Jobs, Money, and Essays

I had a job interview this week.

Job interviews suck, they just do. Even ones that go well, like this one did (I think), still have that underlying, ever-present feeling of this sucks. Job interviews are high-stakes first impressions. And I sit there nervously, trying to remember my prep, think of situations to describe that answer their questions, and wish that they had sent me the questions beforehand so I could’ve prepared better. It’s like a test with essay questions when you only have a vague idea of the topics they’ll ask about--only I don’t even get the benefit of writing my answers, thinking about my points, and editing as I go; I have to speak it out loud, no edits, no outlines, just rambling words that I hope are interesting, relevant, and memorable.

And I hate it.

I don’t know if you’ve realized this about me yet, but I like to write my thoughts out. Writing is how I process information best. I like to take my time, check my facts, pace around the room talking to myself, delete paragraphs that don’t suit my purpose or go too far off topic. Since the time I could write, but before I could spell, I wrote journal entries to help me think through my own thoughts or emotions and letters that would never be sent to help me think through or feelings towards other people.

There’s a quote attributed to E. M. Foster, “How do I know what I think until I see what I say?” I feel this quote in the deepest parts of my soul.

How do I know what I think until I see what I say?

My partner, Tyler, has this amazing gift of being able to articulate deep, complex thoughts and emotions as they think and feel them. Tyler has a quick mind, a large vocabulary, and formal improvisation training. And then there’s me, and I cry every time I get frustrated and typically need to write 5-10 typed, single-spaced pages before I even realize why I’m upset. I don’t stand a chance in arguments. And I’m so, so, so jealous of people like Tyler who can think that quickly and express themselves clearly and compellingly, in .5 seconds with no personal essays needed.

Oh well, thus is my lot in life I suppose. And by “lot” I mean “a lot of journals.”

Job interviews extra suck if you’ve been staying at home with your infant for 10 months and don’t want to leave them for a full-time position that’s likely to barely pay enough to pay for childcare. Maybe, if I’m lucky, the job would pay for childcare and my student loan payments. But that would be it. I still wouldn’t be able to afford rent or other bills, so I would still need to live with my parents. I would just be away from Finian for 10-12 hours a day, 5 days a week, letting someone else basically raise my child.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with people choosing to send their kids to a babysitter, a daycare, a school or what have you rather than staying home with them. A lot of people don’t have the privilege of that choice at all, and a lot of people simply don’t want to be a stay-at-home parent. And that’s okay.

Personally, I think I fall somewhere in between. I find it completely heart-breaking to think about leaving Finian with someone else who gets to enjoy their silliness and watch them grow and play and discover and learn. I want to do that. I made that kid, and now I want to play with them, take care of them, and watch as they try to put everything in their mouth. That’s my job! and my privilege!

Yet, I also find a sense of boredom, loneliness, and lack of satisfaction. I know there’s purpose and meaning in raising a child and taking care of the home, and I like both of these things. But I want more. Maybe I’m greedy or ungrateful, but I want the world. The whole world. It’s my bar of chocolate.

That’s one of the things that writing a blog has given me. I feel some satisfaction in writing things to share. It’s like I’m actually using my talents, my passions, my degree! And it gives me something to show for it. Hey look, I accomplished something!

I realize 6 posts isn’t a lot--this being number 7. I also realize that, for the most part, my posts have been completely useless. I’m not helping anyone, I’m not going to be internet famous. But I get a little thrill when I hit “publish” and watch the view count on posts slowly go up. And maybe, just maybe, those few people who do read what I’ve written, come away with a few laughs and something to consider over coffee too, and that’s also a really nice feeling.

Unfortunately, that nice feeling won’t pay back my student loans, buy diapers, put food on the table, or even buy a table to put food on. Which is why I’ve been looking at jobs, casually, cautiously, and reluctantly.

It’s a frustrating process. I don’t have much job experience. Mostly what I’m going on is one concierge job that lasted less than a year and an English degree, and a large lapse in my employment history due to pregnancy and staying home with Finiain. I don’t feel qualified for much, though I know I have a lot to offer, even if my resume doesn’t show it.

I think ideally, I would like to work remotely. Let me do proof-reading, copy-editing, or content writing. Let me do most of my work via email. I’m clever, creative, and, usually, nice. I tend to be pretty good with helping people find effective ways to communicate their ideas. Words are my thing. And it’s a thing I can do in my pajamas while watching Finian chase cats or dance to Lizzo.

To be perfectly honest though, what I think I would really like to do with my life, career-wise, is to be a business consultant. That’s my long-term dream, other than writing a best-selling novel and living luxuriously off the royalties. I really like analyzing things, figuring what’s working and what’s not working and coming up with solutions. I also really like giving advice to people. I give very good advice! And I like talking like I know best, and, let’s be real, I usually do.

But I don’t know how to convince people to listen to me or to pay me. How do I go up to businessmen who are older, more experienced than me, and, you know, men and tell them what they’re doing wrong and how to be better? Why would they listen to me? I know I’m great and worth paying attention to (and worth paying), but I also know that business often isn’t kind to young women, or any other minority. We’re not the people that get promotions, that people go to for advice, that rake in the big bucks.

I want to own my own business, I want to walk around like a bossed up bitch, and I want to make good enough money to be able to work part-time and still support my family. I want to have an active role in my child’s life, not spending most of my time at work. But I also want to feel important in other ways, and I want to be able to provide for my family. And pay back those god-damn student loans that I am constantly thinking about and worrying about.

When I try to think about how I might be able to achieve this goal, the first step I can come up with is “go to grad school and get an MBA,” which means more student loans. And it’s really, really hard to justify that. So, at the moment, I’ll keep browsing job ads and hoping people will remember me when they need their essay, cover letter, advertisement, promotional email, or professional report proofed and edited--this is a subtle self-plug ad, in case it was too subtle to notice.

I guess what I would really like is if someone would pay me, I dunno, six figures or so to stay home in my pajamas all day. That doesn’t seem like too much to ask, honestly.