than anyone: This is all temporary to me, which is as relative as the permanence of things. That is the part that gets a little frightening, which is why I remind myself that the temperance aspect is always my decision. Sure, I need to make a little more money [or a lot more, but then again, who doesn't] if I'm going to be able to enact some real change on my situation, if I'm going to be able to work out the basics of what I want out of the purest form of being here. How I get there is the unknown. Making coffee, cashing checks, FOR NOW, it is all the same. I'm trying to be flexible without losing myself. It's a long road, but I'll take the traveler's life.)

Updates after Tuesday.

Count your what?

Today feels like a day for a challenge. A big one. So? I'm going see if I can at least try to realize the things I'm grateful for, in the midst of this otherwise daunting and (currently) unchanging circumstance.

That in mind, I wouldn't really consider myself a glass-half-full person. I'm not a downer, but I tend to think of things realistically rather than ideally. It's a flawed gift. That being said, this particular milestone, for me and those like me, is pretty big and pretty honest. I might choke on my words later, or as I write them, but I do mean them and will try to remember them the next time I'm one second away from chucking a latte at an unsuspecting person's forehead. (See? That's the real me.)

1. First things first, I am not a garbage man on a garbage truck. I was stuck driving behind one today and after a full minute or two of complete annoyance, I realized, asshole that I am, these people are only trying to make their living. In a very sweaty and unforgivingly smelly environment. Though I damn the scent of espresso on a daily basis, it is not anywhere near as stomach-churning the stench of someone else's week-old refrigerator clean-outs. I watched a five-foot man reach full body into a curbside can. Truth.

2. Relatively speaking, I don't have an overwhelming amount of financial responsibilities. I have the standard check-list, all of which are manageable, and I am not digging for change in the couch cushions in order to meet my monthly demands. Can I buy new shoes? No. But I can eat and sleep, simple luxury that is not as available as you'd hope or imagine.

3. Though I have a lot of days where my hope tends to dwindle, I have not lost it just yet. Its light is faint and flickering, but I can still see it, every step of the way.

I admit I've always been one of those people who rolled their eyes whenever a friend (or enemy) cheerfully stated, "Well, it could be worse!" Though, begrudgingly, I believe what always caused me to grimace at those words was the fact that they were very, very true. It COULD be worse. In every way. And while I don't humble myself before that phrase, I acknowledge it with some decency, I give it a half nod or a small wave like you would when you bump into someone you haven't seen for a long time, someone you weren't exactly dying to reconnect with while pushing a shopping cart with your hair wet, buying tampons, reading celebrity tabloid magazines. For instance.

It's an awkward reunion, re-realizing this frankly unpleasant fact. However, the point remains that even though the worst is never exactly upon us, doesn't mean we are obligated to be content with our current standing. We don't have to like it, we certainly don't have to thank it. I can just imagine the day I go and kiss the Siren's feet in gratitude. There will be swine flapping their wings everywhere.

I think we can strike a balance between thankfulness and determination. I think we can take our fretting and dismay in stride. We can try to weigh it against the irreplaceably good things that we already have, if we want to, if we can spin it that way.

When I say we, I mean I. I get that there's a difference between a blessing and a circumstance. One is surely sprinting far ahead of the other. But that hope I referred to clinging to, I have a feeling is going to be a lot easier to grasp if I can find the good. I'll dig it up, wherever it may grow.

Cover letter = who you are.

One of the most reassuring things I have discovered about this entire process of finding a job is how promising and even inspiring some of the actual application questions can be.

Don't laugh. I'm serious.

I think that by now, six or seven posts in, we've acknowledged and agreed that the common goal here is to find an occupation that not only speaks to you but suits you in as many ways as possible (pay, location, demands, commute, contribution, you get the idea), a job that you can feel good about doing without losing too much of your own self, your own time, ability to share the good (and alright, hard) parts of life with those you love, etc.

So this is what we want. I'm not sorry for it. Are you? We want to be happily employed, happy in life, in constant, swoon-y love (preferably with someone who finds us equally irresistible), and heaven help us, if the job we do can be one that both supports our causes or includes our interests that we have truly struck vocational gold, whatever that may mean to you.

I don't know. Lately, I've been looking for extra reasons of interest when I peruse the local (and not so local) listings. For example, maybe it's a company I can really see myself fitting in with or someone who has a policy or mission worth standing behind. And then they go and ask a question or two that causes me to perk up, something I truly have an answer for, something I've thought over thorougly, something like, what's important to you about your workplace? What are the crucial elements? What motivates you? Whether or not I ever hear back from such places, it is infinitely comforting to know that certain environments care about such things. That they don't just want someone who will show up, but someone who will be inspired by the work that they do, someone that is fully invested in doing their best.

Sometimes I will go to apply for a position at a place that, on paper or webpage, seems to fit the criteria I have for doing good and feeling right about my particular involvement in such work. The hours can be right, the pay decent (because for the most part, decent is where that sidewalk ends), the workload challenging while manageable. But something seems weird about it, something isn't entirely right with either the way I'm viewing it or the way it's being presented to me.

If the actual process is feeling a little run-of-the-mill, I know that I always have a chance to wow 'em (ha HA) with my cover letter. As a person inquring after writing jobs (for the most part) my cover letter (unless they should additionally request samples) is my place to showcase that I CAN WRITE. I can form functional and interesting prose, I can sound convincing and intelligent. When I write a cover letter, what I try to do is sound like myself. To me, it doesn't make sense to sound as generic as possible. I want to pose myself as memorable (while remaining professional, of course) in a way that when those doing the hiring are sifting through the mountains of paper on their desks in their important-looking studies (this is only how I like to imagine it) they will think to themselves, Wait, hold on now, where was that one from the girl with an obvious sense of humor, the one who seems knowledgeable without taking herself too seriously, who seems to understand the responsibilities we demand with a can-do and jaunty attitude?

Don't worry, despite the glimmering hope that this particular concept is a reality somewhere, I do realize that it's a bit of a stretch. I'm only trying to sketch for you a. what it's like to live inside my brain and b. the image I attempt to convey in a few well-structured sentences that express my sincere interest, ability, and gratitude.

I try to be very honest. I highlight what I am good at, as you are supposed to, and I bring attention to what I am capable of bringing to the position. I tell the truth about my experience and how much I am willing to learn and the commitment I am willing to give. A lot of times I feel better about submitting a letter chock-full of personality when the job posting itself stands apart, uses comical wording, encourages individuality, stresses wanting a candidate with exceptional and individual skills.

If the posting is dull and full of run-on sentences that exhaust such a task as simple as FILING (I'm bored already), then I tend to run a little lighter. I don't brush off certain companies or options because I picture them to be merely dull. I do, however, find myself hoping for a response from a place that is more, well. Charismatic.

You should be able to feel like yourself at any job, especially if it is one where you are going to be devoting a lot of your time. I want to make sure that my potential hiring committee knows what they're getting. I want to seem capable AND one of a kind.

In a ever-competitive market, I know that getting hired seems like the most important part. To a point, it is. But I think it's majorly important that we don't sell ourselves short. That we aim for the biggest and hope that the receiving end has a sincere respect for our honesty. And, hopefully, a generous sense of humor.

From A Different Shore

Alright, just so everyone knows, the beach is not really an ideal place to force yourself into thinking about the real world, whatever that may be to you. Personally, I don't care for the real world all that much, but seeing as that's where I usually find myself, I think I can find a way to get along. For one, at least in the way I tend to imagine things, everyday life shouldn't have to include a lot of excess bullshit we aren't interested in doing or worrying about. Here and there, maybe, but in the general scheme of things I picture feeling a lot more free. So if you found me one day actually living on the beach, sandy and unkempt, I'd probably just say something ornery like WHAT, this doesn't look real enough for you? Secondly, if the whole point of vacation is to vacate your house and mind, one being easier than the other, then I've been doing my best to follow the rules of having a fun and worry-free week. It is not as easy as throwing on SPF 60 and sitting in the sand. Most of the time, if I want to stop thinking, I had better be asleep, and even then I am not completely off the hook.

STILL, while on vacation, with a lot less to do that seems pressing and urgent, I find myself with a lot of dangerous free-brain time. As I said before, I'm lost in thought for most of my waking life, anyway. But not having additional commitments or unchosen monopoly of what I will always (and unapologetically) consider MY TIME, I've had a little more occasion to devote to sincere consideration of the options before me.

Less time to actually work on such thoughts, however, seeing as the internet connection has been spotty and the distraction of the sandy shore is in my literal back yard. (Prioritizing doesn't mean we acknowledge everything that proclaims importance. It's just a way of realizing what's important for right now.) Sorry to say it, folks, but this week was more about getting prematurely sunburnt and baby terrapins (YES) and red beach cruisers with wide white baskets and matching saddles. I stuck my feet in the ocean and shrugged it off. I read books from start to finish and I ate a lottt of boardwalk food. I feel a little sickish, but it was worth it.

All said and done, I continued to look (occasionally), I applied for two jobs, both hopefully promising. (All those interested in a challenging but personal workplace that promotes both excellence and sense of humor, see Tough Mudder.) I worked on my Linked In profile a little bit. (Do you have one of those? I'm still working out the kinks, but I imagine it to be somewhat useful sometime soon. We'll see.) Basically, I tended to my duties without disrespecting the fact that there were beachside sunsets to watch and seagulls to shoo away and lots of porch-sitting to do.

It all ends tomorrow. And I would go back to work on Monday, but. Well, that's another post. The point is, there is no reason to ignore what we want, even if it means we continue working through the vacation time (paid or not) and the storm (however long it holds out). Change doesn't take a break. And I guess, neither do I.

New Air

I don't know about you, but my moods fluctuate.

I'm not a crazy person, most days, and I find the paths of my ups and downs to be comically traceable, most days. (I tend to be more and more obvious to myself as the days get by me.)

Still, what I've never had much experience with before is this strange sense of panic. At least, that's what I'm guessing it is. It's an altogether new quality in myself that I don't much care for and frankly, due to its sudden arrival, don't know much about. How do you even begin to tackle an unfamiliar facet of yourself? For the most part, I thought that the person that I am was here to stay. That, at the ancient and wise age of twenty-four (oh HA), there wouldn't be any more surprises on my end of things. If any unprecedented obstacles came at me, I would be able to predict in an almost uncanny fashion how I would handle things, react, or carry on.

So I guess this is me being surprised and even humbled by my own unpredictable self. It's newness. And I don't like it all that much.

See, to me, panic is the opposite of what I need right now. I don't know how to freak out without wasting a lot of time. While I'm not yet scary or running around in circles or crying publicly (wait..), when I give myself more than thirty seconds to stop and consider my situation, I get a weird tension in my body, a million bad thoughts in my brain, all usually ending with me imagining myself somewhere in a trailer park, middle-aged, eating cat food (or, more appropriately, grass), and fully out of my mind.

You can see the obvious danger that this process potentially brings.

So I've decided something. The best way for me to harness these moments of losing-my-cool (which, broken down into all meanings, might be something I'm always in the process of doing) is to transform these times into something productive. Yes, I could take a nap or deep breaths or rely on some sort of substance assistance to get me through it. But after I waken or hold my air in again or sober up I'm going to find myself in the exact same circumstance. The same situation, only a little groggier, and most likely a little sloppy.

My moments of feeling terrorized or taunted by the future are usually paired with lots of list-making, even more Google searches, temporary fits and then, even more lists. These lists end up being jumbled nonsense that make sense only to me, but I find them useful. I write down things that I have yet to try, options I should look into, research on different school programs. They are essentially my hand-written way to make sure I don't leave any stone unturned. And trust me, my forest is currently undergoing a major makeover, ever boulder and pebble and tree flung to the side in search of a hidden or unrecognized option.

And if all of that still leaves me feeling a little nauseated, I break. I take a slight sidestep into whatever book I'm obsessing over, I write to a friend, positively, about what's going on with me and ask what's new with them. I think about someone else for a minute, because for all that this search has become, I am not the only person in the world struggling with this particular issue. For that matter, I am simply not the only person struggling with anything.

I meditate on such certain T.S. Eliot words such as,

For I have known them all already, known them all:-

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

I know the voices dying with a dying fall

Beneath the music from a farther room.

So how should I presume?

The coffee spoons part is just an added irony that I happen to enjoy. J. Alfred Prufrock knows.

Anyway, the point is to figure out what works. Letting your thoughts spiral out of control and leaving you with your hands tied, of your own doing, I might add, is only going to make this harder. Let yourself find certain anxieties as merely challenging, not debilitating. After all, if you're working on it, a change is going to come, ready or not. I'm trying to stay ready.

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.