I’m reaching the end of my era as a mostly carefree student/art manager and have been thrown back into that most shameful of positions. I’m job hunting.
I like working, and I do an amazing job wherever I work. Almost every job I’ve had has ended because of me moving, and then still doing some freelance work for them afterwards. This time I’m re-entering the working world after a few years of being away, and in a new country. It scares the fuck out of me.
The fear isn’t so much about doing a job. I’m awesome at what I do, and I can kick ass at whatever company hires me. It’s the getting hired bit that scares me. It’s the sending out a CV and waiting to hear back that scares me. It’s the possibility that nobody will want me that scares me.
It also scares me to be looking for work in the midst of a recession. My mom did that in the early 90s and never did get a job. Her health fell apart and she died having never been able to use the degree she had gone back to school to get during my childhood. I’m scared of that. I’m scared shitless that despite my qualifications and abilities, I won’t get a job.
But I go back to it each day. I search the sites, I send off CVs, I upload them all over the place. And each day, I get more depressed with a lack of replies. I don’t know what exactly I’m expecting. Maybe that my CV will be some glowing beacon and there will be a bidding war over my talents? Unlikely. Even a rejection would be welcome now. It’s the silence that is killing me, watching the jobs stay listed for a month, or two weeks, knowing that I won’t hear back until the applications have closed. Each day worrying that somebody more qualified, somebody more local, somebody without the slightest bit of immigration control will have applied, leaving my CV in trash.
I hate looking for work. I hate the indignity of begging for a job. I like jobs being offered to me by people who know my work already. That era is in the past, though, I’m afraid. I’m in a different country and nobody knows me here. I’m a stranger in a strange land who speaks a different variation of the language and who lives in a small town.
Yes, I’m happy to commute. Yes, I know when to add the ‘u’ and change the ‘z’ to an ‘s’. Yes, I’m damn good at what I do. So pretty please give me a job. Pretty please let me bring money into my hosuehold. Pretty please allow me to make a living and one day buy a house and be able to afford my wedding and have the financial stability to have a kid.
For now, though… pretty please email me back.