Hey kids, you know what today is?
Besides the World Cup kickoff. 1
Today marks my one-year anniversary with unemployment. Well, technically, it’s tomorrow. June 12th, 2009 was my last day of full-time work — and it wasn’t even a full day’s worth, since I’d normally spend Friday afternoons preparing for Monday’s newsletters. But I’m observing the anniversary today, since it is a Friday, and just like a year ago it is sunny even though we’ve been having some rain, just like a year ago I will be spending part of the day drinking beer, and just like a year ago I have no idea what I want to do with my life. No, wait . . .
I spent the first few months recovering from a job that, while brief, was intense. The last two jobs I’d had were managerial, and while the experience was good, I was tired of watching other people work. It never felt like I was actually DOING anything, other than making sure everyone else got things done. A vital part of any sort of office experience, I suppose, and I know that I’m good at it, but wow did I feel unfulfilled and underutilized. I’d burned out. And I’d told myself that the next job would allow me to be more creative.
The problem with taking the summer off is that by the time September rolled around, I’d gotten used to not working. Which is not to say I’d been doing nothing — through the help of a good friend I’d started reading and reviewing books for a monthly magazine (which I am still doing — find links to recent reviews here). The pay wasn’t enough to live on, but it fulfilled my need to write. My recovery period meant, however, that re-entry into the world of job hunting was extremely difficult. I’d taken this break in the hopes that I would use the time to regroup and figure out my next move. I hadn’t achieved this by September. Or October. Or November. Or March.
Instead I’d halfheartedly peruse job listings on various online sites and either find nothing that I was remotely qualified for or — only occasionally — opportunities that were similar to the job I’d previously had. And even though I knew I wanted more than that (or at least something different), I submitted resumes. And heard nothing. I choose to believe it was because my lack of enthusiasm was palpable beneath the cheerful veneer of my cover letters.
I have had exactly one interview. It went rather well but the job seems to have disappeared.
Then there was the time I sent an application for a writing/editing job I was overqualified for, knowing that the salary rate was below what I deserved but hoping I could negotiate for a little more, and got a phone call right away. It took me a minute to realize that I was being interviewed over the phone, which I think is a rather rude way to be unorthodox, even though it meant I didn’t need to put on any interview pants. We chatted pleasantly for a few minutes, which was enough time for me to get a fairly strong crazy vibe from the woman on the other end of the line, and then she mentioned the salary — only this time it was a couple thousand less than the quoted range on the job posting. I started to express my concerns about that and she cut me off, saying, “I cannot budge on that, so this isn’t going to work out,” and then she hung up on me. I feel compelled to mention that the job in question was for a website that promotes the empowering of young women. (I also feel compelled to mention that “empowerment” has become one of those words that irk me, but that’s another post.)
There were a few months in there that I gave up trying. The theory of forward momentum, that any action I take is a positive step toward getting what I want, didn’t seem to be working in practice — at least not as quickly as I wanted it to (I am a very impatient person. When I decide something needs to happen it needs to happen NOW). Compounding the problem was that I didn’t have a clear sense of what I wanted, only what I didn’t want. This elusive new job was becoming much like pornography. I’d know it when I saw it. Other than that, field was wide open. I do not recommend this attitude.
And so I spent a number of days on the Internet pretending to look for work. I gained 15 pounds. I became depressed and withdrawn and didn’t leave my apartment a whole lot. Only the people closest to me knew how discouraged and distressed I was, though occasionally small bursts of bitterness and/or rage would appear on Twitter or Tumblr. Otherwise I like to think I put up a pretty good front. I’ve never been very good at sharing my problems with people. Maybe I’m just fooling myself and everyone knew I was a mess and they were just too nice to say anything about it.2
What I have done consistently throughout this year is write. I wrote and rewrote and rewrote my resume (there are five or six different versions of it now). I wrote and rewrote and rewrote cover letters. I wrote a(n unfinished) novel in November. I have a couple other novel ideas that I’m starting to sketch out. I’ve been writing book reviews. I rededicated myself to this blog and, after a few false starts, have worked my way up to posting something almost every day. I started writing about LOST and got tremendous positive feedback on that. Those of you who have told me that mine was the first site you visited after watching each episode, I can’t tell you how much that’s meant to me. It’s prompted me to keep on writing about TV — I’m going back over Doctor Who, and I’m going to start rewatching Mad Men from the beginning as well. In fact, when the new season starts you’ll be able to read my Mad Men recaps on an entirely different site — more news and links to follow.
I’ve suspected for some time that what I really wanted to do was write about pop culture. Not from a gossipy perspective, but actually using what cultural analysis tools I remember from graduate school to write informed pieces on books that I read, movies I watch, TV I enjoy. This is not a new idea for me and it shouldn’t be a surprise to any of you, particularly those of you who have said, “You need a job writing about this stuff.” It just that it’s taken me an entire year to get it down in writing, to get to the point where I am comfortable saying, “This is what I want.” THIS is what I want. THIS is what I will enjoy doing day after day. THIS is what will fulfill me. THIS.
Now, if you’ll excuse me — Don Draper is calling.
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