Warrior of the Word.

Sometimes a warrior just has to come home, throw their weapons in a corner, sink their tired, broken bodies into a chair and cry their eyes out.

 

Countless soldiers throughout history have probably done this. I know what we all see in the news when war heroes come home to their families. These survivors hug their spouses who’ve lived without their touch for years. They hug their children though they’ve missed precious milestones. Many people have moved on in their absence. Most have gone through their own trials and traumas. Still, everyone big and small feels that their story is the important one.

 

That’s just the human condition.

 

I’m guilty of this too. The good thing is I’m not alone. I’m about to tell you a story.

 

I’ve become a warrior of the word.

 

I know what you’re thinking. I sound like one of those nut jobs who quote the Bible and hurl Molotov cocktails into abortion clinics. If you’ve read some of my writing, you might think I’ve snapped and begun channeling one of my favorite characters.

 

“Pleasure to meet you. My name is Ezekiel.”

 

But that’s not the truth either. The reality may be just as difficult to fathom.

 

I moved back to New York two years ago. I had little money, a soaring credit card debt, and the wisp of a hope that I might get a job through a relative.

 

Time has a way of revealing one’s destiny. While I was putting interview clothes I couldn’t afford on a credit card, I was searching. I was waiting. I was hoping that I hadn’t wasted my time coming back home. I didn’t want a repeat of the six months I’d spent in Illinois trying to figure life out. That stretch of time saw me spinning my  wheels and not knowing how to make ends meet. Opportunities were few and far between. Though my best friend from college reached out to me and tried to help me out, I just wasn’t prepared for life in a Midwestern suburb. I didn’t even have a driver’s license. I failed.

 

Mental note. Don’t ever live in a suburb without a car or a license.

 

I came back home hoping that I wouldn’t go insane. I was a thirty something and living in a tiny apartment with my parents and my grown autistic brother.

 

If you’re doing a double take after that last statement, don’t worry. You won’t be the only one.

 

But times are tough for “thirty -somethings” these days. I’ve heard it all before. People in my generation with college degrees can’t even get into entry level retail work. I won’t even get into that hot mess. People have tough choices to make even though some of us just paid off twenty five thousand dollars in student loans. Sure, one could go back to school if one could somehow pay for it. Being out of college for more than a decade might mean your college credits mean nothing for all those associate’s programs.

 

There’s just one other hitch. Assuming that there are affordable school programs to attend, it pays to know which jobs aren’t being whittled down to nothing in this economy.

 

I was applying for a job in Portland, Oregon to work at a Sears as a clerk.  I applied online, landed the interview, and was asked to come in during a Thursday afternoon. The human resources recruiter seemed nice enough, but very sad and distracted throughout the conversation. After telling me that the original position was being whittled down from twenty hours a week to twelve due to “a major oversight,” he older woman turned to me and laid in on the line.

 

“There are thirty, forty, even fifty year old people applying for entry level clerk positions with this company. We’ve got people with Masters Degrees and PHD’s who need this work, and we can’t do much for them. Let’s face it. The economy is in the crapper.”

 

After 14 months in the city, I was able to land a part time job as a book seller at a local Barnes and Noble. Since then, I’ve not been able to attain anything else.

 

I think it might be safe to say that for some, the economy STILL looks like something a toilet bowl cleaner ought to erase.

 

Life is funny. Promises are broken, constant effort feels more like the definition of insanity, and broke people start to quote musicians and philosophers as though looking for a reason. Life can feel like a cruel joke. Of late, it leaves me feeling a bit like those broken warriors.

 

Is there a reason to it all? Is life what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans?

 

I’m still struggling with that question.

 

On one hand, I would officially call myself an underemployed janitor for the local Barnes and Noble. I just happen to know a thing or two about a book.

 

Perhaps that’s because I’m writing them.

 

Writing has been an anchor for me since I reclaimed it more than a year ago. I might never be a real estate tycoon or win the lottery, but writing is something that I will be able to do no matter what my financial or family status. I won’t put the computer down unless it breaks. Even if that happens, I used to use a little something called a pen, and I used to put that object to another handy object called “paper.”

 

The things one learns in school really can make a difference.

 

Nobody talks to me for more than a few minutes without realizing I’ve got more sarcasm in my pinky then most have in their entire bodies. But I shudder to think what my life would be like today if I hadn’t started to write. I’m not always going to write short stories or books. I can’t imagine I will always show my words to people. But I’ve made a few good friends along the way. People have read my words. More will read them one day, and I may even be able to make a decent living because of it.

 

Life seems to be split down the middle of chaos. On the one hand, I don’t make enough money at my current job to scratch my testicles. But on the flip side, I write because I have the time and the imagination to come up with the stuff. Real life might not be glamorous, but it offers me a chance to experience love, hate, anger, euphoria, and all the other emotions that I can pour with such realism into each and every one of my made up characters.

 

Fate doesn’t normally interest me. I like to think that I am always in control of my own life. These last few years have been like a huge dose of humble pie. I’m not powerless, but curious things do happen when I allow myself to engage in what matters to me. In the last year, people have come to me that I did not expect. People have read my words, and some have been able to relate. A special someone has danced their way into my life.

 

Philosophical discussions of fate either annoy or terrify people like me. Maybe that’s why fate sneaks up on so many of us. It probably happens despite everything I believe, and all I can do is the best that I can until God or the universe reveals my purpose.

 

Until that happens, I’ll write, I’ll love, and I ride on the roller coaster that is my life. I can’t be the fatalist, but I can sure as hell strap in. Let other people deal when someone releases the fucking Kraken. I’ll write a book about it when it’s over.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advice on Dreams..

Sometimes, it’s easy to believe that I will be forever young.

I never thought I would find myself giving advice to young people.

I had a job interview today for a place right across the street from me.  I had to wonder what it would be like since I hadn’t had a job interview in almost 4 months, and I had not had a job in fourteen months.

Fourteen.

It was hard to be late for the interview since I live right across the street.  I had fun strolling in with my dress pants and purple striped shirt (sharp dressed men never lose), and I thought I would have some fun checking out my competition.

All of them were either sitting or standing in the middle of the store in a living room -like setting, surrounded by books.  They had all been waiting since about 2:00 pm for a group interview that was supposed to start at 2:30.  I had to wonder why.  I’d read an article on Yahoo.com just a few days ago that suggested that interviewers don’t like when interviewees show up more than ten minutes early.  According to the article, interviewers then get the impression that they are rushed, and that you are desperate.

The person who wrote that article never had to deal with the pains of public transportation.  Even in New York City, you’ve got to plan as though one train or bus will get you there too early, but  the following one will get you to your destination just about five minutes too late.  That seems to be the norm EVERYWHERE in the country that has public transportation.  You plan accordingly if you’re a strap hanger like me. The interviewers are just going to have to deal, especially if your interview is taking place in the winter or in the summer, and you don’t feel like waiting outside in the elements..

I was thinking about all of this as I stared at the other applicants, all of whom were beginning to show signs of impatience.  And then I realized that strolling in “with two minutes to spare” from my apartment across the street was only the beginning of what set me apart from them.

I am older than anyone in the group by at least ten years.  I wrote that in the present tense because it’s not like they’ve all aged twelve years each since we last saw one another.  Funny how those kinds of things come up in writing.

But I digress.

It didn’t take me long to strike up a conversation with a young Asian man who was standing next to me.  It was clear to me that he was losing his patience.  Much like many other people in college, he was trying to determine the course of the rest of his life.  And, much like the rest of us, he had been looking for work for a very long time.

“I need this job,” he said.

For a moment, as I stared at him and I peered at the other young people with whom I was situated, I had to wonder if I was making a mistake.  I had forgotten, of course, of the retailers’ penchant for the group interview.  This occurs when a group of people are called in to meet with a mysterious store manager or human resources person.  They are herded through one area where they are “registered” or branded like sheep. Then they are corralled into another area where they all wait their turn to bleat their answers in unison to some basic questions.

My ex used to write about this for job fairs when she began her career as a teacher.  She used to preface each of the aforementioned steps with increasingly bored or frustrated versions of the word “Moo…”

She was absolutely right..

I looked around again at where I was and who I was with, and I realized that I too needed a job; that I was one of the 99 percent.  And I simply refused to leave (as though anyone was actually trying to get me to leave in the first place).  Way to take that stand!

But as my conversation with the younger man continued, not only was he smart enough to claim I looked more like a 20 year old than the 32 year old that I am, he reminded me of what awaits anyone who is about to enter “the real world.”

It was once thought that there were certain areas of study that college students should stay away from if they wanted to garner “gainful” employment in the job market.  Philosophy majors could go on to think deep thoughts about being unemployed.  Sociology majors might become social studies teachers.  You only became a psych major if you wanted to be an underpaid social worker or you really needed to figure out what Freud and Skinner had to say about you and your “issues.”   Conversely, at least when I was attending college, there were certain majors that were considered “cash cows.”  You were going to do alright if you were a math major as you could probably get some wild, completely esoteric papers published before you learned to use your riding crop to turn your future college calculus students into your little bitches.  And if you were a computer science major, the sky was the limit, especially in the heyday of Silicon Valley.

Now I could sit here and compare and contrast my own lifestyle to that of all of my friends who graduated from the same college with different majors.  But as I stood there today talking to this bespectacled Asian student, I listened to his concerns about “looking professional,” and I wanted to shake my head.  But then he mentioned the word that has been the bane of my existence for the last fourteen months. He mentioned the “economy.”

“With the economy as bad as it is, it isn’t like I can do what I want to do with my life.”

And that was when I got on my soap box…

Me- “With the economy the way it is, now is the best time to follow your dreams.”

Asian guy – “Why is that?”

Me –  “Because you’ve got nothing left to lose at this point.  Why not go for yours?”

Asian guy – “What do you do?”

Me- “I write things that will scare you and your children.  It took me ten years to get to the point where I gave myself permission to pursue a dream.  This economy has utterly convinced me that life is too short to put that off.  Don’t listen to what unhappy older people tell you about the real world!  If you don’t have dreams, you don’t have a soul..”

I meant every word.  Still do..

Of course, when you venture out into it, the real world sort of makes you wonder if you can survive the Blitzkrieg.  You have to learn to balance your checkbook, make sure you can pay back your student loans if you have them, pay your bills, your rent, etc.  If you’re in a relationship at all, other things may or may not have to be considered in your long term plans.  But all too often, we’re told if we work hard in school and graduate, everything will sort of fall into place.  But how does one bear witness to that when one wants to balance living in the real world with the fulfillment of one’s dreams?

Ten years of holding one strange job after another has caused me to conclude that all the work in the world is absolutely MEANINGLESS without a dream to pursue.   People who tell you that you should be okay for the rest of your life holding down some boring ass nine to five job without having other dreams are people who gave up their own.  Sometimes, they feel like they had no choice because they had kids too early.  Other times, they had people around them who were less than encouraging.

But what happens to people who don’t pursue their dreams?

They grow older, less happy, and then they may tell others to live life like they did.

That’s not the kind of person that I want to be.

My dad often talks this way, and then follows it with a private conversation over a beer or two about how much he might have given up because he had kids too early.  He forgets that he’s having these conversations with his oldest son.  I love my dad. In many ways, he is what is best in men.   But I WON’T live a life that causes me to have conversations like that with my own kids.  I am going to pursue my dreams.

So I told this young Asian man the same thing I’ll tell anyone who ever asks me about the pursuit of their own aspirations. It’s going to sound a lot like the advice a friend of mine just posted the other night.

Just shut up and do it.

I went on to kill in the interview.  We’ll see where this goes.  They want me to come back on Tuesday at 10 AM with a social security card and a state issued I.D.  My own personal battle was won today.  Now it’s time to continue to the fight for my own soul.  It’s time to renew the pursuit of my own dreams.

The Ever Elusive “Job…”

 

Things got interesting for me this morning when I woke up at around 10 AM.  I realized I hadn’t been putting my name out there  for potential jobs.  It’s a hell of a thing to wake up to, especially with the change of season upon us all.  There are goals to meet. There at so many things to do.  There’s all that damned Spring Cleaning I’ve been putting off (mostly because it seems other people have left ME in charge of it for the whole family).

 

But having been home for about year, I’ve noted how pathetic everyone seems to think the economy is out here.  In a place like New York City, one doesn’t normally expect that to happen.  I know I sure didn’t when I made me way back here from a town in Illinois where I was living at one time with an old college friend.

 

But then I had to try to find a job out here.  That was when I found out how bad things really are.

 

I’ve developed a routine for how I do it now.  There are websites I’ve bookmarked just for the express purpose of the search.  Search engines, resume engineering, cover letter writing, phone calls, and the use of family connections have all been a part of my arsenal for the claiming of mount JOBMORE in the name of my Spanish relatives.  I hoof it from time to time, walking the streets.  I do it to get away, but I can’t help but think of the new structures that are being built around this place, wondering if I can land at job with any of the companies that hire workers for high rise residences.  It’s crap work, but I’ve got bills to pay.

 

There are indeed tons of things to be frustrated about in today’s job search, but the one thing that has really started to aggravate me are the words “previous experience required,” particularly when it comes to minimum wage jobs that a Cocker Spaniel could do blindfolded.

 

I don’t mind hard work.  In fact I often find at the jobs that I have held that I have been the one to step up to do the work that nobody else wanted to do.  That all stopped being worth it at the last shit job that I held at some publishing factory in Oregon.  All I got for my hard work there was tennis elbow and a serious grudge against the temp agency that refused to help me find a better job.

 

But nowadays, clicking on any type of minimum wage job ad on places like “craigslist.org” or other websites often gets you into the description of the job followed by the words “previous experience required” or “At least 5 years experience preferred.”   And these are all for ENTRY LEVEL positions.  Come on, really? Do I need 5 years worth of experience saying “you want fries with that?”

 

Yet when you hear the news reports and read the internet articles, you begin to realize that for every one job out there, there may be close to a thousand applicants who all think that they’re qualified.  What are the odds that many of them DO have more experience than I do “selling shoes” or “cashiering?”  With lay offs being so wide spread across the country, the chances are pretty high.  It makes me wonder why I should bother to try.

 

But I literally cannot afford to give in to that despair, especially not now.

 

Getting back into the hunt felt a lot like being a pro wrestler that’s come out of retirement.  I wonder if I’ve still got the strength and speed I need to land my moves.  I ponder whether or not I’m still in decent enough shape for the camera.  I wonder, most of all, if I can still sell myself as the bad ass that everyone needs to see, that everyone wants to be like.  I wonder, if after all this time, anyone wants to hire me at all.

 

Sitting in front of the computer and typing in “craigslist.org” in the browser section of “google chrome” was one of the slowest-going things I’ve had to do for a while.  I just dreaded that it would mean more the same endless drudgery that burned me out in the first place.  The computer screen felt like it was disappearing further and further into the distance the longer I sat there, waiting, willing myself to press “enter” on my keyboard.  I just didn’t want to start this all over again.

 

But start it I did.  And then I continued it.  I filled out two online applications and that was all I could stomach before I had to quit 4 hours later.

 

I’ll try it again either tomorrow or the day after.  There are plenty of other things to do.  A book needs to be written.  Cleaning needs to happen.  A family needs to be subtly taken care of from the shadows

 

…

 

I need a  vacation – previous experience required.

 

After having held job after job after job that I’ve hated, I just want to do something I can tolerate until I launch a career as a writer.  Let’s face it folks.  Life is not worth living if you have to lie about what or who you love.

 

 

Adios, my  fine feathered friends.