I’ve resisted writing this post for almost 3 months now, but since some want to know more about how I am/what I am doing, I now feel compelled to do so.
Let me start by saying this:
Being unemployed…sucks.
There, I said it. There really isn’t an eloquent way of saying it, at least for me there’s not, so please pardon any vulgarity you may find in that statement. If I were in the 6th grade, I would have just earned myself detention.
While I prefer not to get into the details, I was terminated without cause in January, something that has left me questioning much about myself, my work ethic, my abilities, and my principles. I still do not understand what happened and have spent way too much time trying to figure it out. The overall consensus though, is that I’m better off, that I needed to get out of there anyway.
No, I needed the job.
I’ve now had almost three months to contemplate my navel. I’ve had three months to determine what my next move is. I’ve had three months to figure out what my problem is. I’ve had two interviews, but no second interviews. I think I’ve actually applied to five or six jobs. About half of the jobs posted where I live require some sort of medical certification. Another 40% are service industry jobs that I cannot afford to work. The daily exercise of checking the job postings has become tedious and frustrating. Needless to say, I’m finding my Bachelors Degree in English is not serving me in the least. I wish I’d had the sense enough to listen to what I’m sure people were trying to tell me in college. Just graduating isn’t enough.
But my degree isn’t really to blame. My actions (or inactions) are. To blame for what, you ask? The current state I’m living in. Or, really, surviving in.
I’ve come to realize that I’m really good at complaining. I’m really good at listing all the reasons and ways in which I’ve been wronged. I’m really good at generating pity parties. I’m really good at making people believe that I need help fixing me, that I need help fixing my “situation.” I could complain until the cows come home and do so gladly. I get something from it (I suspect it’s just the attention). And I’ve become really good at making people (and myself) believe that I’m ready for change.
Let me come clean here: it’s all an act. I really am full of shit. I’m lazy and have no intention of actually doing anything to change my situation. I’m happy being miserable. I’m happy just surviving.
Now anyone who knows me knows that the above statements are only half truths. True, I get something out of my inaction (to be miserable, though I haven’t quite figured out why it’s so appealing to me). But being a survivor doesn’t have to be a dirty word. In most instances, it’s not.
I could sit here and give examples of my laziness (talking about wanting to learn programming languages for years only to finally get started and quit after one study session – yep, real serious about that one), but I suspect that my view is skewed by my inability to pull my head out of the sand. I think it all comes back to commitment. What am I truly committed to?
When I decided that I was coming off all medication, something clicked and it became REALLY easy to get out of bed most mornings at 430 AM to get to the gym. I’ve been saying it since I started: once you’ve become truly committed to something, it becomes easy. I won’t say effortless, but it is easy. I’m also starting to realize that the kick in the pants doesn’t work when it comes from external sources. If I can’t kick my own ass into gear, then I’m wasting everyone’s time.
I honestly have no idea what I’m going to do about work. There’s a part of me that believes that I’m just not cut out for corporate work. I’m too honest and I have a really hard time with the almighty dollar coming before the needs of the client/customer. But I’ve come to the realization that I’m just going to have to suck it up and learn to keep my mouth shut. I know it’s considered immature to be an idealist, but I cling to the belief that if you don’t love your job then you shouldn’t be doing it. Silly me, I thought life affirming work grew on trees and was there for the taking. Now I find out that I’m going to have to make something happen for myself. Oh, the horror…
So I’m doing all the things I’m supposed to do: going to job fairs, becoming a member of a career center, attending resumé writing and interview workshops. All I really want to do is feed people. But I know there’s no money in working in a soup kitchen…
So there it is, the cold, hard, and ugly truth of where I am. Now, seriously, can we stop talking about it? Because I really don’t want to talk about it anymore. Really.