*whoosh*
Hear that? That’s the sound of yet another resume being sent out in the search for gainful employment. I just now sent a resume and awesome (if I do say so myself) cover letter to Calumet Photo, who is looing for a web editorial staffer to help improve and expand Calumet’s web presence. I am extremely well qualified for the job and if I got it, it could rock hardcore. I probably won’t get it, but there’s always a chance that I might, and that’s what I’ve got to keep driving towards.
I spent the majority of the day making cold calls to potential employers, sending out resumes, researching job opportunities, and generally doing everything in my power to try and get this job thing under control. I need income if I’m going to stay afloat and stay in Chicago, dammit.
I can do this. I’m too skilled and too fucking persistent to not pull it off. Assuming I keep that annoying self-doubt thing in check, that is. And so far I’ve got it nailed to the floor so for now there’s not much chance of it jumping up and fucking up the works.
This is very very interesting. Interesting as in it would totally be horrible if I failed at this and spent the rest of my life in regret, doubting that I could ever accomplish anything. I am, of course, just being dramatic, but truly a big part of the motivation here is that nagging little threat of failure that keeps you out there looking for work, that keeps you out there living like mad and flying by the seat of your pants, in the mean time doing all sorts of things that most sane people would consider somewhat, well, not sane.
It’s just the way you have to operate sometimes. No-holds-barred, all bets are off, come hell and high water living. It’s hard as ehll sometimes, and other times it’s manic-depressive heaven. But there are times when it’s the only way you can even think about going about the things you have to accomplish.
When my sister and I were little, my parents thought it would be fun for us to get rollerskates. I guess I was about 4 or 5, and my sister about 8 or 9 years old at the time. Once we got the skates home, my parents cleared all the furniture out of the kitchen and let the two of us loose. The different approaches we followed are, I think, very indicative of the differences between my personality and my sisters’.
The approach my sister took was to very carefully edge around the outside of the room, holding onto the counter top and whatever she could. She was very cautious, very careful, and did her best to stay upright while getting the hang of the skates. I, on the other hand, just sort of threw myself out into the middle of the room to see what happened. I fell a lot. In fact, I fell more than I did anything else. But in the end I got the hang of it and in fact was (if I remember correctly, anyway) a stronger, more confident skater than my sister was.
Sometimes it’s nice to edge around the outside of the room and make sure you don’t fall on your ass, but in the end if you never risk falling, you miss out on a hell of a lot. Chicago is my new set of rollerskates. I’m sure I’ll fall down a ew times, but dammit in the end I will pull this off and be all the stronger for it.
Mark my words…
[how does one mark words, anyway? I’ve never understood this…]
