One Year Later: Getting my First Full Time Job

When I first began writing this blog post, I felt how I always feel when thinking about full-time jobs in the "real" and "adult" world. I had prepared for that moment by doing two internships while I was in school, one during the summer at a historical society and the other in my last fall semester at a nonprofit organization. 

Unfortunately, I found both did not suit my needs and, though they included writing and gaining experience, I was still quite bored. This trend was not the case for my job in the writing center, which grew busier as the semester continued, or at the grocery store where I was at a cashier. It must just be the internships, I thought. 

I have been sufficiently bored at my job since attaining full-time status at this time last year. The same trend always exists. I am excited to be there, looking forward to it; I am busy, learning the ropes; I ask for more things to do, in order to impress; and then not a lot of things come up that I need to do. Why? Is it me? Do I finish my tasks too quickly? I know when they are finished I have put all the hard work I can into them, so its not like I hurry and do a half-ass job. What, then? Why is this happening? 

This contributed to my rocky transition period into my full-time job. It was incredibly difficult for me to sit inputting information into a spreadsheet all day for eight hours. Not only did it make me feel useless, but it also started to effect my writing habits. After doing this work all day--even if on my breaks I took walks, wrote, or read books--I found, upon returning home, that I did nothing. I watched TV. (Normally, I do not watch a lot of TV. When I get an apartment it will not be one of the things I purchase. Of course, I want my DVDs and Netflix, but those are quite different than idly sitting on the couch because you were drawn into a program you chose at random.) It was so unproductive and, just as it happens when I do not write for a few days, I was unhappy. 

As I grew up, my goal in my mind stayed the same: to never ever do a job for the money. That was not living. The only way, I knew, I could be happy is by doing something I love, and that happens to be writing. Except this will not pay off my student debt or help me live--not yet. In order to start moving forward instead of behind is to have a job where I just make money. It's how we all start off, right? Only, if I was busy at all of my jobs, I might not despise them so much. I know I only liked working as a cashier because of the constant flow of tasks that kept me from looking at the clock. At any job, this would be the same case. 

Everything has been slowing down for my work. Thoughts stray into my mind of unhappiness, but I keep my projects going. The only positive thing is that at this job, I still want to write at the end of the day. I crave it. 

And then, yesterday, something arrived on my desk that reminded me of an important, forgotten goal from last year. 

It was a 401K plan I could sign up for, and information on health insurance. I am still on my parents, except having a backup, having my own, means huge relief. Since I have colitis, being without health insurance is just unimaginable. My medication alone--one of them--would empty my savings. There it was--my one reason for getting a job that was not money. To have a backup. To be safe and healthy. 

So, what does this mean for being happy? What does this mean about how busy I am at work? I am not quite sure yet; however, I am glad I completed last year's goal. 

UPDATE: Not long after I wrote this post, I was approached by my boss, who has been trying to find someone to fill a bookkeeping job, and he asked if I wanted to apply. When I replied I did, we looked up where I could do accounting classes to understand it better, and I am now in my fourth lesson! Things are looking up, and I am ever so slowly filling my day with busy, productive, activities. AND I am still writing. I'm getting closer! 

Of Two Things I'm Certain

Being in your twenties is possibly the most confusing time of my life. Not only have I just left my past self behind, but I have yet to discover who my future self will be. Trapped in the middle like this is both frightening and amazing, for its almost as though you're caught in the middle of an adventure. I can tell my writing reflects this. In my revision, my main characters struggle for belonging and identity. In my WIP, my main character struggles to remember himself (he has lost his memory) and discover his identity by combining past memories with ones he makes in the present. I know that writing these will help me find myself, too. 

And that's how I plan to get through it all, by writing. 

When I left school, leaving the image of "Jess always doing her homework" behind, I was scared. What if I was only good at school--at taking tests, writing essays, answering short-answer questions? All the homework would end. After that, what would I do with all my free time? How would I handle getting a full-time job? These are just the start of all the questions. For example, we could follow with the struggle to (A) make money, (B) maintain an interest in my job, (C) the desire to move to an apartment, (D) the desire to get a new car, (E) unable to do any of these things because I'm paying off loans... I'm sure your situation was or is similar to mine. 

Through all these changes in beliefs, in friends, in who I want to become, I have two things I am sure of. 

1. I am not on the path to becoming a "What Not To Wear" horror story. I used to watch this show all the time during the summer because it was on every day at noon, so I turned it on when eating lunch and quickly became pulled into the episode, especially if there was a marathon going on. My mother always dresses really nice, and with her as my guide, I have been doing the same. (Although, I type this with a frumpy sweatshirt on. Hey, it's cold!) Regularly purging my closet, something I am in need of doing soon, has kept me on top of things, despite how difficult it may be with my colitis. Every time I get a flare my jeans could fit differently, so buying the correct size is of optimum importance. As I dress I hear Mom's voice in my ear: "What, no earrings? How about a necklace?" 

2. I will always be writing. This grounds me more than anything. I love it. It helps me talk myself through my problems, whether I am writing in my journal or a blog post or even a novel, as mentioned above it seems as if I am using that outlet--that of my character's identities--to discover my own. I have been writing stories since I was five years old. My ideas are plentiful. If I do not write I will explode. Despite all the confusion I may have during the day, it vanishes as soon as I begin. 

It is quite relieving to have two things to ground me, leaving me with just enough courage to explore the unknown. 

Update: Conquering Revision

It can be difficult to take a different approach to a story that's been worked on for ten to twelve years. In fact, I believe that's what my problem has been in past revisions: I kept too close to the original, so close that my writing style from way back when leaks into my new draft. Over the years, plot has shifted, yet old ideas still persist with a stubborn attitude. In September, I started my last plot revision of the project and became determined to rewrite it all. Not only was this my revision technique now, but it will also become, possibly, the way I revise in the future. No pressure?

One of the issues I have when I write is that I come up with a great idea for a scene, write it down, and then forget about it. If the paper is not in front of me, I write an entirely new version of the scene. Later, upon finding the original idea, I battle myself. Idea A, or Idea B? Usually I go with the latter, for the simple reason that the new idea is more interesting than the old one. This is all good and fine for first drafts. What about revisions? Before starting, I knew that would be my main problem. If I continued flying past the old plot notes, this draft would become a first draft and we would be at square one.

Not an option!

Instead of messy papers everywhere on my desk, I made a master notes list, split into at least six sections. The first was history of my land that I re-built in so many ways, which influenced the present day of the story. Next came the changes to the culture of the people. This was followed by the parts my story is actually split into. I began making mini-outlines (at least, this is how Part 1's section goes), but they evolved into adding the main differences to each section, which included "In-Between" (there is a space of about two years between Part 1 and Part 2), Part 2, and Part 3. If I consulted this packet of notes, I would not forget a lot of it. 

It was a nice thought, anyway. I did check on that packet; although, as time went on I found my notes were not here. In fact, they were paper clipped together and stuck in the binder of the copy of my book I was checking. If I was finished with a particular note, it did not linger--I put it in a folder on my desk of old notes from that story.

The other problem--a much larger one--was how to revise the plot and my writing style without letting those pesky phrases from younger me slipping in. Before, I simply copied the page, typing it all up over again in order to find any errors. 

No!

This time around, I realized what I should do is reread the scene I am about to write, and close the binder. No more peeking. Ideas that I enjoyed would stay fresh in my memory, while at the same time allowing my writing to improve. If a scene did not hold a great change to the plot, I copied it, but this was rarely done. My routine became to reread the old scene, reread the writing I had written the day before, and then start writing the new scene. Anything forgotten was not important anymore. 

Learning to revise in the way that fits me best is an ongoing effort, as it is for us all. How do you revise? I'd love to hear! 

Back to the Blog--and a Little Wiser, Too

The roller coaster hit me hard, and somehow I’ve managed to emerge on the other side happy, full of adrenaline, and somewhat whole.

I previously wrote how my job was making me unhappy. Not wanting to write is my worst nightmare. This job—sitting at a computer for hours typing in the same information—did just that. Even as I continued working there, I knew I had to leave. Soon. 

What else happened? In mid-August, my colitis flared up for the first time since I’d been diagnosed in July 2012. I can say now that it was a learning experience because I know what to expect next time it hits. The most difficult thing was that I could justify myself going to work. It wasn’t like my boss was in the dark about the subject, her daughter has colitis, but it’s who I am. When I was little and too sick to go to school, my mom would have to hold me back from running for the bus. I can honestly say, in that regard, nothing has changed.

So, when my job at the company ended, it was a huge relief. What I needed was rest and lots of it on my time away from working. I napped every day with Raven, my four month old kitten, and by the end of the week interviewed at another company, and landed the job. I would start Monday.

My new job is a breath of fresh air. It’s a small company with maybe seven people at most working there every day, compared to the large one I was at before. We talk, we laugh, we get work done, we say bless you when someone sneezes (which no one did at my other job, weird), we get to know each other. Most importantly, I do different things. I answer and make phone calls, I work with filing, I organize, and…GAH! Doing multiple things—scratch that, LEARNING multiple things at a job, about a local company, is a privilege. All of this I can take with me onto the next job, and the next, and the next.

Now, I’ve been wondering why my perceptions of jobs has changed. This job by no means is my dream job, but so far I’m not dreading going there (it’s only been a week, though, so we’ll have to see when that changes!). I think I’ve discovered that in order to find time to write, I have to force time to write, even if it’s in small patches. I’ve discovered that writing is my priority, but while I’m writing I can work, too, and gain more skills along the way.

Writing is what makes me happy, and adding it to my day is by no means a burden. I’m sure you can understand. It feels good to finally have answers to some questions bouncing around in my mind. But I’m still only 22, so there’s bound to be more—and soon!  

After School

 It is often portrayed in movies, or even through the words of adults (teachers, parents, friends, family) that being in high school and college will help better define you as a person, or who you’re going to be. Now this may be true for some, and I definitely discovered some things about myself during those 8 years, but this is most certainly not the truth for everyone.

High school was not too bad for me. I found my group of friends (all obsessed with Harry Potter, reading, drama club, or all of the above). I danced 15-20 hours a week, as well as joined the school plays to dance. I received good grades. My plan, all through those years as well as through middle school, was to go to college for creative writing. Honestly, there is nothing else that I want to do. If I am to go devote my time to something, I don’t want to be doing it just to make money or because it’s a popular profession. I wrote as often as I could, on short stories (that were failures) and a portal fantasy story, the one that I am revising today.

That’s who I was: dancer, friend, writer, good student.

In college, that changed. I was still a good student, and I did join ballroom dance, but after my sophomore year, I quit. I got a job in the Writing Center at school, peer tutoring. I devoted most of my time to my grades and my writing, when I was out of school. Most of the time, I pondered this: who was I now? What was my identity? Writer, reader, good student, girlfriend, and someone who happens to have colitis. Different, yes, but school was still there to ground me.

I just graduated college in December, and walked in May. School has been thrown out of the mix, tossed into the past until I decide (IF I decide) to go back to school and get my Masters. Once again, people are pressuring me to go into something that would make a lot of money. I can write on the side, they say, and this is true. I would love to go back to school, but to dive back in after I just left would mean that I still would have school to ground me.

I don’t want that.

I want to figure out who I am without school. I want to roll in the possibilities, to find new hobbies, to meet new people—except oh wait I’m an introvert. I have colitis, I write, I read, and I am a feminist. What else? What am I missing? What do I believe in? Discovering who I am without school—as well as pushing the fear that I will only be good at school and nothing else—is difficult. It wouldn't be worthwhile, though, if it wasn't. 

The Greatest Expectation

A few days ago, someone my brother and I knew, a mom of kids we went to school with, started working with him in a bakery. And she asked after me. Not after what I was doing with my career, or what I was doing with school, however. She asked if I was married or not.

My brother passed it off as silly, laughing as he closed the door to my bedroom, where I had been sitting with a whiteboard, plotting my fantasy work in progress. The marker hung in my hand. So strange to hear after this woman since I hadn’t seen her daughter since 8^th grade. So strange that her daughters are married already. So strange that she would assume I was married…and not bother asking anything else about me at all.*

Strange? The more I thought about it, not so much.

Marriage is not for everyone—women or men, but it is pushed onto women more often than men. Men can be independent without judgment, and if someone asks about them, odds are it won’t be about marriage. After all, how often are they asked who they’re wearing at the academy awards?

I hate the idea that women are viewed as having to want or having to be married. News flash! Not everyone wants the same thing, and if a woman wants to do it single then she should do so without judgment. She should be able to—but she’s not. This is the 21^st century, people. How often are we going to pretend we’re in the Middle Ages? No, she doesn’t have to be married to accomplish everything she needs to succeed in life. No, she doesn’t have to be attached to a man, either. She can do what she dreams, with or without a husband.

Even if she wants to be married, she can still fulfill her dreams. There should be nothing standing in her way. In anyone’s way.

“Did she go to school? Where? What is she doing now?” are all questions that could have been asked from this Mom who blasted to the bakery from 2007. Instead, they all fell to the ground, only to be trampled by strangers in passing.

*For the record, yes, I do want to eventually get married. But my writing, at this point in my life, is more important, as is my career. 

Mudding Along in My Career: Working for Coin

“Haven’t you liked doing the work?”
“Of course I have. I just wish I could go slower in order to enjoy selecting the glass more, to feed myself with each beautiful swirl, to linger over the nuances building up. If I don’t love the feelings I have while creating those windows, I’m only working for coin and not from soul.” (Clara and Mr. Tiffany, Susan Vreeland, 53)

I have been doing a lot of thinking about my job lately. Despite my perpetual hatred for its tedious nature and few interactions with humans, I am trying to remind myself it is only a stepping stone. I will not be entering data into Microsoft Access forever; this will lead me to better things. Only, doing that is difficult when every day I go to work hating my job.

The other day, my grandparents came to drop something off at my house. Since I got the job entering data, my grandfather has taken it upon himself to check the newspaper’s classifieds every day for a job I might like.

“He’s still looking!” my grandmother laughed, “But I approve the jobs! I know you want to get a job doing something you like.”

My internship at the historical society. I was looking through
old documents on this day. THIS was working for the soul. 

Then, the saddest words I have come to hear reached my ears. Grandpa said, “I never did the job I always wanted to do…a mechanic, working with cars. Instead, I drove a truck around delivering newspapers. I went for the money.”

“No, that’s now how it is for kids today,” Grandma intervened, “They want to do what they enjoy and not for the money!” (At least, for me it’s this case. For others it is completely different, of course.)

This brings my back to the quote from Clara and Mr. Tiffany by Susan Vreeland that began this post: “I’m only working for coin and not from soul.” Working for money is not the direction I want my career goals to take. I’d rather be happy working with my writing and whatever else strays across my path then being comfortable with a job that makes me unhappy. Ever since I was little, that was my goal: To have a job that makes me happy to go into work, excited. 40 hours a week is, after all, a long time to waste time doing something you hate.

I have worked four jobs, including my internships. Both actual jobs I got paid for I enjoyed, including the grocery store cashier. My internships, however, were not challenging enough and I always finished my writing much sooner than my supervisors expected. 

Last year, during my internship at the historical society, the day came when I absolutely loved what I was doing and that was looking through old letters and newspaper clippings in a box. I remember organizing what was in the box according to a list that was provided and reading the recipes that were there while typing them up. (To see the finished product, go here.) I thought about including this in my possible job searches, yet no ideas have come up yet. 

And so the search continues to discover where my career passions lie. I am determined find happiness, whether it be in one job or a mixture of them that I find as the years pass. Each experience working will bring me a better idea of what I need to make me both happy and inspire my writing. Unfortunately, punching data into Access does not fulfill those requirements. 

Just like Clara says in the quote, I am going to work for soul and not for money. In the end, that’s what will make my life worthwhile, and until I have reached that point in my career, my writing will suffice in keeping me sane in between breaks from the database.