“But I have talent–I’m talented!” I choked through tears of self-pity. My boyfriend calmly responded that I am, indeed, talented. This affirmation probably would have felt better wrapped in an embrace, but since we’re 8 hours apart and sharing our lives via bits and pieces of dropped calls and mismatched schedules, his virtual nod didn’t entirely heal my hurt.
I was crying, of course, because I’d suffered another job rejection. My job rejections sound like “I’ll call you in a few days” (restaurant managers), “we’ve chosen another candidate” (writing positions), and (most of the time) they sound like complete and utter ear-shattering silence.
I mainly feel sad because I feel like I’ll never be qualified for any position–either as a server or as some kind of writer writing something for someone. But sometimes I get really mad. I know that I can wait tables. I know that I can write anything within any given guidelines. The sadness stems from “why don’t you like me?” but the anger reverberates around “give me a fucking chance!”
So here I am, tip-toeing along the tight rope of patience and persistence. When do I trip into the category of obnoxious go-getter? Fall into the deep dark hole of forever limbo? I’ve always wanted people to like me, but I think that perhaps I should start focusing on something else. Maybe, step number one, is simply to be noticed.
Do other people write angst-ridden blog posts about their job searches? Maybe that’s why I don’t have a job. Or maybe! This is just what I needed–to write myself into existence. To build myself up before I go out and get torn down, again and again.