I'm not qualified for anything.
In the last year or so, I've sent out hundreds of applications for various writing/editing/media/PR positions across Massachusetts (and in some instances, in New Hampshire and Connecticut, too!) and all I ever get by way of response is a rejection... and that's if I'm lucky enough to get a response at all.
Am I missing something, here?
I've spent the better part of the last decade of my life writing. Between college essays, the school newspaper, my internship and now my full-time job, I have spent the bulk of my day - every day - with my fingers rapidly clicking keys on my keyboard. Even here, when I'm not writing for work I'm (sporadically) writing...just to write. (Needless to say, I have a pretty impressive WPM rate, but that's beside the point.) So why is it so hard for me to find something to do for a living where I can be adequately compensated for my efforts and actually enjoy what I do?
Out of the countless applications I've mailed in the last year or so, I've had one interview...ONE! During that interview, the woman I spoke to told me she'd call me in a day or so to let me know if I'd gotten the job and I never heard from her again. I can accept that perhaps I wasn't qualified for that position, but I can't accept that she couldn't bother to tell me to my face. Hell, I'd have accepted a form letter indicating I wasn't the right candidate for the job, blah blah blah, but instead I got nothing.
Since then, I've been more bold in my applications. If I'm going to be rejected for the positions I know for a fact that I actually possess the qualifications for, I might as well apply for the jobs I'd love to have, despite the fact that I lack the necessary skills for them. Case in point: I applied to Harvard a few months ago. No, not as a student; as an editor for Harvard University Press. Come to think of it, I never did get an acknowledgment from them either way (Yay? Nay?) but I don't care because I didn't much believe I'd get the position anyway. I just wanted to be able to say "Why yes, I've applied to Harvard." Haha. At least my sense of humor is still intact.
These rejections and the last year of my life are made all the more frustrating when you consider that this (apparently) is one of the reasons why Doc and I broke up. He believed I wasn't motivated enough to find a new career path. I believed that if I was rejected one more time, I'd have no choice but to throw myself off a cliff. Clearly I'm a lot stronger than I gave myself credit for because the demise of my relationship was, in fact, yet another rejection, but here I am... sure I'm still dangling precariously close to the edge, but I'm here nonetheless.
I'm trying to remain optimistic about my future but these days I find pessimism is my initial knee-jerk reaction to everything. What's the sense in trying when it feels like I'm only setting myself up to fail?
Will someone please pull me away from the edge or do us all a favor and push me over it?
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Tornado woes
My heart is broken.
Today, a tornado struck my town. Picturesque Monson, Mass., the sort of quaint, small town that reminds you of a Norman Rockwell painting, was pummeled by a storm this afternoon that all but leveled the downtown area. Luckily my house -- located on the outskirts of town on the border of Palmer -- was spared, but Main Street, just a few miles away, was destroyed. First Church of Monson, located at the intersection of Main and High streets as you head into downtown, was hit. Tomorrow would have been the seven-month anniversary of the fire at the church in November. Back then, we'd considered ourselves lucky that the church had been spared thanks to the local fire department. Now look at it.
Walking along the streets today, though, I found it hard to stay composed. The steeple that housed the stately clock that I was forever checking to see if I was late, was strewn across the front lawn, a gaping hole in the side of the building where it used to be.
In the parking lot of the library was a silver SUV larger than mine that had every single window blown out. Across the street, a maroon Toyota sedan was on its side, pressed up against a tree. Beyond that car, in the direction of State Street and Bethany Road, all you could see was destruction. A semblance of what once was. I wasn't able to make my way down Main Street -- there were electrical wires down and what looked like small fires in addition to the trees that were toppled over -- but from my vantage point in front of the library looking down, it didn't look like there was much to salvage.
Since arriving back home and watching reports of the tornado on the news, I've come to accept that we're now "that town;" the one that everyone looks on with sympathy and thoughts of "thank God that isn't me." My house may not have been affected but this is my town; this is me.
All I can think of right now is that I want to go to bed. I want to fall asleep and forget this happened, even if only for a few hours. Tomorrow, we'll begin the process of cleaning up and starting over. But for right now, I want to be blissfully ignorant; to live in a world where Mother Nature didn't just unleash her fury on us.
Perhaps all that talk about the world ending wasn't so far-fetched after all?
Today, a tornado struck my town. Picturesque Monson, Mass., the sort of quaint, small town that reminds you of a Norman Rockwell painting, was pummeled by a storm this afternoon that all but leveled the downtown area. Luckily my house -- located on the outskirts of town on the border of Palmer -- was spared, but Main Street, just a few miles away, was destroyed. First Church of Monson, located at the intersection of Main and High streets as you head into downtown, was hit. Tomorrow would have been the seven-month anniversary of the fire at the church in November. Back then, we'd considered ourselves lucky that the church had been spared thanks to the local fire department. Now look at it.
Walking along the streets today, though, I found it hard to stay composed. The steeple that housed the stately clock that I was forever checking to see if I was late, was strewn across the front lawn, a gaping hole in the side of the building where it used to be.
In the parking lot of the library was a silver SUV larger than mine that had every single window blown out. Across the street, a maroon Toyota sedan was on its side, pressed up against a tree. Beyond that car, in the direction of State Street and Bethany Road, all you could see was destruction. A semblance of what once was. I wasn't able to make my way down Main Street -- there were electrical wires down and what looked like small fires in addition to the trees that were toppled over -- but from my vantage point in front of the library looking down, it didn't look like there was much to salvage.
Since arriving back home and watching reports of the tornado on the news, I've come to accept that we're now "that town;" the one that everyone looks on with sympathy and thoughts of "thank God that isn't me." My house may not have been affected but this is my town; this is me.
All I can think of right now is that I want to go to bed. I want to fall asleep and forget this happened, even if only for a few hours. Tomorrow, we'll begin the process of cleaning up and starting over. But for right now, I want to be blissfully ignorant; to live in a world where Mother Nature didn't just unleash her fury on us.
Perhaps all that talk about the world ending wasn't so far-fetched after all?
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