What doesn't kill you…

…can still make a real mess out of your room.  Picture it, not at all Pinteresque or clean.  Every surface is covered with bits of wardrobe, casualties of my manic quest to piece together a faintly professional outfit.  We're not even talking interview material ― just 'presentable'.  Interview will be a whole different post.

I had a meeting a few weeks back with a helpful gentleman who looked over my résumé and offered some job hunting advice.  This was lovely of him.  And it is not his fault that I came away feeling bewildered, because that is where I live these days.  Among other questions, he asked, "If you cannot get any editing work or writing work or administrative work, what kind of job would you want instead?" and honestly, I don't know.  Banking?  Web Design?  Underwater Welding?

I imagine there are lots of jobs I am qualified to do (or, let's be honest, qualified to learn how to do), but it's hard to find them.  I spend hours searching, until I feel like I've clicked every link and visited every job site and Googled every keyword. 

 

This is it, I think blearily, I've reached the End of the Internet.

 

I struggle to find my footing here.  Few editing jobs call for less than four years experience, but I need work to get experience.  Someone told me that I should have more confidence in the way I present myself, but he didn't mean a general confidence in my ability to do a good job and figure things out.  Rather, this is supposed to be the sort of confidence that allows you to say, with emphasis, "These are the things I do, these are the good results I have produced, and this is the kind of job I want (complete with appropriate job title, i.e. Assistant Manager of Bowling Ball Juggling)."  But specifics also come from experience. 

I have been told to be careful "not to get myself locked into a bad cycle" and to "aim for jobs that will contribute to your long-term goals" and that "it's all about who you know: networking is key." 

Networking.  Cue the introverted paralysis.  I have extroversion in me, but put me in a room full of professional people and tell me to "go forth and network!", and my inner recluse will peer through the peephole and sadly inform you that Sarah is unavailable for duty, on account of being dead.

But I know that even when the internet ends, the people still have ideas.  So out the door I go.  I dress respectably (hence the wardrobe carnage) and attend a networking lunch.  I introduce myself and make conversation.  Don't get me wrong, it's not all paper cuts soaked in lemon juice.  For it to be all bad, the people would have to be all bad, and they're not.  Still, there is a lurking thought that the point of being here is to make contacts, which leaves me clammy and nervous and unlike myself.  It also skews the expectations.  Networking-on-purpose feels like a constant, unfocussed interview because each person wants to hear my elevator pitch.

Referring back, it's difficult to have an elevator pitch if you don't know exactly what job you're hoping for.  I attempt a pitch anyway.  I try to be confident, but stop short of lying; to be polished, but conversational ― and it's not impressive.  I finish my best effort…....

Man I am Talking To: "One thing you might consider doing is composing a short description of the work you've done and the kind of job you want; have you ever heard of an elevator pitch?"
 

Oh dear.  Wasn't that what I just gave you?  Apparently not.  Okay, okay, Sarah, no time for self-recrimination ― time to roll with it.

Me: (ruefully) "Yes, I have!  It would seem I … don't have one."

Him: (agreeing seriously)  "No, you don't."

Rimshot.  Fair enough.

 

 

Fortunately, as I'm about to leave in disgrace, my networking reputation is salvaged:

A man, who is older than my father, asks me out.  On a date.

 

I am no closer to having a job,

but it would seem the outfit is a winner. 

Or something.

Score.

What is the take-home lesson here?  Surely there is something redeeming to pull out of the awkward!  I need a moral, and I need it now before this blog post gets too long.
 

How about:

Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it. 

There's more than one way to skin a cat. 

Prayer is always a good idea. 

A life lived in fear is a life half-lived. 

Platitudes are trying to the soul. 

And hopefully, what doesn't kill you…

…makes you stronger.

 

Alone Time

As counterintuitive as it seems to girl whose life has always been blessedly abuzz with people, sometimes it's good to be alone.

Last Wednesday I made some hasty, eleventh-hour plans to join friends for a movie.  These plans were all the more spotty because they had been made without due consideration for the particular complexities of big city theaters, such as parking, tickets, and being able to get in the doors on bargain-ticket-night (the latter I didn't even attempt). 

The good news?  There will be other nights to join friends for a movie.  The momentary bad news?  I was all dressed up with nowhere to go.  And my first thought was, I guess I'm going home.

Followed by this revolutionary notion:

…or……..I could just not do that.

 

 

So I took myself out on a date.  I picked another theater, with plenty of time before my showing.  It was a beautiful night and I walked around the park, watching kids play in the water jets and couples snog on benches.  I drank a cup of cocoa in a glass coffee shop, and I didn't pull out my phone to text or check Facebook.  I let my mind wander, which it needed, because it's had a lot to do lately. 

I haven't had many pauses  to consider if I'm changing in the right direction.

You see, sometimes I wonder if on this steep learning curve of new city, new church, new friends, new work, new worries I'll come out the other end and be… not myself.  I don't mind the thought of improving, but I want to still be me.  I've always been an optimist; I've always been able to fall asleep easily; I've never had much trouble setting aside a negative in favor of a positive.  I feel like these parts of me are slipping ― certainly, I'm writing this at 2am, so the sleep thing is definitely on the skids. 

This process of sorting out how much of me is 'me', and how much of me has been my surroundings or my old habits or my family will take time.

And I think it may take more being alone.

God didn't give me any blinding answers to my questions tonight (though I did catch a hint of, "Lean harder, Sarah.  I'm here."), but just letting it be quiet for a while… that helped.

Plus, there's this:

I left my movie at midnight.  Rain had come and gone while I was inside, leaving behind only petrichor and reflective puddles.  And when I crossed the deserted crosswalk, I realized I still bounce when I walk.

It's a doofy quirk, but one I like. 

It's nice to know it's still in there.

Lost in Transit

 

 

And now a spot of DC Metro humor.

This morning's conductor must have been new. Or hung over. We'll say new.

*click* “Um.... coming up on... Falls Church.” *click*
pause while passengers ponder: which one?
*click* “....er, West.” *click*

He periodically added helpful instructions, confusing himself further:
*click* "Ladies and gentleman, doors open on..." pause *click*...
*click* "your left please keep clear of the doors thank you." *click*
*click* "Oh, uh, next station Ballston." *click*
*click* "Thank you." *click*

Then we rolled into Clarendon twice. The first time he was confident, and wrong:
*click* “NextstopClarendon, doorsopenonyourright.” *click*
...but after sheepishly departing Virginia Square, he was less sure:
*click* “.........next stop... uh, Clarendon...?” *click*

Happily, he was right that time. 

Hopefully his second day goes better. 

Or he sobers up.