When You've Failed: Dear You

Congratulations: You!
12:00-1:00 p.m.
Biggest Conference Room in the Office

The meeting invite stares at me from the corner of my desktop. I scowl at it. My lips twist and eyes narrow. I have thoroughly failed in my planning for this meeting, and I’ve known of my failure for months. I’ve pondered this meeting in my head, rolled my choices along the roof of my mouth, worried the cracks with my tongue.

My company has a wonderful women in business group that my mentor hosts, and one of my dearest work friends is the Treasurer of Dreams. Many moons ago we had a meeting where we wrote our future selves congratulatory notes for the spring about our achieved goals and stored them in a box on her desk. I had two: moving to Seattle, and getting engaged to Lennon.

Lennon and I broke up in November. I suffered a psychotic break after I didn’t get my “perfect fit” job late this winter.

The past year has been hard on me. I have the gray hairs to prove it. But I started seeing a therapist, dyed my hair pink, and focused on my present self instead of what I thought my future should be. The box I thought I could cram myself into was not a viable future. The one I’m looking at now might not be either, I won’t know until I’m there. I have to remember this for my meeting in 70 minutes.

My friends Allen and Charli have a quote on their wall by their workstations (he's a programmer, they're a poet): Fail faster. Make better mistakes.

It's a quote about working tech; we create innovation by failing. It applies to our creative and "normal" lives too. If you're never failing, you're not pushing.

This is my new letter from present me to present me. I hope you, dear reader, get something out of it too.

Dear You,

Embrace the failure. These failures mark your survival, another groove worn into your hull of mistaken navigation and unclear signs. You are still here, and you are still fighting. Your eyes are open now, and you’re starting to understand that what you don’t agree with, you don’t have to do forever. You get an exit plan.

Now you’ve made an exit plan, and taken the very first steps towards getting there. The difference between this one and the other ones? The new plan is organically achievable; it runs into your blood like spring breezes. It grows flowers from your fingertips.

I am proud of you, even on the days when we mark high distress and shame on our Moodscope cards. Our plan may fail, more dreams may be broken, the plate might yet fall from your hands and shatter on the kitchen floor. Remember that plates and cakes are replaceable, but you are not.

You always say you never need anyone to save you - now, you’re living it.

Congratulations on avoiding trains for another year.

Congratulations on finally understanding the love song of your city, and writing yourself into it. Of wearing into your life with patience instead of hammering it like that’s going to do something besides make it weaker.

You lived. You win.

Love,
You

The Anticipation is Palpably Painful

I am waiting for a phone call that will not come for another three and a half hours.

While I was in Washington last Monday, brushing my teeth, I got a phone call from a WA number. Thinking it was my host confirming our lunch plans, I picked up the phone with the toothbrush still in my mouth.

It was not Grace. It was an Amazon recruiter. Who wanted me to skip four phone interviews and come into the office for an interview “since you’re in town anyway.”

Well, there are a lot of things I do not know about in life, but one thing I do know is that you do not say no to a big company when they are asking you to interview for a job you don’t yet have, but are already extremely passionate about.

The interviews went okay. Parts of them went swimmingly, and parts of them I disconnected and couldn’t pull it in. When they asked about times I disagreed with something that my customers did, or something that happened in a project. I am not great at disagreeing with how things are done, because often when I disagree in my career, I’ve done it wrong. I’ve been told simply to hush. Because I don’t know what I’m talking about yet. Sometimes I am pulled into a meeting and corrected.

I’m not great at talking about myself, and I am a rambler. I should be more succinct. I should have been more succinct. It would have allowed for deeper questions. Maybe I should have taken a Xanax those two interview days, but I wanted a sharper edge - not the fluffy girl who gets by easy, cloud-like in her glory.

I emailed the hiring manager today asking for a timeframe of when I might expect to hear about next steps. She had not responded to my previous emails of follow-up questions. She asked if I had some time this afternoon to chat.

So I’m sitting here, expecting a rejection. Anticipating this rejection. Oscillating between being zen about it, and coming close to tears the next minute. I am very good at internalizing “everything happens for a reason.” I am also very good at grieving. But I am so tired of being teased by the universe. I am tired of, with each rejection, re-committing to New York and re-realizing that I’ve put a band-aid over a sucking wound that this landscape cannot heal.

This is not the blog post I wanted to write. I had a dalliance on my vacation - I wanted to write you the beginning of a love story about mud flats and misty forests and really big dogs. I wanted to tell you maybe not a wife after all. I wanted to tell you about how you should only kiss sober, touch each other sober. Remember what potential feels like without the help of bourbon because I had it for days at a time.

They can’t say they want me. It’s only been three days. And when you ask for a timeframe response to hiring, they come back with a time frame, not “let’s chat.”

Let’s chat about my dreams for what you’re building. Let’s chat about moving vans and relocation assistance; let’s chat about the things I can’t allow myself to think about for the next three hours. Give me a timeframe. Please, give me a timeframe or welcome me home.

UPDATE: I did, in fact, not get the job. I failed in my success metrics and analytical capabilities, as I have failed in both those things for every job I have applied to. I am unsure where to go from here besides to business school, which is supposed to start on April 5th.

Positively Wrecked

Things with my mother are officially back to normal.

I know, because even though I'm a nervous wreck and stressed to the point of passing out about my MTEL on Friday, I was able to call mom.  We both said sorry and talked about our problems.  I sympathized with her recent illness and issues with her new doctor.  She listened and gave me good advice about my myriad woes - Some to do with finances, a lot to do with the MTEL, and more to do with the ridiculous social situations stressing me out and distracting me from studying.

So, I'm a total train wreck.  I'm sitting here, crying at my keyboard, in my pajamas.  Worried because in less than two days, I have to pass an English MTEL with nothing but a Theater degree, a personal driving interest in language and literature, and whatever flashcards I can come up with.  I am not prepared.  Over the last few weeks, I've managed to get into enough personal drama to make it impossible to concentrate on studying until these last few days.

On the other hand, I shouldn't worry.  I've never in my life had an issue with standardized tests.  I've never scored less than 80% equivalent on a bad day for any state-run standardized test.  English has always been my best and favorite subject. Theoretically, there is not a large chance of failure.

But I have a lot riding on this.  Something like the rest of my life and career of choice.
The MTEL costs one hundred and fifty dollars each time you take it, I have to pass the English MTEL to get accepted into grad school, and I have to take the standard Literacy & Communication MTEL as well.  I'm honestly not sure what I would do in the case of failure.  "Try, try again" is a lot easier said than done when the first try already puts you three hundred dollars in the hole on unemployment.

But I never really let much stop me before.  I really shouldn't start now.  So I'm going to finish my tea and take a shower.

Then I'm going to make some damn flash cards.

Sometimes, The Lateral Move: An Update of Sorts

After being rejected (see Shot Though the Heart) from a job within my immediate company, I went hunting for one within my parent company. And outside my parent company, as long as it wasn’t based in New York City, or anywhere in its surrounding area.

I found two: one at a university press, and the other at my parent company. The parent company position was extremely similar to the role I had been rejected from, so you can imagine my excitement!

The parent company makes attempting a transfer extremely casual. Before you send a resume, before you speak with your own HR department, before anything else happens, you schedule an informal information chat with the hiring manager.

The “informal chat” is secretly a phone interview, by the way. Thanks, mentor, for pointing that out to me so I went in completely prepared! I had a great, if nerve-wracking, conversation with the hiring manager, who referred me to her number 2, and I had a blast chatting with her as well. I didn't repeat any answers from three years ago - that was a big success. All went well, and hope floated in me, refusing to settle down. I had butterflies for a week.

Well, the she called me back today and said, with regret, that they wouldn’t be continuing to the formal interview process because I hadn’t had enough experience. They really liked me, and thought I would be a great fit, but I just wasn't experienced enough. Just like my learning tour manager said. Am I disappointed? Absolutely. This stinks. Like many other humans, I'm extremely impatient. I don't like working and waiting to get things, I just want them. Now. Please.

But I’m also elated because she’s referring me to two other departments for similar openings at a lower experience level. I feel justified, and vindicated, as if there is actually more to me than just data points and rote reporting. I am a human, and I am good at more than just statistics and filling in Excel sheets.

I haven’t heard from the university press beyond that they’re interested in speaking with me, but already have a list of finalists. If they don’t end up interviewing me, they’ve promised a more extensive reply, and possibly a short advisory session where they’ll tell me all the things I need to do for next time. This job isn’t a reach for me, it’s a remarkable combination of my current position, and the work I did on my learning tour.

I guess today was not a win in the short term, but the war is still raging. I’m not seeing a reason to be discouraged. My mentor (thank god I have a mentor, she really is the cat’s pajamas) thinks it’s all going in the right direction, and I’ll come out on top. This might be my late-twenties patience test; I've had one every five or so years for as long as I can remember.

So, chin up, I guess. Keep crossing your fingers for me, and hopefully early next year will find me in the Sound-swept arms of Seattle.

Starting Over: Switching Career Paths at 27

My husband and I got married in April and thought it would be a great idea to move all the way across the country two weeks later. We drove from Massachusetts to Florida in almost exactly twenty four hours (it was twenty four and a half) and we set our roots down in Fort Lauderdale. We love it here. I haven't worn anything but flip flops since May, and it doesn't look like they are leaving my closet anytime soon. Back home I was a Software Analyst/Consultant. The job description is as glamorous as it sounds. I was the "middle man" between my company and the hospitals we supported. When they had an issue with their software, they would call me to complain and I would have to figure it out. I spent six years doing that right out of college, and it might just be the complete opposite of what I had envisioned myself doing when I grew up.

 

With all this said, I had moved to Florida fully intending on picking up a similar job within a hospital setting. This time I wouldn't be the complainEE, I would be the complainER. As fate would have it, being a Software Analyst was just no longer in the cards for me. I went on a few interviews, got chased by a few recruiters to do traveling work (just married, not interested), and I probably sent in over 50 applications with my resume attached. After three months of some solid job searching, soul searching, and day dreaming, I realized NOW is the time to switch to my dream career. And what might my dream job entail you ask? Well...

Dog grooming! But in a broader sense... DOGS. Dogs are what I want to spend my days around. Why? Because they are so much cooler than humans. They are cuter, they judge less, they have more fun, and they are just so damn happy all of the time. Do you need any other reasons? I have a dog-son, Tiger, who is a Pit Bull/Boxer mix (we think?) who we rescued almost two years ago. He is my inspiration for switching career gears. I have loved dogs my whole life, but until I had him I never fully thought about working with them as a source of income. And now it makes SO MUCH SENSE.

I did some research and found a school ten minutes from my house that offers a certification program to become a Professional Dog Groomer. After even more research, I found that you don't get licensed to be one, and that most people actually never get certified and just open up a shop, sometimes with little to no experience... which is frightening. (Do your research before bringing your pooch anywhere!) 300 hours is required by the National Groomer's Association, and I found that is pretty much the standard across the entire country. I took a tour at the school, which is also a full-time grooming salon, daycare, and boarding facility as well. The instructor was so friendly and personable, and as soon as I walked in I had puppies jumping all over my legs. Um, HI HEAVEN. Nice to meet you.

I decided since I was unemployed and could afford to do so, I would just do my 300 hours full time. I go Tuesday-Friday from 8:30 to 3:30, with an occasional Saturday thrown in. I am about 175 hours into my certification so far. And... I love it. My instructor is also a certified Vet Assistant and was a trainer for many years prior. With all of her knowledge, I am really learning a lot about not only how to properly groom a dog, but also about their temperaments, anatomy, history, and training.

I've also made some new friends:

 Spike... We got intimate in the bath a few times.

 Daisy... She's my BFF when she comes in

Lani... Our daycare "mascot"

The Golden Girls... Mimi and Laicee

Louie... Seriously with those eyes?! STOP IT.

I gotta say, at first it was nerve wracking. They give you all of the tools, which were included in the tuition, and I had never used 95% of them. The first time I picked up a clipper, it might as well be the first time I used chop sticks. Just completely foreign to me. I learned quickly though, and although I am only a little over halfway through, I am doing full head-to-tail grooms. Typically, students don't get to work on the heads until later in their hours, but I am just that good. What can I say... toot, toot.

This is Biloxi... A Standard Schnauzer that I received an A+ on!

I have a little over a month left of classes, and then I can look for a job doing something that I care about. Do you know how amazing it is to say something like that? Some people never get to say something like that, and for that I am so grateful. Some people spend their whole lives paycheck to paycheck, doing a job they despise, for all sorts of circumstances. I am so fortunate to have the universe show me a lesson by denying me a position that I hated, and making me shift my views on what I deemed "work". The universe has it's own way of balancing you out sometimes, I truly believe that. And I would never had made the switch without the support and push from my amazing husband. He really told me to go for it. And honestly, I don't know if I really would have if he had not been behind me on this 100%. I'm forever grateful to him for that, and of course many other reasons.

Some days I sit here an think I could be sitting at a desk somewhere, counting down my hours, and fielding phone calls and meetings. But no... Tomorrow I'll get to school and be greeted by a bunch of wagging tails and wet noses all ready to get pampered and pretty. I really love where I am at right now. And to get all mushy on you right now...