Now what?

I don't know what it means to be at the end of my rope.

Really, I don't know what it means to be at the end of anything.

Even though phases of my life have come and gone, changes have transpired, I've let some things go, I've said goodbye to more people than I have kept, even though moments have felt over and done with and I've grown up a little bit here and there, nothing really ever fully comes to close, a complete and utter stop, a door without a key. Our lives are continuous in that sense, whether we like it or not.

I'm never fully out of ideas or new adventures or words to say. I might feel a little blanked out or befuddled these days, but there is no such thing as a ceasing of creativity. It might take new avenues to discover it, or a new stretch of faith we also feel short of, but there is never a bottom line in what we are able to accomplish.

So what happens when you feel like you've exhausted all your options? You've applied at a million places, all of which are either unappealing or unattainable (so you imagine), you have yet to hear back from a single one, you are scraping at what is left of your dollars and cents, you can't imagine taking one more latte order, a friend of yours was recently hired or promoted, you hear more frustrating news about the ever-dipping economy, someone discourages your interest, and so on and so forth. Sounds familiar?

I suppose that's where the end-of-rope feeling begins to feel personally applicable. I suggest, instead, that we forge a new course. What haven't you tried yet? And I know the immediate answer to that feels like,

"NOTHING. I HAVE LITERALLY TRIED IT ALL."

That's because braving new options is tough. It doesn't really feel all that exhilarating to confess what you're really going through. It's embarrassing, usually. It's like dreaming about being naked in high school. Running for cover is really the only solution we can bear in mind.

I have a couple of suggestions that I myself have been attempting to incorporate into my ongoing search. Perhaps these are ones you have already thought of or tried.

1. Ask for advice. I know it seems like the last thing you want to hear is a long to-do list from some stuffy suit in a superior position. So ask someone you respect, someone whose choices you admire and can optimally learn from. Maybe this is someone you currently work with, someone you know, a family member. Who in your life can guide you in the right direction? If nothing else, a simple sense of encouragement is something we all could use a little more often.

2. Speak up. Talk about what you want! It's not boring or ordinary or hopeless. Be proud of what excites you. Be active and use your voice. You never know who you might discover on the listening end. It could be someone who has a connection you would otherwise never encounter. For example, a customer once offered to send my resume to a colleague of his at CBS. Nothing ever came of it, but I appreciated the kind gesture. Maybe something will come from the deed of your Good Samaritan. Nothing is impossible.

3. Try, try again. If you submitted a resume to a company six months ago and never heard anything, click the resend button. Be persistent. You aren't being pushy or overly confident. You are merely saying, this is important to me, and I'm not giving up. Send that message to both yourself, and the resume receiver.

No attempt at change can hurt. The trick is to believe in your endeavors. Trust me, I am aware of the challenge that lies therein. This world can pack a punch. The rope doesn't stop here, though. As far as I'm concerned, it goes on and on and on forever. So hang tight.

Say what, Craigslist?

I admit that I have always possessed a certain wariness about Craigslist. I also admit that this skepticism is pretty much based on nothing more than the fact that you can pick up a used bouncy house, a new career, and an experienced escort, all using the same home page. Hi, recipe for a shady + sketchy explosion of interests.

Honestly, though, I've really never used it much. And by much I mean, once, in an attempt to sell a basically brand new electric guitar, because high school Helen can give it up by now. (It's still on the market by the way, should anyone be interested.)

The other day, I decided to open my mind just enough to peruse the job offerings in the New Jersey and Philadelphia areas. I found myself to be slightly ... surprised. There were a decent amount of legitimate SOUNDING possibilities, several of which I decided, what the hell, I can email Jerry to get more information on this position. (Maybe, first question: is this real or fake? ... No, really, though. Which is it?)

Of the three that I pursued further, I heard back from two, both of which had eerily similar responses: No, we won't pay you, yes we might use your work, if we don't, oh well, here is our website, we care about the earth.

Wait, I lied. One of them did offer to pay me. In trees.

Really. That's what they said. GreenAnswers.com (a real website, by the way, and I guess I can admit, from first glance, a pretty cool one, at that?) said that for every published answer their telecommuting interns produce, they will plant one tree in Central America.

Just in case you don't believe me, here is an exact excerpt from the email I received from Carl, who sends his kind regards. (Really, that's what he said. I'm merely the messenger):

"Compensation for the GreenAnswers internship is quite different from other jobs. Normally, for the general public, for every 5 questions answered on the site, GreenAnswers plants a tree in Central America. However, for every single answer submitted by an intern, GreenAnswers will plant a tree. This means that over the course of your internship, you could be responsible for hundreds of trees to be planted in Central America. To plant the trees, GreenAnswers has partnered with Trees, Water & People (TWP), a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization.."

I don't want to be a jerk. And Carl sounds nice and grandly sincere, which is something I can always appreciate in another human being whether I'm receiving a mass-generated email or not. But I'm having a difficult time taking this seriously. And maybe you're wondering, like I was, well, what about after the duration of the internship? Do they hire you? Do they then pay you in actual checks? Maybe ornamental shrubbery, or potted plants? (They didn't really give a straight answer in this regard. The response was more or less a "Maybe" with a general nod in the direction that this is not likely, but go for it anyway.)

In truth, I do care about our planet. I try to do my part. I try not to do anything too obviously stupid or destructive, I try to take care, to leave things as I found them, if not better. I try to appreciate that we don't own the earth so much as we are granted permission for its use, and therefore given the responsibility to protect it and tend to it. In the grand scheme of things, it's our biggest job. Otherwise, we start to lose other things that we tend to think of as important, things crucial to survival, clean air, drinkable water, things to eat, places to live. These things matter. I get that.

But a new tree in Guatemala isn't exactly the type of compensation I need for hard work. It's a heartfelt one, it's a selfless one. But it isn't one that I can live on, even partially. If it was a money tree, or maybe even just a fruit tree, you would find me with a more open mind on the matter. Until then, however.

It's alright, though. Basically the moral here is that I can stop writing Craigslist off as a total hack. Maybe it's not my most trusted resource, unless I'm looking to buy a canoe or find a new Asian reflexologist. (That one I'm not making up. Really. It's there.) But I'll scan the job listings now and then. I don't really want to get paid in ears of corn or seashells.

They could sell me on kittens, though. I could definitely get paid in kittens.

I confess ...

You guys have all heard of PostSecret, right?

In case you haven't, in 2005, this guy Frank Warren decided to give the world a place (via blog) where they could anonymously admit their biggest secrets. It could be about anything they wanted. Whatever they were compelled to confess about themselves, everyone would know it without being aware of who the secret belonged to.

Basically, Frank's a genius.

The response that Frank generated was so large that he's since published several books, chockfull of brilliance, continued to update his blog that now has over 4 million viewers, and has had excerpts from his community project displayed at the Museum of Modern Art. (If you want to see/learn more, go here.)

Every Sunday, as when it originally began, Frank updates his blog with new secrets. Brought to my attention by a co-worker of mine, this is one of the confessions that was included in the 07-31-11 post:

My heart didn't know where to begin. Leap with pride? Laugh? Acknowledge that familiar tug, that pang of oh-so-correctness that confirms that this struggle isn't just mine, isn't just ours? By the way, I wrote that. (I didn't. But I could have. Really, every one that I've worked with in the past year and a half of my life could have. So, whoever it was out there, we feel you. We really do.)

The point is, whatever is driving us to the point of chastising a nation's priorities via pastry bag (both figuratively and literally, in this case) is bigger than perhaps even I had anticipated. We aren't just disappointed in our employers; we're disappointed in each other, in the people we're forced to represent. We're let down to the point that we, or at least I, now find ourselves interested in jobs that keep us out of human contact, jobs that don't expect a true sense of service, jobs that grant us 99% solitude and silence to 1% interaction with the world around us . However, unless our ambitions bring us to some sort of monastic life, a kind of quiet I can only imagine, we're plainly out of luck. This is one of those sad-but-true moments. Take it in slow.

People say things all the time about the nature of customer service, about the hard road that it requires. I'm wondering, however, what type of employment isn't a form of just that? There is always a clientele, a merchant, a buyer and a seller, someone on the other side of the fence that is interested in what you provide, whether you're at the top of the chain or the burger-flipper. Let's not confuse ourselves into thinking that the classier the consumer the smoother the transaction. Plainly obvious, to me now more than ever, people are hard to please. They will have it their way, promptly, they will be compensated for lost time and incomplete gratification, they will harshly inform you of the ways in which you have wronged them, have dissatisfied them, and they will be disrespectful in their tone, outrageous in their requests, and dismissive on a very personal level.

So here's my thought. If we're going to be better and what we do, it would help to be better on the other side of the fence as well. I don't want to be a part of the awful people this person was referencing. I don't want to be part of the reason they feel humiliated by our societies. I don't want to take part in why they question the purpose of being here or working diligently. I don't know their position. Maybe they're me. Maybe they were caught in a bad time, maybe they lost a previous position, had a move, are still in high school. It doesn't matter. The point is, we as a whole have let them down. We were short-tempered with someone who didn't deserve it, we were taking a phone call while placing our order, we demanded or barked or brushed off. And, like they said, it's pathetic. When we have stopped having time to be basically kind together, we have altogether missed the point.

I'm not saying that if every customer I ever encountered was a complete doll that I'd be in love with my job. Far from it. But it would give me a little more faith in people. It would make other possibilities seem more, well, possible. Would it change everything, no.

But, I think it could change me.

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.