As you probably know by now, I'm still commuting between Sacramento and San Francisco for work. I'm fortunate to work with a great group of people, but almost ten months of constant back-and-forth for a high-stress job has worn me down. I'm soooo ready to be done with my commute and with TV news.
Since the New Year began, I've applied to about a dozen jobs in the Sacramento area. Some were only mildly interesting. Others seemed much more up my alley. In two cases in particular though, I was convinced that "this was it."
The first was in late January/early February. I landed an interview for a PIO position at headquarters for one of the largest, busiest agencies in the state. It sounded like a great gig - writing-intensive, possible video/photography projects, interesting subject matter, normal hours, good money. I knew I'd enjoy the work. But more than that, I knew I could do it. And do it well.
I spent a lot of time preparing for my interview. I researched the agency, recent events/projects it was involved in and the people I'd likely be interviewing with. I talked to friends who'd gone through the interview process before so I would know (more or less anyway) what to expect. I'd never felt more prepared. And I nailed it. They seemed responsive/happy with my answers to their questions. They laughed and smiled. They liked the questions I asked them. And when he walked me out, the man who would have been my supervisor basically told me I'd aced the interview.
Two days later, I got called in for a second interview. And I nailed it again. The head of the department was present this time, so the atmosphere was more formal. I had a hard time reading the room, but left feeling confident I'd showed them I was the best candidate for the job.
Apparently not.
A couple days later, I got a phone call from Mr. Would-Be Supervisor Man while I was going on a long walk near Lake Natoma. He was kind and gracious (something I'm incredibly grateful for), but told me they'd "decided to go in another direction." He told me they loved me. That my resume was great and my interview was about as good as it gets. But there was someone else with more formal writing (read: print) experience who could "jump in" with a lot less training than I would need. He promised to keep my resume - that I would be his first call when another position opens up in the office. He also offered to be a resource if I ever needed help in my job search, which was very kind.
I managed to end the conversation before I burst into tears. All that hope I'd built up in the weeks before came crashing down on top of me. I sat there, in the middle of a park, not caring who saw me, and dialed my mom, who knew I'd be getting a call about the job that day and was waiting for word.
She answered, her voice full of hope (because I have the best mom in the world, who believes in me, usually more than I believe in myself): "So????"
I managed to choke out a single word: "No."
Mom: "Oh Sweetheart! I'm so sorry."
And that's when it happened. It was as if my body was rejecting all the hope I'd kept inside, forcing it out of me in one fell swoop. Violent sobs ripped through my chest. It was the ugliest Ugly Cry I can remember having as an adult. I couldn't breathe, couldn't stop the tears and couldn't talk, so everything came out as terrifying, guttural shrieks. Mom patiently stayed on the other end of the phone while I had what basically amounted to one of those epic tantrums you only see babies and toddlers throw because they don't know how to control their feelings yet. The world wasn't ending. People weren't dying. But for an innately hopeful person, there are few things worse than seeing the light at the end of the tunnel go out, just as you reach it.
It took a little while, but I picked myself back up. I gave myself some time to lick my wounds, and once they healed, the hope slowly came back. I started applying for jobs again. I started believing in myself again. Believing that the "right job" was still out there, waiting for me to grab it.
And then in March, I found it. My Dream Job. A communications position with a nonprofit animal welfare organization. I have always believed everything happens for a reason. And as corny as that may sound, I believed the state job didn't work out because this job was going to open up. This was the work I was meant to do.
When I first saw the posting, something happened that I hadn't experienced in this process before. I had a physical reaction - my adrenaline started pumping, I got goosebumps and I couldn't stop smiling. Anyone who knows me well knows one of the few things I'm really passionate about is animals. I adopted both of my cats from local shelters and I plan on rescuing at least one dog someday. This was my chance to put my communications skills to use for something I wasn't just interested in...but something I was downright passionate about.
These jobs don't open up often - people usually hold onto them for years. So I knew I had to nail it. I knew I had most of the skills they were looking for and immediately began taking online courses to beef up my knowledge in the one area where my resume was a bit weaker. I even started keeping a list of ideas to pitch - everything from marketing and social media strategy to community outreach. A few weeks later, when the posting closed, I got the call I was waiting for. I got an interview!
As I drove to the interview this past Wednesday, it felt different than usual. I wasn't a ball of nerves. I felt calm, confident and excited. I knew this was what I was meant to do. I knew I was capable of doing the job well, but more importantly, I knew I'd love doing it. I was overwhelmed with hope at the promise and possibility of working for an organization I'd supported and believed in for so long.
Once again, I nailed the interview. I was personable and confident without being arrogant. I never had to hesitate before answering a question. My answers were met with smiles, nods and even some laughter. And they loved the questions I asked them. I left feeling confident I'd shown them how well I could do the job and that I shared their passion for the work being done there. The woman who walked me out even made a point of telling me how well I'd done. I left that building knowing beyond a doubt that I'd given the best interview I was capable of giving.
Before I left, they told me I was one of a handful of people they were interviewing, including one internal candidate. They also said they'd make a decision - and call me - on Friday afternoon.
Friday came and I was still full of hope. Still sure that nothing else had panned out because this was going to. That the big risk I took in leaving my job in Sacramento ten months ago, and all my patience and perseverance since, was about to pay off in the most amazing way possible.
Or not.
The call came after I got home Friday afternoon. I knew it was bad news the moment I answered and it wasn't the CEO, but the woman who'd walked me out, on the other end. They decided to go with the internal candidate. Not because I did anything wrong - again, they absolutely loved me - but because this person "could just jump in" with a lot less training than I would need. This is quickly becoming the least pleasant case of deja vu I've ever experienced. She gave me some good advice on how to break into the nonprofit world, and after I thanked her for it, I hung up. And promptly felt all that hope rush from my body...again.
Thankfully, I was home this time, so I could cry and sob and not breathe without an audience. When I could breathe again, I screamed through my tears, demanding an explanation from the Universe that never came. I cursed out a god I'm more convinced than ever is either cruel or nonexistent. I let my emotions run their course. All that hope I'd had 20 minutes earlier had turned into an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. Again, I called my mom, who patiently sat on the other end of the phone while I cried and eventually calmed down.
No, the world still isn't ending. Many people have it much worse than I do. I haven't completely lost perspective. I know how lucky I am to have a job while I look for another one. And how fortunate I am to have such a strong support system. But I can't even begin to describe how discouraging it is to know you're doing everything right, yet somehow, everything always goes wrong. To be told you're great...but not great enough to hire. To believe in an organization that doesn't believe in you enough to think you're worth the extra training time. To know you were meant to do a job given to someone else. And to know that in the end, something entirely out of your control can render all that hard work, preparation, confidence and positive thinking obsolete.
I'm dealing with the disappointment the way I usually do. By locking myself in my apartment, away from the world. By sleeping well past noon. By watching a marathon of action movies because watching someone else get his butt kicked distracts me from how beat-up I'm feeling. And by playing with the kitties because this is me we're talking about and if anyone can make me smile, it's my girls.
I've also been thinking a lot. About hope. Is it a blessing? Or a burden?
A strong argument can be made for the latter. In my experience, nothing hurts quite as much as disappointment. That feeling when hope comes crashing down. The moment you realize a dream won't actually come true. The other day, a friend of mine told me she tries to never get her hopes up. She says it's easier to be a pessimist and be pleasantly surprised than to be hopeful and disappointed. She has a point. Am I being naïve? Should I stop myself from getting excited about the potential for something to happen, so I don't hurt as badly if it doesn't?
When I posed these questions to my best friend Friday night, she vehemently rejected the idea. While not a pessimist, she is much more of a realist than I am (one of many reasons I keep her around). But she said my capacity for hope is one of the greatest things about me. I just have to be stronger than the disappointment. As usual, she was right. (Just don't tell her I said that - we still haven't entirely resolved an argument regarding a box of Pop-Tarts that started during our sophomore year in college.)
Being hopeful is part of who I am. I can't help it. And I don't want to change it. I like living a life full of hope. It brings me comfort. Keeps me positive. Motivates me. I can't imagine a life without big dreams or stars to reach for.
It will be a while before I get back to that place. Right now, I'm still wrapping my head around the dream that was just shattered. But I'll get back there. I always do. Because I'm stronger than the disappointment. Because I still believe everything happens for a reason, even if I don't know what it is yet. Because I know someday, I'll look back on all this and it will make sense. Because I have my family and friends to lean on. And because my Happy Ending is still out there.
Right now, the world seems pretty dark. But it won't stay that way for long. Because for better or for worse, Hope always seems to find its way back to me.
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“Isn't it the moment of most profound doubt that gives birth
to
new certainties? Perhaps hopelessness is the very soil that
nourishes human
hope; perhaps one could never find sense
in life without first experiencing its
absurdity.”
-Vaclav Havel
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