Since leaving my job a couple of weeks ago, I’ve been sending out a steady stream of resumes. One was for an adjunct instructor at MState, another for an HR position at MSUM, others have been for jobs in my assistant/office manager field. Trouble is, I’m getting precious few interviews. Like one phone interview. That’s it. Period.
At times like this, I understandably get stressed, and depressed, when what I really should do is take advantage of this down-time to pause and reevaluate my attitudes, goals, and priorities.
I am in the middle of some major transitions. Not only am I between jobs, but we’re doing some renovations on our house, and oh yeah, I’m also teetering on the edge of 59 going on 60! I feel like I am in a state of suspended animation, I don’t know what’s going to happen. My gut tells me that this is a testing period and somewhere, there is a lesson to be learned. Maybe, the time has come for me to give up the old and make way for the new? What does that look like? A new and different field? Jump into the old consulting/business-for-self world again? I’ve always been one to to accept, even welcome change – I love new beginnings – but as essayist John Burroughs suggests, having enough faith to leap, on the assumption that a net will appear is a much bigger risk than it used to be.
At times like this, I turn to my horoscope. For November, it says that toward the end of the month, I may be lured by a new opportunity with a fat salary, more perks, and good working conditions. Seriously, it said that. Awesome! Bring it on! But there’s a catch. It also says to consider all pros and cons before grabbing this opportunity. Great. Guess I’ll just keep launching forth resume, resume, resume, ever tirelessly speeding them on to that new opportunity.
Non-English Major Explanation: I’ve paraphrased Walt Whitman’s Noiseless Patient Spider above. He describes a spider starting work on its web. It’s doing the most tedious, most uncertain part, which is trying to lay down the first line. The spider is shooting out lots of little web strings, trying to get one of them to take hold of something. (Just so you know, this poem isn’t only about a spider web, its Whitman talking about writing.) Selfishly, I’ve appropriated his metaphor, and have made it about myself, sending out resumes, trying to get one of them to stick.
A noiseless patient spider,I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.And you O my soul where you stand,Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.