The Job Hunt

Rivaling waitressing and digging trenches, the hardest job I’ve done is job hunting. I’ve had neat summer work like teaching poetry to students on a farm in Vermont. I’ve done projects like editing the Rules and Regulations Handbook for a farmers’ market and blogging for a financial network. I’ve taught yoga here and there since getting certified in Boulder two years ago and, for a while, was determined to do this for a living. (Sustaining yourself as a new yoga teacher in the saturated market of fitness-capital of America is a joke by the way). But, for those like myself with liberal arts degrees, full–time, financially sustainable jobs can be as elusive as women in Alaska.

Many with degrees in subjects like History and Russian Literature are zooming straight from college to grad school even without having a clue what they want to do. I don’t blame them; the “Job Hunt” right now is ruthless. Those with masters’ degrees in business, healthcare, computer science or engineering have more ammunition than anyone else (sucks for you if you’re bad at math or science . . . maybe get lucky in the next life). But, because there’s a shortage of game to begin with in this barren wasteland of an economy, it often doesn’t even matter how much ammunition you have (departing from the Alaskan women metaphor here . . . it was good while it lasted).  If there are no jobs, you might as well try to dig a hole to china using your BA and MA degrees as shovels. I know a girl with a PhD working for $8.00/ hour as a cashier. Unable to find a job, my friend with an MA has started knitting out of anxiety. Knitting is more practical than digging a hole to china, but still . . . Unemployment is currently at 8.2% and underemployment near 18%.  If you decide to do “menial labor” while hunting for more suitable work, enjoy doing the same job a sixteen year old is doing for the same pay! The girl’s not even buying her own clothes yet . . .

Let’s be real: securing a “good job” can be more about luck these days than about true expertise. Unless you call hyper–vigilance and persistence an area of expertise. Turn your back for one second to make banana bread or go hiking, for example, and you may miss the one opportunity that zooms across your field. You may go hungry (that banana bread won’t last forever). Luck, by the way, may also involve having wealthy parents with wealthy friends who hook you up with “good jobs.” In this case, your parents engineer a future in which you will always be “comfortable” and certainly never hungry. But, honestly, since most of us Americans aren’t even doing work that engages our passions, we’re all going hungry in one way or another.  I call it “anorexia of the soul.” I have friends both with and without masters’ degrees who’ve succeeded at landing high paying, corporate jobs in which they more or less utilize the skills they’ve cultivated (often separate from those infused with their passions). But, for a few of them, these jobs seem like the unfulfilling relationships that people only stay in because the sex is good (in this case, the paycheck). One friend admitted that he wants to be doing non–profit work but can’t because he has to pay off his student loans. He’s gaining weight because he's often on business trips and his company pays for his food, drinks, and even room service. In his hotel rooms, he finds himself requesting more of those complimentary "pillow chocolates" (yes, guys eat chocolate too when they're depressed). And yes, he wears a robe while doing this. But, at the very least, he isn’t knitting . . . 

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For awhile, I considered being a high school English teacher. But, after working within the education system in Montana for six months, I decided I'm really not fit for very professional, red-taped environments. (Although, to be honest, my feeling of not belonging at the school where I worked might have to do with the fact that I'm liberal and, in a ranching state, opening my mouth for such purposes as condemning the beef industry doesn't fly).  Anyhow, I have no desire to accumulate debt pursuing a degree that may only be an accessory for something I don’t want to do anyway. So, for two years, I’ve been taking odd jobs while networking and browsing craigslist for work that employs my language skills and that isn’t sketchy like modeling nude for a middle–aged male painter in the woods. (A college friend did this before deciding to go to Med school and marry an MD–PhD). Last year, I applied for twelve Americorp positions. But, with this type of work becoming more and more popular as the Job Hunt becomes as desolate as South Dakota's badlands, I was rejected. Goodness, all I wanted to do was help “underserved populations” for $1,000 dollars/ month and foods stamps! 

When I do land interviews for supposedly “entry–level” jobs like a teacher’s assistant or junior copywriter, I’m often told I don’t have enough experience. Even yoga studio managers say they’re looking for “well–seasoned” teachers! (Sorry I haven’t been teaching yoga since I was a fetus . . . but, if you’re looking for “well–seasoned,” I can guarantee you I’ve got flavor). And you tell me I need to just breathe and relax in Savasana?! Ok, I know these are all first world problems. But, let’s face it, we’re living in a first world economy, and it’s sink or swim. Or move to Switzerland, which has the strongest economy in the world. 

What I want to know is this: how do you get the experience employers say you need if few will give you a shot? At least not after months and months of hunting. And when employers ask you to explain gaps in employment, what for Pete’s sake do you say? That you became so depressed while unable to find a job and living at home with your parents that you started seeing a psychiatrist? That you did a string of menial jobs you’re not putting on you’re resume, but that you had to do while hunting for a job related to your interests? A job like the one you’re interviewing for now? And, if you do risk putting these “menial jobs” on your resume, how do you answer the “reason for leaving” question? I mean, you’re obviously leaving because you were bored bussing tables; you want to be a journalist. You’re way better at holding a pen than you are at holding a tray; in fact, you sucked so hard at tray-holding you spilled syrup on a guest’s head and got fired. So in that next box asking if the company can contact your previous employer, what do you check? Do you check “no” and then, in parentheses, write that you have no references other than your psychiatrist, who can vouch for your reliability? After all, you took your mental meds as proscribed and showed up for every appointment on time.

I in no way look down upon this “menial labor” I refer to by the way. I’ve done everything from professionally uprooting lawns of grass to packaging products for hours –– both of which required the invaluable skills of patience and endurance. Sure, I get frustrated about having paid thousand of dollars getting an education to end up doing work available to people without college degrees (who, by the way, usually perform way better than I do in supposedly unskilled work and are often incredibly smart). But I will keep doing and learning from “menial jobs” for as long as I have to. They have enabled me to relate to all kinds of people. And, in addition to patience and endurance, they've helped cultivate my gratitude and compassion. I also have more to write about. For example, I wrote a piece starring a crazed "whipped-cream woman" who managed a restaurant where I worked in Louisville, Colorado.  So I consider my entire history of doing jobs both "skilled" and "unskilled" (there's around 32 of them total) as a top-notch education. You don't need to study abroad in Rome to become worldly; just show up at a supermarket every morning at 5:00 AM to work in produce with Mexican immigrants. Trim marijuana. Trim the felt around heart-shaped nipple pads for women who are nursing. Get blisters. Get fired. It's healthy to be uncomfortable. 

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Yes, it would be fantastic to be making more than $8,000 a year and not need to bring my own teabag to coffee shops –– asking for just hot water and lemon because tea that isn’t from the supermarket is overpriced (like healthcare . . . after you turn 26, you’re screwed if you fall out of a tree and break your back.) But I'd rather tote my own teabag than continue working at my last 9-5 job where, to "fit in," one must kiss ass, participate in conversations about being tired and laundry and stains on new white sofas, and be okay with almost never seeing sunshine or sharing world views that may not be conservative. And such torture for only $7.62/hour after taxes! I didn't of course "fit in" (although, with a boyfriend from a ranching community, I have quit prattling on about the Beef Industry). I don't "fit in" most places I work and especially not in very "professional" environments. For example, I jog up the stairs instead of walk. (Hey, I'm excited to get where I'm going and take any chance I can to get a workout). So, once again, I'm unemployed and people are asking what my "game plan" is. This is my updated response: I have no "game plan" because my life isn't chess. Next, I am publicizing my book, submitting to journals, starting a new book, waiting to hear back from an MFA program I applied to, painting, using the stair-master, doing hot yoga, eating banana bread, hiking and grazing (NOT HUNTING) for a part-time job. What kind of job? Today, in between bites of a cookie, I applied for a position as a newspaper delivery woman. Cheers. 

Recently, at the 2014 AWP (Association of Writers and and Writing Programs) conference in Seattle, I attended a lecture hosted by Alaskan writers who grew up in the bush working hard to support themselves and their families through hunting, fishing, building and small-scale farming. One man shared his father's reply when he told him he wanted to look for a "real job" in the city: "Why would you want one of those? It will interfere with your ability to sustain yourself." Amen. I like the concept, don't you? People living largely independent of corporate America and the government and, instead, making their lives from scratch. Hunting for game instead of jobs. Spending no chunk of their lives exerting artificial power over others or explaining themselves in 200 words or less in boxes on applications to impress wealthy, often elitist employers who shit too.  Shoveling animal shit instead of dealing with other peoples' shit.  Using trust as their main currency –– trust in the land and their families and friends to help provide for them. Forming relationships within a community that don’t tether as easily as those manufactured within the realm of money and “power.” Creating value in their lives in a non–monetary fashion. Becoming rich in a way many in positions of “power” with jobs earning them six figures may never be. (I don’t mean to entirely romanticize this lifestyle by the way; it’s hard, hard work and not always exempt from red-tape). 

But if I devote myself to being a writer, maybe I won’t have to rely AS MUCH on the middleman that is the acceptance and granting of "positions" by those who don’t value me.  Those who have as impersonal of relationships with me as they do with a genetically engineered apple even though we are all, by nature, organic. At our cores, we all want to connect and to express ourselves authentically and positively. We want to be valued for these expressions. And we want to earn our livings doing and sharing what we love and believe in.  So, on our quests to survive and thrive in this economy, maybe shifting to pursue our true skills and passions in the "work" we choose to do (and supporting others in our communities in doing the same) is the place to start. And hey, if your passion is, in fact, knitting, bring it on. I live in Montana now and could use a decent, homemade hat.