The last gal in our group is a mom. She has several kids, the oldest of which is six. She laughed with us and said, “You know girls, it never goes away. You never get that feeling that you know what you are doing.”

She the went on to tell us that a few weeks ago, she wasn’t sure how to discipline her six year old for something he’d done. Feeling frustrated, she grabbed her head and said to him, “I don’t know what to do with a six year old!” Calmly, her son looked back at her and said, “It’s ok Mommy, can’t we look on the internet? We can just Google it.”

If Only It Were That Simple

After laughing at how cute, honest and innocent six year olds can be, I couldn’t help but agree with him. Why can’t life be that simple? You cannot even imagine the sense of relief I might have right now if I could simply type into my computer “How to do really great at my job, have my boss and my coworkers all like me, and not screw it up in the process.” And because the whole world knows that Google’s secret algorithm is like a magic spell that brings all correct and relevant information to the top 10 links on my results page, I would simply have to click around and Voila! I would know how to do the rest of my life.

The interesting thing about Google is that I use it for more than answers. I use it as my spell check – that little link asking “Did You mean…?” keeps me from all sorts of wrongs (in fact I just used it for voila, because I almost wrote viola, which is a kind of a violin, thanks Google!) I use it to find dates on the calendar when I can’t find my phone. I use it to help me explain things, like last week when my roommate didn’t know what caprese salad was. Thank you Google Images.  I use it for maps, phone numbers, email…the list goes on. But I am assuming you know all of this because if you’re around my age, your probably just as addicted as I am.

Now the question for me is, how is it that a six year old’s knee jerk reaction to life’s questions is simply to Google it? He grew up with Google ingrained in his worldview as “The answer to all of life’s questions.” At least I was in college or something before Google really came barreling into the market. In some semblance, I did know life before Google. But this kid, he has no clue. In his mind, that’s what we do for all of life’s question, simply run to the computer and look them up.

I suppose his mom doesn’t really have to sit him down and explain life to him. Eventually over time all of the kids who grew up on Google will have to sort the tough stuff out for themselves just like the rest of us. And in the mean time, it seems cruel to say to a six year old, “Honey life is hard, and sometimes there aren’t any good answers. Even Google can’t solve them.“I can tell you this though, I really wish he was right. Life would be a whole lot easier if we could just “Google It.”

It was mostly the little things that proved it. I have a Cicso phone with my name and extension displayed across the top. I have a laptop and two huge flat screen monitors across my desk. I got six meeting notices yesterday (on my first day!), and they had titles like “MarCom Team Brain Storm Shesh” and “PR Update Meeting.” The walls on my cubical are made out of frosted glass and most of the office uses whiteboard marker to doodle, leave each other notes, or brainstorm all over the walls.

Walking out the front door and saying goodnight to the receptionist was such a mind blowing feeling. If I could be this cheesy, it was like I was thinking, “This is real, I’m a creative person, and I have a creative job. I am legit. And I have a Cisco Phone display to prove it.”

Now here is the funny part, quickly on the heels of that realization comes this thought, “Of course you are legitimate Jenni. You always were. And your meeting notices and write-able walls don’t change that.” I mean, I’ve been published before. I’ve even been paid for some of my articles. I’m currently a managing editor on the side for one of my favorite Orange County volunteer story platforms. And those were all things that I did while sitting at my bar, typing into my computer while in my pajamas and drinking coffee.

So why is it that having a card with my name on it feels so rewarding? Oh right, probably the part where I have get a paycheck, and it comes every single week. And maybe it’s the part where I have to get up work in something other than workout pants. That probably helps too.

Now, if I was going to be “that Christian Writer, “this is the part where I make some connection to us being legitimate in Jesus. You know, where I take my experience and connect it to the idea that we don’t always realize who we already were. That we think we need a certain things to define us. That we look  for jobs, or boyfriends, or cars, or bank accounts to remind us of who we are. But in reality, we already were completely legitimate and affirmed, even when we didn’t have any of those things and just sat at the bar in our pajamas.

And then I would challenge you to think of the things in your life that you hold closely, to tell you who you are. To whisper that you are real, and that you are important. I would ask you what your meeting notices say, and how they make you feel.

I would do those things if I was trying to be cheesy, and draw God into this example. But, I’m I think my readers already know that they’re legitimate, and incorporating into this post would feel forced. So, I won’t remind you that your identity is found in Christ. That you are beautiful, accepted, acknowledged, received, recognized, suitable, relevant, invaluable, noble and pleasing.

See this is why I love my readers, because I don’t have to remind them, they already know.

Most of us view God like He’s our personal drill sergeant. Now, initially you might think that sounds a bit too harsh or not quite right, but how often do you hear your friends or yourself saying things like, “God please just tell me where I should go, what is your will in this situation? I’ll follow you wherever you lead me.”

Sounds like a good christian prayer right?  I’ve heard people say things like this more times than I can count. But when you think about what is really being asked we are saying, “God just give me orders, and I will do exactly what you say.“  I.E., we want to be passive participants in our lives, (”Jesus take the wheel”  …thank you Carrie Underwood) and let God do the ordering and thinking. I can’t help but think that methodology is bit off. Or if it was the right approach, I would understand why so many people think religion is a crutch.

But what if God is more like what the bible depicts, what if he is a Father? What if it played out a bit more like this, “Hey Dad, I thinking about going to college to majoring in film and trying to make it in the movie industry. What are your thoughts? Do you think that’s my strength, or should I try something else?‘”

How many of us got to college and called our dads and asked, “Hey dad, should I go to class today? I just want to do what you think I should, so please tell me what to do today.“

Could it be that if God is more like a father, that it makes sense that he gives us choices? So instead of simply saying, “You will go to this college, take these courses, major in this study and become this professional…” I’m beginning to believe that I’m a bit more involved. Maybe God has given us all kinds of strengths and as long as we say within those, we’re in his will.

So, maybe for someone that means they could be a teacher, or a lawyer, or an architect because all of those professions use part of that person’s strengths. And maybe God didn’t whisper in that person’s ear which one to choose.

The notion that I’m an active, responsible participant in my life turns that “lead me I will follow” methodology on it’s head.  Suddenly life is much more exciting, and yes most definitely a whole new level of scary. Making choices, telling God what I want, going after dreams and not expecting God to miraculously land it on my door with a heavenly bow…that’s a life that is bigger, riskier, and more adventurous than God simply bumper bowling me through the choices. And frankly it sounds more like a life crafted by a God I want to spend time with.

As some of you know, I’m coming up on the midst of some really cool life changes. I have options, which are really fun and make me feel like I’m wearing my big-girl pants. But they’re very different. I almost feel like it’s a Choose Your Own Adventure novel. Or, like I told my own dad, “Dad, I feel like God has taken me down the toy aisle and said, ‘You can have roller skates, barbie dolls or a bike, it’s your choice.”

Uhh. Those are all really killer toys. And they are all very different. And all of them end well. Unless, I ask for the barbies and in the midst of playing wedding with Ken, her head pops off…that could be not so fun.

Part of me really hates that God doesn’t lean down and tell me, “Go with the bike. You can go off really cool jumps with it, and it’s the most fun toy out there.” Instead He is standing back and letting me choose. And if I’m being honest, there’s a part in my stomach that feels like I’m about to throw up. This is an instance where I wish Carrie was right, and I could simply say, “Jesus take the wheel!” But I know it doesn’t work like that.

So what do I do? What do we do when we’re faced with big choices, and there is no God to write the answers on the wall? I’m not quite sure, but if you do, I’d like it if you could tell me please.

This morning I had breakfast with two of my favorite, fun-friends. I don’t know if you have fun-friends, but I highly recomend that you get some. They are the friends that encourage you to be glorious and goofy, honest and candid. And seemily, this is something that happens almost immediatly when meeting them. It’s almost like meeting a super hot guy that you have electrical chemistry with….excepet they are your friends, and you don’t want to make out with them. You just want breakfast and laughter with them. At least, I don’t make out with my fun friends.

Anyway, this morning we met at the Gypsie Den for breakfast. (Side note, before breakfast I got stuck in a time warp…my cell phone gitched to the wrong time, and since I am in the process of moving, it was the only clock I had. Needless to say Sophie was suprised when I called her and asked “Is is 9:42 or it is 10:21am?” Suprise, it was 10:21…which made me 20 minutes late. Oops. But clearly I had a solid excuse. “Time Warp Sophie. I can’t control the universe.”)

I realize that I love these two girls, because over 5 Grain Cereal (yes complete with puffed milk, bananas and nuts), we had conversation which moved 80 miles an hour, discussing the highs and lows of the week, relationships past, and the fact that we are fabulous (Yes, at any girls breakfast, this is a subject that does come up.) What I realized in talking to them, is that they really see me for the creative writer that I am, and encourage me to write – every day, all the time.

I left breakfast DYING to get to a computer because I felt so inspired by their thoughts. Sophie and Chris pointed out to me that I am not held captive to wearing a suit and walking into an office everday. Creativity and success can look so many different ways. And to this point I have been pushing to find a corporate job, they opened my eyes to the idea that I can persue my writing, and simply use my job as a means to a paycheck. Well, maybe a paycheck and some good writing material.

Ladies and Gentleman, I am contemplating divorcing Corporate America.

As you all know, I have some history with very corporate jobs. So naturally, the first thought I had when I got laid off was  to look for a marketing coordinator position, or something within the business world that will harness my skills at a communicator. And to be honest, after I got a “No” from this last position, I really felt burned. Maybe I was too pumped,or maybe I  set myself up for failure. Either way, I really wanted that job, as you might have noticed from this post I did right before the interview.

Now, it’s almost like I got broken up with by “job search”. I put my heart out there, and they gave the job to someone else. And like a Jr. High Girl, I want to turn around and say “Fine, job searching, I don’t need you. I’m not going to apply for jobs any more.”

Ok, so I’m not going to be one of those people who lives on unemployment forever, but all of a sudden I feel incredibly empowered. I realize, I don’t have to find a job that fits me. I just need to keep writing. And as far as how I make my money, I can do a million things. I am free to choose any job that I find INTERESTING. And I am free to take my time wandering around to find what that is….like a gypsie.

In my mind, I want to walk around in flowy skirts. I want to wear a grey beanie. I want to serve coffee and get tatoos. I want to be a bartender. I’m thinking about studying for that test for the Postal Service that I wrote on several months ago. I’m thinking about trying to find a job for a non-profit. Or working with a traveling group. Or being a roadie. Who cares?

Corporate Suit VS. Gypsie.

You have to understand where I am coming from. I’m the kid that did everything right. I went to high school, did sports, journalism, youth group, and got great grades. In high school I didn’t smoke, drink or have sex. I got into a good college. I got two degrees in four years, and graduated with honors. And even then, I still mainly walked the straight and narrow. I still don’t have tatoos, and always did what was expected. I wanted to go to Law School. I was a clean-cut good kid who always played by the rules.

Suddenly I feel relinquished. Free to work in a menial job and have it be ok. Free to ride and bus and write about it and have that be ok. Free to be artsy and eclectic. To leave the graph paper mindset behind and flow into graphic color.  I have never been more excited to be insiginificant. To be normal, and not have to be all put together.

Maybe this is the stuff most of you guys all figured out in college. Maybe you all really got a chance to experiment and find out what you wanted to do if you could do anything. Somehow I think I missed the boat. But late or never, I think I’m catching on. And it’s pretty glorious.

I told my mom tonight that I wanted to get my bartenders liscence and work in bar. I’m also thinking about not washing my hair for a while. I really think that’s actually gross, but it’s fun to think about. I also told my mom I was thinking of tatoos. She didn’t respond. Neither did my dad. It was great.

In the 1980s (84 to be exact), Cindy Lauper rocked the world with her song, Time After Time. You might remember the video of her and her multi-colored, half shaven hair agonizing over her boyfriend. Let’s be honest, I was only a year old when the video come out, so I had to youtube it.

Then, in 1998, Matchbox 20 did an awesome cover of Cindy’s song. From concert in Australia we now how this beautiful recording of a 1990s sound on our 80s hit. Personally, Matchbox 20 resonates more with me than Cindy Lauper does, but mainly because I listened to them a lot in high school. Hello, your age is showing.

Please take a moment to listen to the video. Really, go ahead, press play. You’re allowed to keep reading while the song is playing, it will enhance your experience.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UuxCOjoFp7Y]

So, now that you are rocking out and reading, here is the back story:  A few weeks ago, I had a conversation with one of my contacts regarding my ideal job. Big dreaming, here’s is what I would do if I could write the job description. I told her that I want to write. I’m a communicator – a storyteller, a public speaker, a planner, visual/photographic person. “I’m just great at communicating,” I tell her, “And that can look like a thousand things, but as long as I am working out of that strength, I would be really excited.”

 Two weeks later, I get an excited call from her. I can hear the smile through the phone. A Communications Coordinator position just became available. In her company. The hiring manager wants writing samples.

“Hi, this is your purpose in life calling. We’d like to see you for an Interview.”

Now I can’t stop thinking, “What happens if they give my purpose in life to someone else? Or what if I’m not qualified for my calling? I think that  would be THE most depressing thing that has ever happened.”

Now that we have job situation and fears thoroughly explained, please enter snake and stone, as promised in the title.  As you can imagine, I am practically having an out of body experience in trying to prepare for this interview. On Friday, driving in my car, I start praying. For those of you who might not know, I pray often. Rather, I pray mostly through the day. I think it’s because I’m an anxious control freak. Talking to myself doesn’t make me feel better. Talking to God however, seems to put me at ease a little bit.

I’m praying.  Historically, I’m brutally honest with God. You might know that from reading some of my “I’m Angry At God” blogs. So I say, “God, I’m afraid to ask for this job. I don’t even want to utter the words. Because if I do, and I don’t get it, I think I might not get out of bed for a week. Maybe two.“

Here’s what I hear: “Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? ¹⁰Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? ¹¹If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him.” (Matthew 7: 9-11)

Ok. Initiate tears.

In my 25 years, I have been all around the world, and have had amazing adventures and stories. It seems though, that the common theme with me and God is God simply saying “Trust me, trust me, trust me.” And me saying, “Maybe, I don’t know, no thank you.” When I finally get around to saying, “oooook…” usually my life takes radical exiting turns. Maybe not always in the way that I initially wanted, but it’s been one hell of a ride. And through it all, God has never let me down. The words that come to me over and over again are “Jenni, I will never leave you or forsake you.” Just like that. And I have seen God be faithful a thousand times over.

Why is it then, that I still turn around and say, “I’m afraid to ask for this, because I don’t know if you are going to come through for me?” It almost makes me feel ashamed. It’s like through all of the years, God has racked no credit with me.

Maybe you don’t believe the whole God thing. Whether there is a God or not, the principal issue is the same. You have parts of you that you don’t think anyone can be trusted with. It’s HARD to let others in. Maybe you’ve been married for 15 years, but deep down you don’t trust that your husband can do things “right” (ie – the way you think they should be done). You have friends that have known you inside and out, and you still feel vulnerable to tell them new parts about your soul. You are really great at having relationships, but if you were honest, you don’t fully trust.

Trust is hard.

I don’t have a great epiphany on how to be better at it. I don’t know if it’s something that we should be better at. I can tell you that this morning, I was folding laundry in my closet, and my ipod on random starts playing Matchbox 20.

Sometimes you picture me–
I’m walking too far ahead
You’re calling to me, I can’t hear
what you’ve said–
Then you say–go slow–
I fall behind–
the second hand unwinds

If you’re lost you can look–and you will find me
time after time
If you fall I will catch you–I’ll be waiting
time after time

Again, simple reminders from God that He is waiting to catch me – whether I get this job or not. Reminders that after years, I’m still no good at trusting. Reminders that God knows that I’m not good at trusting, and breaks in to reminds me a thousand times over that He is going to be there for me. Time after time. 

The interview is Monday at 12:30. I’ve been recruiting everyone I can get my hands on to pray for me. If you don’t pray, maybe consider introducing yourself to God, because I need a miracle here. And if you’re really opposed, at 12:30 maybe you can just send me some good ju-ju. Or if you believe in Oprah, use that “The Secret” stuff, or whatever it is. Send me your Secret Postive Oprah thoughts.

Keep you posted.

Last night, my sister came over and we watched What Happens in Vegaswith Cameron Diaz and Ashton Kutcher.

The premise of the movie was exactly what you think it should be: two attractive people meet in Vegas, get blitzed and then get hitched. It gets a little complicated when Jack (played by Kutcher), wins 3 million dollars at a slot machine right after consenting to annul the marriage with Joy (played by Diaz). Considering his new found wealth and their marital status, Joy decides she is entitled to half of the money. In a messy judge ruling, they have to spend 6 months together working out the “marriage” before they are allowed to separate and split the winnings. The rest is history – boy gets girl, boy looses girl, boy gets girl back. And they all learn something about themselves in the process. Basic obnoxious chick flick.

But the part that really caught me what this line:

 ”You are planning to plan.”

You see,  Joy is a character much like myself. She is a strong, independent woman with a professional career on Wall Street. (ok, so we are kind of similar…she’s a professional…I have no job…but go with me on this one).  She is constantly spending time trying to be everything. She is beautiful, chipper, the perfect girlfriend, and pushing for a promotion at her Wall Street job. Sound familiar? How about my entry on Dos Equis, and trying to be interesting?

A few times in the movie, a pivotal statement pointed out to her is “You are planning to plan,” showing her exactly how deep her need for control and perfection really go. Ouch.

So, here I sit, a day after watching this mediocre movie, and I cannot get this line out of my head. And while planning and control are things that I struggle with in general, it seems to be an awkward number considering everything that I have going on. It’s a little hard to plan when you don’t have a  job, and you don’t know where you are going to be living in three weeks.  And these are just the struggles with planning out the next several months.

Beyond months, I realize that I am up in the air for the next several years.  In being unemployed, and at a critical point in my career life, I realize that the next position that I undertake can have substantial impact. At the moment,  I have several things percolating, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I had a job offer on the table here before too long. There are several potential positions staring me right in the face: Marketing Analyst for a health care group, Admission Coordinator at a University, Admin at a major sport brand…each one of these options makes my head spin. Because they are different pieces, of different plans that don’t really fit together.

In realizing these planning fears and frustations, I come to the pinnacle when it comes to one important piece of  paper. My resume haunts me. And for one reason: A resume is a story teller. It shows potential employers where you have gone, what skills you have gained, and where you would like to go (hopefully, into their company).  But, if you are like me, your resume doesn’t one clear success story. Instead, I have what my dad so aptly stated “A smattering of experiences.” I have some HR work, I have sales, I have administrative….and when I think about it, I’m still under the heat of the question “what do you want to be when you grow up?”

By this point in time, I’d hoped that I would be grown up. And well into my career. But the reality is, there are people out there that look at my resume and say, “Oh, so you are still green. We have a great entry level job for you.”

And while I am humble enough to realize that I don’t know everything when it comes to the career word, I’m a little bit beyond answering phones and typing out emails for my boss. When I’m really honest with myself, I realize that my dad knows more about my hopes and dreams than I do. Because aside from telling me that I have a “smattering” of experience, he also reminds me that I have always known what I want to do.

“That’s easy.” He says, “You want to run the show. You always have, and now its just a matter of figuring out how.”

He’s totally right. I’m writer, that’s obvious. I’m a story teller, and a communicator. I’m visual. I’m into graphics and photography. I’m a coordinator. I’m a schmoozer. I have friends. I’m really great at networking. I’m smart and analytical. I’m structured. I’m inventive. I’m tenacious. I want to be the boss.

And I’m a planner. Like Joy, I can get paralyzed by planning to plan, and forgetting to let life happen. I get so stuck in the dissonance between who I am, and what my resume is not, that I forget to move forward. Instead I look at the possible job offers, where they are located, what apartments are near there, what the responsibilities of the position are, how much it is going to pay, and how that next entry on my resume is going to effect the next five years. It’s beyond exhausting, it’s ridiculous.

And althought the movie was stupid in my opinion, I know Joy found herself by getting lost. By letting go of the need to be “everything” she found what she was really looking for. I’m almost embarassed that I am finding so much deep truth out of such an awful movie. But, embarassing or not, there is truth in that. To realize that I know 40-somethings who still don’t know what they are doing, and have resumes that make them absolute failures on paper. But in real life they aren’t failures as corporate America might call them; they aren’t paralyzed like me either – they are just free. Free to make mistakes, and fail, and work at jobs that they love and don’t care if the world never thinks they are important.

I think I’d like to get there. When I’m honest, I’m already drafting a plan on how to get there in the back of my mind even as I am typing. Maybe the question now is just…

Is it ok to plan not to plan?

It’s been 12 weeks.  That’s 3 months. That’s means when you balance the two out, I have more months than money.   I’m officially bleeding red, and waiting ever so patiently for Unemployment Insurance to get their act together and send me a check in the mail (yes, somehow all of my paper work has gotten lost, twice, and 12 weeks later I’m checking the mail box like an anxious 5 year old).

Let me not get sidetracked. The issue of being broke is, obviously, associated with being unemployed.  Thankfully, a simple check from Unemployment will clear that up. What cannot be resolved with a check  is the new mindset slowly developing as the unemployed weeks pass. You see, I was fortunate to have been given the expert services of Lee Hetch Harrison.  They are an executive placement company that has mastered the technique of job searching, and they offer resources that I could not put a price on (although, I’m sure they do have prices attached somewhere).  LHH has been a critical part of discovering what goes on in the mind of “The Unemployed,” as I am not only completing their program myself, but I am also spending the majority of the day with other unemployed individuals.

There is an office that I go to a few times a week. I get dressed in a suit, wave at the receptionist, make coffee, call contacts, read emails, and schmooze around the “water cooler.” I even attend meetings! Although these things may look and feel much like a job – dear friend don’t be fooled. The only payment from these efforts will be the payoff of a job offer.

Now, part of the program is my Job Search Work Team that meets every week. They are amazing. Each week we come in with our charts and notebooks and papers, feeling important…or trying to feign importance. We go around the room and talk about how many contacts we have made that week, who we spoke with, and upcoming highlights. We discuss job postings  (and believe me, at times there aren’t many), interviews, and troubleshoot sticky situations that might arise.   This week, one of my favorite characters, a gay writer (of course),  makes the most insightful comment as we are walking into the meeting room.

 “Why is it that not having a job just seems to bring out all of my insecurities? God! Going on a job interview makes me feel like an anxious 16 year old on a first date all over again!”

He’s RIGHT!

Not having a job is like going through a break up every single day. You may think I am being dramatic, but I am not kidding!

• Pouring through Internet sites, looking for potential new jobs that would be a “good match“…sound like match.com anyone?
• Going on that first interview, where you are looking to have “Chemistry” with a company – they need to like you, you need to  like them, you need to value the same things, and you need to see eye to eye on the important things.
• They say they’ll call, and you wait by the phone…for what feels like FOREVER.
• Even if the job isn’t the right “fit” for you, and you KNOW you don’t want to work there, it still hurts to be told no.  “I want to break up with them first!” Sound familiar? (yeah, its called my Friday night last week).
• If you have good “chemistry” with HR, they ask you on a second date, I mean interview…but this time with the hiring manager. Talk about pressure!
• Sometimes they bring in a “Panel Interview.” Is this like  the “Want to meet my family?” conversation that inevitably comes up too early in dating?
• When you get all the way through the Panel Interview, and they DON”T offer you the job, there is always going to be some friend consoling you over lunch or drinks, telling you “Honey, you didn’t want to work for them anyway. I bet that guy was an asshole!”
• And even if they give you a job offer (which is like an engagement ring) – it has a numerical value tied to how much they like you. It’s called your salary. Or your carat size. Same difference.

In short, being unemployed can make you resilient,  or it can destroy you. I suppose whichever one comes first. As I sit every morning, pouring over my “Positioning statement” (I am a highly proficient business professional with expertise in communication both written and verbal…), I can’t help but feel like a sixteen year old girl, staring in the mirror saying “I’m pretty, and funny, and smart, and cute, and outgoing…” and trying to make myself believe it.

Maybe Prince Charming is out there. Maybe right now, he’s sitting at a restaurant table and sharing a laugh and a drink with my future boss.  Maybe they’re buddies. Maybe they both don’t know it, but I’m sitting here, waiting to have the chance to radically change both of their worlds.

Until I find the road to that restaurant table to schmooze with my future life, I suppose I’ll keep looking, all the while reciting to myself …

“I’m a beautiful business professional, who’s great at being a girlfriend and has expertise in communication, both written and verbal…”

I have had some fairly safe employment ideas, such as being an admin or some sort of clerical worker. But then there have been moments where I have had marvelous ideas. There is one in particular that I am bent on trying to figure out how in the world such a beautiful idea went so wrong.

I want to be a mail carrier for the U.S. Postal Service.

Yes, you heard me correctly. I saw the job description, and suddenly knew that all of my worries in life were cured. I was going to get the most stunning job in the world – I had spinning images of me in dark blue Dickie shorts, socks pulled up my calves, and a tan wide brimmed hat. I would have a side satchel filled with mail slung over my crisp pin-stripped shirt, complete with “Jenni” embroidered over the pocket. I would be smiling, and I would have my ipod buds in both ears.

The birds are chirping, the sun is out, and the flowers are blooming. Maybe even the trees and the clouds would all magically have little faces and begin singing with me as I stroll down the street “Zip-it-y do da! Zip-it-y A!” I would smile at small children, and hand them their mail with a smile. “Go give this you your mommy!” And then I would pat their golden curls before they would run inside with the letters tucked under their little arms.

What job could be better?

Not to mention that any kind of government worker makes generous salaries, coupled with well rounded benefits, and unbelievable retirement packages. So clearly, my problems are solved. I am going to get a job with the U.S. Postal Service, and I am going to be a happy camper.

So I email my resume (seriously, I sent it in). Immediately, I get an email indicating that I am a “great match for the open position at the U. S. Postal Service!” Perfect! That was so quick!! The email continued to say that I needed to call the listed number and talk to one of their hiring specialist to get hired right away.

So what did  I do? I picked up the phone and called the hot line. A gentleman picked up, asking me if I had already sent in my resume. “Yes, I did,” I told him.

“Now,” he says to me, “Have you already had your test scores sent into our offices?”

Screeching Halt. “Test Scores?”

“Yes,” he continues, “There is a test that you will need to take first in order to be eligible to apply.”

My visions of little chirping birdies and singing flowers is already beginning to fade. “Can you please give me further information regarding this so called test?”

“Sure,” he says, “Its a test with about 100 questions on it…”

 ”What kind of questions?” I interrupt. “Is it like 1) Where does the mail go? …answer: in the mail box. 2)Do you shoot people when you get stressed out? …answer:No.”

He laughs. “Well Miss, not quite. Its a bit more intensive than that.”

 Crap. This is already way more work than I had planned on doing….and I havent even finished applying yet. He went onto explain that it is 100 questions, and it involves memorization of postal codes and various city limits, etc. He mentioned that there were study materials to help prepare for the test.

“Are you kidding me?” I ask him. “These people carry around these huge heavy bags all day long, you make them walk in all of the elements, and you are going to make them memorize all that crap before they can even apply? That’s a jip!”

He laughed. “The test is not actually that bad. And we do offer excellent retirement benefits. It really can be a great employment opportunity.”

“Ok,” I say, “I’ll take the test. Send me out the materials.” I figured that I can study between applying for other jobs. And who knows, it might be really easy! And then I can have my dream of wearing white socks pulled to my mid calf as I deliver mail to happy children.

“Ok,” He replies, “Did I tell you about the cost of materials?”

At this point I am literally raising my eyebrows. “Cost? You not only are going to make me take a test to have this crappy job….but you are going to make me PAY to take it? How much does it cost?”

ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS.

Ladies and gentlemen, I kid you not. Your post man had to pay $150 of their own money to walk around all day and deliver mail. And that is when I decided that the U.S. Postal Service was the biggest jip around.

“You know, No thanks. I dont want to be a postal worker anymore.” I told him. And then I hung up before he could respond.

And do you want to know the crappy part? They have my email. And now they are sending me 3 emails a day to try to convince me to pay them to work for them.

U.S. Postal Service, you are a lie.

As my boyfriend called it, it’s not like loosing your job, it’s more like 8 weeks of “paid vacation!” Which seemed to ring pretty true for most of last week. I cleaned, I filed, and vacuumed, I did laundry – visited friends and working out everyday…it just seemed like it was 5pm before I even blinked.

But then yesterday, while my man was working from home, I came down the stairs and he said to me “So what are you going to do today?” And there it was – he’s sitting at his kitchen surrounded in files and emails, with his attorney job in his brand new house…and there I am standing in my pajamas thinking “I have no where to be today…I have nothing to do and no where to go….I have no appointments, I have no people waiting for me….I’m just useless, and fruitless, and hopeless, and worthless…” And then came the flood of tears as I crumbled in his bathroom – proceeding to cry for the next hour or so.

Now I know that this is the part where everyone is going to comment and say “Jenni you are not worthless…bla bla bla” – and its good to hear those things, but I want to interject here that I do know it. I suppose what just surprised me the most was just that the words of one man letting me go a few weeks ago could echo so loudly in my insides. Or simply that my little notepads with my name and job title on the top of them would be so meaningful to what I have to offer the world. And we all know that our jobs don’t define us – but get laid off and I promise there will be a day where you are the a least a bit shaken.

The thing is, I’m hungry. Last year I spent 7 months looking for jobs. 3 of those months were in Canada, and when I finally had a job, there suddnely was no reason to go to Canada anymore. Thus I began the search back here in Orange County. And after that experience, I am beginning to think that there is a limit or a capacity that a person has to hearing the words “I’m sorry, you just don’t match what we are looking for.” I know it isn’t personal, or that they aren’t saying that you aren’t a great person with lots of skills – they are just saying that you aren’t THEIR great person with skills. But I think after you hear it 1,050 times (7 months x 30 days/mo. X 5 job applications/day = 1, 050 rejections) it begins to wear on you just a little bit.

I just want to be taken seriously. To have someone say to me “You know, you work hard and we really think you are a great asset to this company and we would love to continue to let you handle projects with more responsibility.” And instead, I feel like I keep getting “Can you please fax this?” Maybe I’m looking in the wrong kinds of careers, or maybe its just a little over zealous, but I am beginning to questions whether or not I am cut out for this career thing at all. And this is the thoughts that bring us to me lying on my boyfriends bathroom floor in a crumbled heap. Beautiful isn’t it?

So, today is Tuesday and a new day. I got up and went walking. And then got dressed and brushed my teeth. I sent out some applications and went to Starbucks to get a part time job before I’m declared legally insane…or clinically depressed – or both. Gotta celebrate the small victories, like my mom says. So hurray for me: I’m showered, I have make up on, and I’m getting the ball rolling.

And it is in the car on the way back from Starbucks that I am reminded of where I am at in life. Apparently teenage pop does have some vital life lessons, because Jordin Sparks essentially kicked my depressed ass:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pI-H8Vlwbck

One Step at a Time:

Hurry Up and Wait, so close but so far away. Everything that you always dreamed of – close enough for you taste, but you just touch.

So you want to show the world but no one knows your name yet, you dont know where and how you’re going to make it. You know you can if you get the chance – in your face the door keeps slammin. Now your feeling more and more frustrating, and you’re getting all kinda impatient. Watin – we live and we learn to take

One step at a time, there’s no need to rush, it’s like learning to fly or falling in love. It’s gonna happen when its supposed to happen, and we’ll find the reasons why, one step at a time.

You believe and you doubt, you’re confused and you have it all figured out. Everything that you’ve always wished for – could be yours, should be yours, would be yours, if they only knew.

So you want to show the world but no one knows your name yet, you dont know where and how you’re going to make it. You know you can if you get the chance – in your face the door keeps slammin. Now your feeling more and more frustrating, and youre getting all kinda impatient. Watin – we live and we learn to take

One step at a time, there’s no need to rush, it’s like learning to fly or falling in love. It’s gonna happen when its supposed to happen, and we’ll find the reasons why, one step at a time.

When you can’t wait any longer, but there’s no end in sight – you need to find your strength – its your faith that makes you stronger… only way we get there is one step at a time.

One step at a time, there’s no need to rush, it’s like learning to fly or falling in love. It’s gonna happen when its supposed to happen, and we’ll find the reasons why, one step at a time.

OK Jordin. Thanks for kicking my ass into shape. You may have written just be a teeny-bopper song for 14 year old…but maybe there is some profound wisdom in your words. So for today, I’ve picked myself up out of my closet – resigned to the fact that no I can’t live there no matter how many HR Recruiters tell me that I’m not qualified to do some menial task like filing or picking strawberries….because apparently in this economy you need a P.h.D to prove that you know how to turn on a computer.

And for any of you out there who know of any job openings, I have decided to that I am open to anything short of prostitution…but only because I don’t think my boyfriend would like it if I start selling myself for sex.

OK that was a joke. But I am really looking for jobs. Hook a sister up.

           And I suppose that today I angled my tires just right, because when I walked past my car, I suddenly puzzled together my tire pressure mystery. There it was, shinny, warn, and flat – from weeks of driving – a screw head, mocking me with its Philips head practically calling out to me “See, here I am, just to make this Monday just a little bit more shitty.”

             Now those of you that keep up with my professional life know that I am an executive admin. Which essentially means that I am professional at doing “executive bitch work.”  Yes, people will walk past the fax machine to stop me from a project to ask me to fax something for them. I will be asked to spend my afternoon stapling pieces of paper together. I have spent 30 minutes on hold with an airline, demanding that my Senior Director get put on that flight – only for them to change their mind 20 minutes later and have me alter their entire trip. And for a person who is not really the “admin type” (i.e. “Good morning sir I’ve been up since 5 am, I’ve been to the gym, I’ve read and responded to all of your emails, your 8 am is waiting and by the way here is your dry cleaning….) Yes. You can imagine how there are days where the very nature of my job would rub me the wrong way. I’m really more of a 10 am kinda girl  – with a “don’t talk to me until I’ve had at least one pot of coffee.”

Yeah…right      

            Last week I was in the waiting room for the doctor’s office, when I saw a poster that had a little story on it. Now that morning was a particularly good morning, but more because my appointment was just at a time where I could miss a morning at work, take it slow and roll in after my appointment was over. But that’s not the point here. What I am getting at is what this poster had to say.

          It explained a Native American fable where a grandfather was explaining to his grandson that there were two wolves that live in his heart, and they are constantly at war. One wolf was vicious and angry, treacherous and cruel. The other wolf was kind, gentle hearted and loyal.

              Upon hearing this, the grandson asks his grandfather, “Which wolf wins the battle?” To which the grandfather responds,

Whichever one I feed.

        Now this gets me thinking, probably back into thoughts that I have had many times before. Probably even thoughts that I have written about before. And that essentially is: happiness is a choice. It always is. It always has been.  As much as I hate to admit it – no one gets a perfect life. The stars never line up in a way that make us have the perfect boyfriends, husbands, children, apartments, roommates, marriages, careers, friends. Once things have gotten straight in one area of life, you can bet your retirement fund that they are about to fall apart in another. And if you manage to get to a place where things seem altogether perfect for any stint of time – hold your breath and take an emotional picture, because it is doubtful that things will ever be that good again.

       As I said, this is a thought that I know well. But it surprises me how many times in the passsing days that I have had to remind myself ”I do love my job. This particular thing does suck – but that doesn’t mean that it will always suck or that I should walk around running my mouth. I am grateful that I work with such amazing people.” In some ways it is almost like I am convincing myself that I do like what I do. Or rather – that I am convincing myself of what I already know to be the truth.

Funny how it happens, that seems to be a pattern lately…

     I am convinced that this is simply life. Knowing one thing. Acting like you believe another. Maybe this whole pattern is so hard to keep straight is because when you’re really honest, you do believe the evil wolf. You feed it because you think that in some ways, life is out to get you. That screws consciously find their way to your tires, just to make you upset. But then I do have moments, where the light shines, and I realize  that my life is glorious – screws and all. That I do have a great job that I make great money at, I have a great boyfriend, and perfect friends. And yes it all drives me crazy – but I think its the part where you keep it in perspective. The part where you make an effort to continuously feed the good wolf.

The intersting thing is, the events can happen to a person over and over - and it can either be the worst case of “The Monday’s” that ever came to be – or I can realize that it really is all about who I choose to feed, and I can have a great Monday.

So flat tires, work plans, travel arrangements changing, all of a sudden are carrying a new meaning….

hungry??