That Stamp on my Forehead

I fell into a job as an administrative assistant.  For years I had done any number of jobs, from zookeeper to travel agent to political activist; my twenties were a jumble of jobs that had no real rhyme or reason.  Then I landed a job as an administrative assistant through a temp agency.  It was a good job and the pay was phenomenal.  For a girl who had dropped out of university six credits shy of her BS in Microbiology, I was stunned by the salary I was making.  

Not only that, the work was interesting.  I did a little of everything, project management, event planning, some research here and there, the variety was enough to keep my head in the game all while I looked for jobs in what was my passion.  I wanted to be a zookeeper, a real, big-league zookeeper.  The money allowed me to make the weird weekend trips to Topeka Kansas and Orange County to interview for jobs.  But none of them ever came through.  So I kept on being an administrative assistant.

I moved to Seattle and took a job with a temp agency that again put me in an administrative position, which lead to a full time job with a financial planner; an absolute harridan who promised me bonuses and perks that just never seemed to materialize.  So I left that one and took another, this time with a grocery store chain.  There was lots of room to advance if I wanted it.  And while I did meet two of my favorite people in the world, it just didn’t work out.  But I went to work for an engineering firm, where again variety became the spice of my life. 

I did land use surveys, I helped to write environmental impact statements, I single handedly rebuilt a solid waste management plan that had been destroyed by a break in – I literally retyped and re-formatted the entire document, even recreating the figures from scratch.  It was fun, and I was promised all sorts of things and they even created a new position because of me. One that they then didn’t allow me to have.  So I left, and went to San Diego. 

There I went to work for a projector company, and I loved my boss and liked my job.  Lots of variety, and more autonomy; it was great. Surely here I could advance; then the company was sold and the facility was closed. But it was okay, because I had my dream job – an editorial assistant with a small online scientific journal. Even the offices were wonderful, and I was in heaven.  There was so much to learn and to do and experience – for four wonderful weeks it was just amazing.  Then they closed the office and I was again looking for work.

I landed on my feet, eventually ending up at a biotech in the Regulatory department.  I loved it.  I loved the people (many are still close friends today), I loved the work and I loved that what I was doing had a positive impact on the world.  After that company merged, I then moved on, back to Seattle to work at a biotech there.  Life was good there, and I had a boss who believed in me and wanted to help me advance.  I finished my degree in Communications and things were finally looking up.  Until my boss was forced out and I ended up working for a man who saw admins as something slightly more advanced than the old school secretary who took dictation and fetched coffee.

I applied for jobs, blanketed the country with my resume and hit up those I thought could help me, all to no avail.  I wanted to be anything but an admin.  The company I was working for had a large round of layoffs, of which I was one of the hapless.  I didn’t mind, it felt like freedom.  I loved the people I worked with, loved the community of big brained people who allowed me to sit at the lunch table and be part of the group.  But I was going nowhere fast, and it felt like a monumental relief to leave.  I ran away to Europe for a while and now I am again looking for a new job.

Just the other day I applied for a communications coordinator job, one that looked promising and low and behold – they called me.  Would I be interested in an executive assistant position?  This one is different – no really.  Except that the very different position sounded very much like a traditional admin job.  Tomorrow I go interview with them.

It feels as though someone has taken a great big ‘ADMIN’ stamp and placed is squarely on my forehead.  I worry that when I look in the mirror it will be tattooed there, indelible and inescapable.  I worry that when I die my headstone will read “Here Lies an Admin” complete with a little filing cabinet.  I don’t disparage or discount the work an admin does, but I do know that I am not the right person to be one.  It is not my music.  Yet every time I step through a door , I am faced with it again.

Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.  I would like nothing more than to be a writer, to write whatever I can – articles, newsletters, blog posts, stories.  Maybe it is telling me that I can’t do both – I can’t be a part time writer and a full time something else; which is how I have been approaching this.  Still, I wonder if I can ever scrub off that stamp and be seen as who I am rather than what I did for so many years.

Good Advice

The other day I read a really great quote - basically it said it is better to live your own life imperfectly than to try and live someone else's view of your life to perfection.  How often do we do that, I wonder?  How often is the life we are living really the construct of what others want for us? 

Don't get me wrong, I am sure that we are told what life we should be living with the very best of intentions.  Those that love us want us to be safe.  They want us to be happy, too - but in the absence of a good definition of what happiness is they (and we) default to safe.  We are told that all that is wanted for us is a 'good life,' a chance at what marketing moguls tell us is the American Dream.  But in reality, is that what all of us want?  I don't.  I have no interest in owning a house; especially the McMansions I see around me.  I don't have need of a fancy car, just one that works - or better yet, access to a mass transit system that is reliable. 

My dream is of travel, of good food and good wine and good friends.  My dream is a little place to come home to at the end of a good trip.  My dream is writing on a balcony overlooking the Adriatic, or the Mediterranean, or whatever big body of water happens to be happy.  My dream is wandering back streets of a foreign city itching to get lost and then found again.  My dream is completely alien to most of my family and even most of my friends.

Yet when I look at it, living the life they envision for me; even if I live it absolutely dead letter perfectly; I just feel exhausted.  Yes, the life I yearn for is not an easy one.  Yes, the life I yearn for means a lot of hard work, a lot of disappointment, and a lot of frustration.  But the safe life I had was no picnic either.  Coming home at the end of the day feeling wrung out and sad.  Working at a job that should have had so much more meaning, should have had so much more promise but instead relegated me to a nice little corner.  Where I lived for vacation, lived for evenings out with friends who understood that travel bug; where I trod lightly over the minefield of expectations of those who told me I was crazy, strange, weird, and troublesome. 

I would rather live my destiny - my very own destiny - imperfectly, flawed, and tumultuous than to ever again live a life that is prescribed for me by others who draw the boundaries of it based on their own fears.  Easier said than done, certainly; but good advice none the less.

Baby Steps

I have had some bad days, days when I wonder if any of this is worth it.  They are the days when I want to pack up and go. Anywhere.  Anywhere that isn't here.  Days when I hate everyone around me and I am positive that no matter what I have done in the past year, I am going to end up exactly where I was before.  In a dead end job that I am not happy in.  Those are rough times. They are the nights when I cry into my pillow. They are the days that lack the ambition to do little more than sit at my computer and kill time.  They are the times that I think that I am kidding myself.

Then there are times when something unexpected happens, when the sun breaks through the clouds and the world is lovely.  Those are the times when I can actually see a different future, one where I am doing what I love and being happy in my life.  Okay, maybe I jump the gun a bit.  But still...they are moments that give me hope, and I am all about the hope.

Last night was one of those moments.  A friend, a cheerleader really, prompted me to do something that I was too shy to do.  She told me to get my stuff out there.  Use my Social Media know how and start promoting myself.  You see I write another blog - Vine Woman.  It is my blog of all that is good and wonderful about living in the Northwest.  It is all about my passion for food, wine, beer, travel, the good things in life.  This one is all about me, and my journey towards becoming Vine Woman.  This one is more private and introspective.  That one I actively promote.  This cheerleader (you know who you are) prompted me to start publicizing new posts.

So I did, about two weeks ago.  It was hard to do, but I did the conversions and tweeted about my latest and held my breath.  Nothing much happened, really.  Then yesterday, one of the wineries I follow on Twitter (and who seems to follow me), retweeted my blog.  I have 62 followers.  They have 1,000.  1,000 people saw that tweet and a goodly number of them decided to follow the link.  It is a small step.  A mere baby step.  But it is the kind of step that makes me think that maybe there is something to all of this after all. It was a good day.  It was a phenomenal day, really.  One to hold onto for those days that are miserable.    

The Kids are Alright

A friend sent me a lovely email today, one in which she asked me how I was doing in light of everything that has been going on in the last year.  She asked if I was okay, was I depressed, was I frustrated, was I worried?  As is often the case when someone you care about asks such questions, there was a temptation to dash off the one line "I'm fine, thanks for asking!" reply.  The one that has the obligatory use of the exclamation mark, just to prove how fine you really are.  The one that brushes off the real answer, the deeper answer, and is meant as nothing more than a surface reassurance.  The kind of answer that we are skeptical of when we get it ourselves.

I felt that I owed her more than that; and it seemed a good opportunity to take my own emotional temperature.  Am I really 'fine?'  So I set down to write an honest reply; in doing so I kind of surprised myself.  I am, actually, fine.  Better than fine, really.  I found myself writing that I am truly grateful for this past year or so.

1. I was freed from a job that I wasn't particularly happy in.  I truly enjoyed the people I worked with.  It was a joy to spend so much of my time with funny, smart, interesting people; most of whom loved what they did and were really, really good at it.  I liked the company I worked for, I liked the idea that my work contributed to a company that tried to heal people with serious diseases.  But I never felt that I was working at my potential, and I never felt that I had the opportunity to advance or that I my skills and knowledge were be used in the best and highest use.  And yet I never seriously attempted to rectify that.

2. I was given the opportunity to take an extended trip, to spend time in some amazing and wonderful places.  I met some sweet and interesting people, was allowed to be a temporary local in France, in Ireland, in Scotland.  It was a rest I dearly needed but never realized how much. 

3. I have had the opportunity to deepen and develop a couple of interests that were peripheral hobbies.  Interests that have roots going back almost a decade.  I feel like I went from an apprentice to a pretty skilled journeyman when it comes to wine and food; and I feel as though I have become a better, stronger writer in the process.

4.  As a result of those interests, I have met some pretty wonderful people.  I have met folks who have a passion for what they do, who have a drive that gets them out of bed in the morning to work longer, harder hours in the pursuit of their interests than they ever did working in a traditional 9-5 job, and who couldn't be happier as a result.They truly are craftsmen, and beyond that they are just darned nice people.

5. I have discovered who my cheerleaders are, and have come to appreciate them more than ever.  I have met new people who I doubt I would have come in contact with in any other circumstance.  People who have given me new perspectives, new ideas, and a renewed energy to pursue them.

6. I have learned that it is okay to ask people for help.  That it is not some sort of personal failing.  That alone has been worth the price of admission.

 At the end of the day, I am not just doing okay, I am doing pretty darn good.  I am a better, smarter, stronger person for this journey.  Not that it has been a bed of roses - it has been challenging, depressing, irritating, frustrating, at times I have felt hopeless and even worthless.  And yet, I have survived, even thrived in this little petri dish.  So yeah - I'm doing just fine.  Thanks for asking.

Motivation

One thing that dogs me constantly is motivation.  As in the lack thereof.  Inertia is my enemy, I realize, one that sneaks up on me wearing the best of intentions.  No really, you deserve a day off from this relentless job hunt.  Won't hurt a thing, I promise.  Just a day to relax and not have to search a gazillion job boards.  It sounds reasonable, it sounds nice, it sounds like good advice when all is said and done.  Sometimes you do need a day off.

Lately it has become too easy to take a day off too often.  Like for several days straight.  Too easy to justify not looking today.  It's a holiday week, no one will be posting anyway.  No, really, I need time to think about this thing or that thing, how to craft my resume or cover letter; to think about if this is really a good fit.  So I step away from the computer, step away from the job hunt.  Step away from the work that will feed my intentions. And the more steps I take away from it all, the harder it is to get back to it.


I tell myself that I just need a little motivation. Something to spur me on, to invigorate and inspire me.  Something that will renew my energy and propel me back to where I need to be.  I keep looking for it, expecting to find it hidden away somewhere, like a child playing hide and go seek.  Thinking that it will pop out from unexpected nook and yell "surprise!"  But it hasn't.

I read once that motivation follows action.  It is about as true a statement as I have ever encountered.  Motivation does not spring forth unbidden from some magic lamp.  Motivation does not arise like the sun, requiring us only to stretch, yawn and step out of bed to greet it.  Motivation is a catalyst - something that, when added to action, spurs it on and accelerates the process.  If there is nothing there for it to act on, it is inert.

Today I am taking the first steps, restarting the engine and trusting that motivation has built up in the environment, just waiting for that spark to get it moving.  Truthfully, it is a battle, but one that I will win.  Because motivation follows action.  And acting is what I intend to do today. 

Intention

Merriam Webster defines intention thusly:

Function: noun

Date: 14th century

1 : a determination to act in a certain way : resolve
2 : import, significance

There has been a lot of talk, books written, comedians commenting on, etc around intention.  It has become one of those 'woo woo' words (as my brother in law likes to say) that people invoke along with things like "the will of the universe" and other such things.  But I think it has been done a disservice.

Look at that definition again.  A determination to act in a certain way; resolve.  In this last year, I can honestly say that my intentions have been all over the place.  My determination to act in a certain way has swung, pendulum like, across a broad spectrum of career choices.  It is fair to say that instead of  acting on what I wanted, I was acting only on what I didn't want. As in, I have no idea what I want my next job to look like, but I do know what I DON'T want it to look like.  I built a long list of things that I wasn't willing to do anymore.  I didn't build much of a list of what I did want to do.

Oh, I could give you fuzzy ideas about what I wanted.  I want to write.  I want to travel. I want a chance to grow and learn.  I want new challenges.  All of those things are great, on the face of them. What they don't do is give any intention of what that next position would actually look like.  Write what? Travel where? Grow how? Those questions are left hanging.  So when that dreaded interview question came up - 'where do you see yourself in five years?' - I was left hanging as well.

In my desire to not do something, I completely neglected what it was I did want.  I think part of it is fear.  Look at the last part of that definition: Import, significance. Yes, I want my next move to be important, to be a significant move.  But if I do that and I fail?  What if that choice is the wrong one?  What will others think of my choice?  Those are scary things to hang words like importance, significance, determination, and resolve on!

So here are my intentions: To write the stories that live in my head, to write about the things I love and enjoy and want to share with the world such as my northwest life blog.  To write about the travel I love and crave.  The places I have been and the places I have yet to visit.  To get paid for doing so!  That is my intention.  There.  I've said it, or rather written it, for the world to hear or read or whatever.

Keeping the Faith

I've probably talked about this before, but it is hard - really hard - to keep a sunny outlook.  There are days when I feel worthless, days when I feel useless, days when I can spend hours beating myself up over the fact that I don't have a job.  I can look over my job log; the spreadsheet where I faithfully record every position I have applied for, every place and every person I have sent a resume to; and deride myself for the things that I am going for. 

There is the little voice in my head that likes to mock me "Seriously? You think they are going to consider you??" it says as I read a job title.  "Like that's going to happen!" it laughs as I finish off a cover letter and get ready to send it.  It is the same voice that pines for my 'old life' and whines that it wants it back. 

Last week I was back in Seattle, and on a whim I stopped at my favorite market.  I pulled into the parking lot and I found myself getting really sad.  In fact, I nearly cried.  It was so familiar, so achingly familiar, this remnant of my life a year ago that it caught me off guard.  I began to mourn for this wonderful life I once had, and the familiar refrain of "I just want my life back!" began to play on the endless feedback loop in my head. 

Ah yes, that wonderful old life I had.   The job that was unfulfilling, the apartment that had a great view but was on an incredibly noisy street with incredibly noisy neighbors and was structurally damaged; the friends I saw infrequently and the frenemies that came around a little too much.  There were aspects of that life that I loved, but many more that I didn't.

In the end, I think, it is an illusion. A ploy to get you back to 'safe' because right now you don't feel any sense of safety.  It is a dream of a better time that never existed.  I have to believe - have to believe - that something better is just over the horizon for me.  That something will break and will break soon, that will be that better life I have been looking for for the past two years.  It just happens that out of those 24 months, 12 have them have conspired to make me just a bit more uncomfortable.  I do know it is out there, that I am approaching it a bit more every day.  There are times I just wish it would hurry up and get here!

Everyone Needs a Cheerleader

A friend of mine has cancer.  She was told she was terminal and had about 18 months.  She has now passed that, is doing great, plays golf a couple of times a week and shows no sign of dying any time soon.  She attributes at least part of this so-called miraculous state to her team of cheerleaders.  Another friend is going through some serious marital problems, it has been difficult for her, but things are starting to look up; she claims she wouldn't be seeing this turn around if she didn't have great friends cheering her on.  Everybody needs a cheerleader now and again, even if it isn't anything as drastic as cancer, or as depressing as divorce.

I know this first hand.  I have just passed the one year mark of unemployment.  It has been a frustrating, exhilarating, frightening, freeing, and otherwise emotional year.  It would be easy to be discouraged and depressed; it would be easy to be bitter, it would be easy to give up.  Heaven knows there are a lot of people out there who want to help you go down that path.  I have written about the well-meaning but ultimately unhelpful folks in the past.  But I am also fortunate.  I have cheerleaders.

I have friends (some of whom are family) who have been encouraging and supportive.  There is the aforementioned friend with cancer who has been unfailingly upbeat and positive, telling me that holding out for the dream is not just a good idea, but an obvious one.  There have been my brothers who are always willing to listen to me, always quick to give good advice when I ask, or just be silently supportive when I don't.  There are the friends who have offered me a roof over my head without hesitation, and who are pulling out the stops to help me through ideas and introductions.

They have pulled out the tough love when needed, provided the strong shoulder, the good laughs, and trotted out the pep talks when I was discouraged.   These are people who have unfailingly been in my corner, regardless.  Cheering me on, telling me the upside, and agreeing that yes, something good is just around the corner - they can feel it.

We all need a cheerleader.  I am fortunate and more grateful than I can say that I have a squad of them.

Encouraging the Dreamers

I have a wonderful nephew. Okay, I have several, but I am going to focus on one in particular today. At the moment he is very far away. Afghanistan far away. He is a really sweet kid who is doing something he isn't that wild about in a place that is rather scary. In short, this wasn't what he signed up for.

We have been emailing back and forth (and how wonderful is it that we have that medium!); him trying to be stoic and brave; me trying to be cheerful and supportive. It is hard work. But recently he answered my question of "what are you going to do when you are done with the military" by saying he wanted to either teach or be an engineer. Great, so far, and yet in all the years I have known him he never once uttered the words "my dream is to teach" or "engineering is so cool." In fact most of the time the question has come up regarding the rest of his life, he has talked of studying languages, studying religion or doing something in either direction with music.

So I am in this odd position. I am trying to live my dream; I am working hard at landing that dream job. It has not been easy, and it has not always been much fun. It has taken much longer than I had anticipated, and am really comfortable with - but here I still am. Watching this wonderful kid, I want desperately to tell him that he needs to be figuring out his dream now. That now, in his early 20's, is the very best time to be a dreamer - and to dream big. This is the time he needs to be asking himself the big and important questions about the rest of his life.

I know that part of his thinking is wrapped up in making his parents happy, in concerns about making a living and doing all the things he is 'supposed' to do. The pressures that society places on him, that family places on him, that friends place on him. It is a lot of noise to contend with, these conflicting and sometimes strident voices yelling direction but often not much encouragement.

How does this cheerleader for his life make a difference over here in the corner? How do I encourage the dreamer without placing added pressure on the person? I am trying to be subtle in my encouragement - I have sent books on topics I think he will find interesting, I keep from giving him advice when we email, and so far I have resisted the urge to verbally grab him by the shoulders and intently give him my witness of the journey he is on. That we both, really, are on.

Maybe it is enough to be a listener in the wilderness of voices he is navigating. A quiet place where maybe he can get some respite from the din and get his own thoughts in order. I certainly hope so.

Applying On-Line

Okay, I have a complaint. My complaint is with online applications. You know the drill, you hunt through open jobs, you see something you like and you hit the conveniently located "apply" button. Now you have been doing this for a bit, so you have the folder on your desktop that holds the resume file, the cover letter file, the job log you will dutifully record your efforts in. It shouldn't take a lot of effort. Much like the days when you mailed this stuff, right? No! This is much more convenient. Trust me.

Because now you hit that little apply button and you are asked to fill out an online profile. Enter your email. Choose a 'user name' and then a password. Enter the password again. Great! Now enter your first name, your middle initial, and your last name (all in separate boxes, of course). Now your address. Country of residence? Are you legally allowed to work in the US? Yes? Great! Oh, will you need the company in question to sponsor you to stay? No? Fabulous. Hit next.

Okay, now upload your resume. Alternatively, you can copy and paste it in the little box. What? You have a resume file - great, just tell them where it is and upload it. Hit next. Now look at it; see how all the formatting is gone? Take a few minutes and fix that, okay? I know you used the one that wasn't formatted. Still, fix it. Did the resume include ten years of past employment? Good. Did it include your education? Great. They appreciate it if you use all the standard resume stuff. Hit next.

Now upload a copy of your cover letter - or just cut and paste it in the box. Hit next.

Now tell us where you currently work. What is the name of the company? What is your title? What is the address? Who is your supervisor? Phone number? Email address? Can they contact these people? What did you do there? Great. Hit next.

Wait - what? You mean most of that was on the resume? No really, this is important. Did you hit next? Good. Tell them about the job you had before that. All the same questions. I KNOW IT'S ON YOUR RESUME! This is important. Hit next. Now tell them about the job before that job. Please do this for the last five jobs you held or the last ten years of employment. Yes - all of that. Hit next.

Okay. Now they need to ask you a few questions. Remember the job requirements that you were pretty sure you met? They aren't so sure you do. For requirement A, please tell them if you meet the criteria. Just yes or no - yes? Great. Hit next. Tell them now, in less than 2,000 words, what positions on your resume show that. Thanks. Hit next. Please continue until you have answered all of these. Hit next.

Now answer all of these questions about your race, gender, ethnicity, veteran's qualifications and possible disabilities. Hit next.

Okay! Great. Now take a look at everything you just did. Please review it carefully. Look good? Yes? Great. Now if you really want to apply - hit the 'submit' button. Ironic choice of words, that I know. But do it any way.

By the way, thanks for applying. If they think you actually meet the requirements, someone will contact you. If not, you will never hear from them again. There is an upside. If you do get an interview, make it to the stage where you are invited to the company proper to interview people, you will get to do most of that again when they hand you a paper application form and ask you for all the information you filled in on their website.

Picky versus Discerning

I got an email from a friend the other day. This is a wonderful, sweet, well meaning person who really does have my best interests at heart. And yet she asked the question that I dread these days "how's the job hunt?" I dread it because there is no easy answer. It is all sorts of complicated, to be honest.

What I ended up replying with was an answer that is honest, but is starting to feel canned. It is along the lines of: still out there, still looking, and while it is a bit scary to be a year out of work, I am not willing to take a slog position. I am holding out for a career. Yes, it sounds a bit weasel worded, I admit; but it is the truth. I am not willing to work at something I hate for an indefinite period of time. It is not fair to the person employing me, and it is not fair to me. I know how defensive that sounds. It is such for a reason.

The same, well meaning friend wrote back and said "yes, but isn't a slog job better than being on the dole?" And there was the phrase that I hate - on the dole. It hits me in the face every time I go to an interview. The present, confident me is sitting there believing that I am interviewing the company as much as they are interviewing me. The little voice in my head is screaming out in desperation "you must nail this! They must offer you the position!" Because if they don't, it means that I am continuing on the dole.

Even when that position turns out to be not what I want, when I turn out not to be the best fit, I worry about how it will be perceived. Am I being too picky? Or am I really being a discerning job hunter looking for her next career position? Truthfully, I am the latter. Truthfully, I am the huntress on the trail of something great, something exciting, something that will make getting out of bed in the morning a joy. Yet, there it is - looming over me - I'm just being too picky.

The same people who have clucked their tongues and shaken their heads over the men I have not dated, not settled down with, are again sighing that I am just too picky. That no one gets to live the dream, so it is better to settle for something - anything - less than optimum, because who knows when another offer is going to come my way.

It is hard, one year out, to hold to my ideals. It is hard, one year out, to keep looking for the right position. It is hard not to take the very next thing offered. When friends are being promoted, when friends are heading off on vacation, when friends are car shopping and shoe shopping and house shopping - it is hard not to feel like I am being picky about where the next paycheck comes from. But the last thing I want is to be back here in six months, a year; to be starting over yet again.

It maybe true that there are only so many chances in the world. I just want to make sure that the next one is the right one.

The Court Language of Cover Letters

I was bemoaning cover letters to my brother the other day and he observed that it is the last vestige of formal language. Cover letters tend to read like the carefully worded letters of introduction carried by the aristocracy of yore.

Because really, they are letters of introduction. Dear Sir or Madame, here are my bonafides; a list of my accomplishments and titles, the people to whom I am known. No wonder so many of them sound either stilted or truncated. Really all they lack is a herald standing tall and reading them aloud from a piece of parchment while we stand by humbly awaiting the monarch's acceptance or rejection.

An interesting trend has developed of late though - the cover letter as entry essay. Several times now I have come across position openings that issues some sort of challenge - if you want this job, address these items in your cover letter. One even went so far as to announce that the resume would not get the job (though they still wanted one), rather it was how the cover letter addressed a number of items.

These essays challenge the job seeker to be (and I quote) 'introspective' and to 'take an honest assessment' of who they are, what they have done and what it all means. So now, in courtly language, write me a college entrance essay. Tell me what you have learned in your time on earth and what you hope to accomplish while you are at our institution. Give me the meaning of life, encompassed on an 8.5 x 11 sheet of paper (with appropriate font and margins). We will then pass judgment upon you; deem you worthy or not (and if we find you unworthy; this you will know from our resounding silence. You see, we just get so many of these that we can only reply to those who interest us).

It is frustrating and sometimes infuriating. "Pour your heart and soul out to us" these seem to ask of us, while offering little in return. Yes, there has to be some standard for weeding the qualified from the unqualified - but isn't that what the job requirements are for? Do you really need to know my favorite all time band? Is it necessary to know what animal I would most like to be? And do I get points deducted if I prefer white wine to red? Let's be honest here, I don't want to date you, I just want to work for you.

The Myth of Busy

We are supposed to be busy. We are supposed to be working. There is an amount of work we are supposed to put in each day to be considered a contributing citizen in society. Which makes being unemployed just that much harder.

I find that I battle with what I am supposed to be doing. I am supposed to be spending eight to ten hours a day job hunting. I know this because every second 'expert' on job hunting tells me that it should be a full time job and I have to devote the same amount of time to it that I would were I being paid for it. I am also supposed to be volunteering my newly freed up time. And I am supposed to be pursuing education or interests or household to do lists.

In short, I am not supposed to have free time. Any. At all. If I do then I am obviously a slacker. A ne'er do well, a dolist.

But the reality is that busy is subjective. Were I to be totally honest, I would have to admit that even when I was employed I rarely put in a solid eight hours on job related stuff. There were times, sure, when things were busy and it was all hands on deck, no time for lunch, no time to breathe. But the majority of the time? How much time was spent chatting with people who stopped by my desk? How much time was spent getting coffee or water or a soda from the break room? How much time was spent just walking between meetings or standing at the copier or even in meetings that were unnecessary?

Because there is busy and then there is productive. Busy is doing something, being productive is putting in time with a set output.

The truth is that I am often more productive now than when I was employed. My days have a lot of stuff in them. I walk the dogs at least twice a day. I do the dishes, I look for jobs, I do work for other people, I write this blog, I write other things, I research things, I do laundry and housework and make dinner and chauffeur people. Even reading books is productive time because I am a writer. Things get done. Work is accomplished.

Sure, there are times when I sit on the couch with my lunch and watch an hour or so of television. But I am not eating bonbons and watching five different soaps. that little bit of television time, those moments spent reading my twitter account, isn't that the equivalent of chatting to people who drop by the desk, or getting coffee, or reading that non-work email?

I may not be employed, but I am not only busy, I am productive.

The Song Remains the Same

So it has been a while since I wrote here, and it is high time I did. Yes, still job hunting. Thought that is not an accurate description really. I am not hunting merely for a 'job' but rather for a career. Something that makes me excited to get up in the morning, something that is not work, but passion.

Too many of us merely work for a living. This thought came to me as I was interviewing for a position. It was something I could have done easily, something that I have done in the past. And yet when I thought of it, thought of getting it - I just felt tired. Weary to the bone kind of tired. I heard myself saying to a friend, 'sure, I can do the job, but I don't want to work that hard." Which sounds very slacker-ish. I don't mind working hard, I don't mind being busy and involved - even in that 'seriously - it's June?' kind of busy. The kind where you started a project on Monday and when you looked up again it was Monday, but two months later.

What I mind is the kind of busy where you feel that you are slogging. Where getting out of bed becomes a Herculean effort because busy or not, you aren't enjoying what you are doing. Knowing that the day before you is a carbon copy of the last 30 days, and in not one of them did anything really interesting or challenging happen. That today is indistinguishable from yesterday in a really bad Bill Murray in Groundhog day kind of way.

And yet the temptation is there, one year on, to take the very next thing that is handed to me. To say, well yes the pay is crap but it is at least as much as I am making on unemployment. To feel like a loser because I am on the dole and the days spent reading job descriptions for open positions become their own kind of tedious.

I am lucky. I have a support group that is nurturing, understanding, and fully behind me. I have friends willing to let me be the troll in the spare bedroom, emerging only for meals (and the processional chauffeur to work job). I have a cast of cheerleaders who believe in me, buck me up and remind me that I am in this for bigger game this time.

So for them, event though at the moment the song remains the same, I am back here to write more about them, me and the hunt.