A Needle In A Needlestack

I am back on the job search wagon, and goddamn if it isn’t discouraging.  AGAIN.  

It’s very easy to have a positive outlook at the beginning of this tunnel.  To believe that each move is an opportunity to find THAT JOB.  The one that pays handsomely for the skills I’ve grown and nurtured and even tortured into place while at the same time fostering growth with a team that I adore spending the day with.  The one that will finally fulfill that empty space in both my soul and my Beach Cottage Fund.  Easy until the fifth online application that requires me to input ALL my past work history EVEN THOUGH I’VE UPLOADED A RESUME AND COVER LETTER THOROUGHLY OUTLINING THOSE THINGS.  After that fifth one, the true nature of the market has emerged, and I’ve been dumped SPLAT! back in the realm of REALITY.  

After only two days of searching and universe knows how many applications, it’s time to admit the harsh truth; I’ve been dreaming.  Delusional to think that somehow my experience stands out and that I’ll be able to find anything more than a fucking administrative job. Four years in operations and five more before that in various managerial roles, and somehow, my qualifications only ready me to answer a multi-line phone system, file papers alphabetically and create entry-level spreadsheets for $12 an hour.  

What in the holy fuck is this about??  Am I really to believe that these companies are going to find the person they’re searching for with such specialized experience?  The one who not only has MY skill set, but has also spent the past 10 years investigating the density of a certain brand of plumber’s caulk while simultaneously running a 272 person Human Resources department with an exact 14:1 ratio of Haitian basket weavers and unicycle enthusiasts?  Who on this earth has an advanced degree in the psychology of moderately sized anthills with a minor in women’s studies and at least 4 years experience in the related field?  

We moved here because the Old Man is the principle bread winner, so I expected a certain amount of settling to be done on my part in the employment arena, but I’ll have it known, I’m no fucking slouch, and certainly not some kind of trophy wife.  I have a deep need to contribute and to a very large extent, my self-worth is connected to the job that I do.  I need to feel pride when meeting new people, not some vague embarrassment that I’m 34-almost-35 and a receptionist/customer service agent/cashier.  I went to school.  I worked hard.  I advanced and learned and put myself forth for evaluation.  

So how in the fuck did I end up on this path to gender stereotype???

It’s Not Hard To Give In

It’s not hard to give in to the bitter and mean.  They creep in and name the darkest creatures in the darkest corners. They don’t shout; their whispers are quiet and soft, their tread muffled and unassuming, quietly stalking the moments of silence, waiting with steepled and gnarled fingers to exhale a breath that is sweetly rancid.  It’s not hard to give in, because that bitter, that mean, they sing softly our worst fears about ourselves and the perceptions of those by whom we’re surrounded.  

It’s not hard to give in to doubt, to accept that nagging voice that we aren’t good enough, not smart enough, not able, ENOUGH.  Because inside we are all equipped with an internal naysayer, a devil, a creeping shadow whose words seem smarter than all those we’ve learned to the contrary.  

It’s not hard to give in to the anger, to the spite, to the bile; to let it wash over us and shroud our eyes from the beauty we can create.  

But do not give in, just because they are easy.  Do not believe just because they are silver-tongued.  They do not protect as they’d have you believe, they have no one’s interest at heart but their own.  That bitter, that doubt, that anger, that spite, they are liars all and cannot abide the light.  We are vulnerable, and that is our STRENGTH and all else will shrivel in the spotlight as we point it into those corners and send them scurrying back to their dank holes and caverns.  

Do not give in because a door has closed, but instead search out the light through the crack in another.  Believe in what was and what is possible TO BE.  DO NOT GIVE IN because that we believed was good, WAS TRULY GOOD and we are better for it.  Don’t ask to trade or forget.  Be grateful in the remembering and refuse the taint of those dark and wicked riders.  

It’s not hard to give in, but I won’t.