A Hunting We Will Go

Job hunting. Two words to strike fear into the hearts of the most stoic of humans. There is something about laying your work life bare for strangers to evaluate and pass judgement. Truthfully? It makes blind dates look like child's play.

Last time I did this, the last time I undertook a serious job hunt, it was both easier and harder. More printing and mailing out of resumes, waiting a couple of weeks for either a phone call or a letter. Something that told you that someone had actually looked at what you had produced, whether or not they liked it. Lately even that little courtesy is gone. You email attachments out into the ether, get the automatic reply and often hear nothing ever again. You begin to long for a rejection letter.

Granted, I haven't been at this that long. It is still early days and I am not truly worried. Though a little voice in the back of my head nags at me - "You're Unemployed." Thanks for the reminder. "No really, you don't have a job." I know. Thanks. "Seriously, you should be worried." And so it goes.

Mostly I can banish the voice back to the cave it dwells in, but there are days when it is a persistent little bugger. Mostly I am peaceful, mostly I know that the right thing will come along at the right time. Mostly I can send out my work (the results of much research, time and energy) and let it go, like releasing a dove and waiting patiently for it to return with an olive branch. Mostly I can keep myself busy and productive and engaged. Still. Still. Still.

Home again

After a wonderful week in New York city, I am "home" again. Another one of the lessons I have learned on this trip is that home is less about walls, and more about people. So home has become a movable feast for me.

Home is spending time with Erik coming up with ways to change the world.
Home is Bob tweaking my laptop and making sure everything is running right.
Home is Geoff talking about fish tacos, new sci fi and watching the food channel via the phone.
Home is laughing so hard with Beth that my stomach hurts
Home is shopping with Sharon, and dinner with her and Mitch.
Home is listening to Pete tell stories, hearing Teresa laugh and playing with the cats.
Home is finding out that Laura is beating the snot out of cancer.
Home is having a good book, my iPod, and a new adventure to plan.

Tonight, home is a warm apartment in Vancouver, where I can smell dinner on the stove (because Beth is a marvelous cook), listen to her and George talking the way only they do (which is because they have known each other forever and loved each other just about as long). It is being absorbed into a place where strays are not just welcomed, but made to feel that they were always supposed to be there.

I'm not sure where I will physically be in the next few months, but I have finally realized that no matter where that may be, I am already home.