Sunday, December 21, 2003
Safety in Risk
I plan to apply for a new job in the next day or so.
Applying for jobs is one of those weird experiences that I cannot adequately describe.
First, I get very excited when I read a description.
Then I get incredibly nervous.
I write a resume. And I rewrite. And I edit, then trash it. And write a new one. And edit some more and send it to everyone I know for input and rearrange everything and desperately search the Web for resume-writing tips and finally, with a sigh of despair, figure it's as good as it's gonna get.
Then I write a cover letter. And I go through the same process as with the resume, but with twice as much angst because a cover letter doesn't really have a format like a resume. Sigh of despair—it's as good as it's gonna get.
Then I submit them both.
And suddenly, I am overcome with insatiable optimism. I am certain I will get the job—I have bought into my own rhetoric. I talk about all the things I will do when I have that job: work out more because I'll have a flexible schedule, go home for lunch because I'll be closer to home, ride the bus because there's a convenient stop. I begin to talk about it as if it's in the bag. Nevermind that I haven't had an interview yet.
I haven't applied for a new job in two years. It's time. Not only am I stuck in a rut intellectually, I am beginning to doubt my worth as an employee. But certainly, certainly, I cannot be destined for administrative drudge work forever. Surely not.
It is time for a change. Time to change.
Applying for jobs is one of those weird experiences that I cannot adequately describe.
First, I get very excited when I read a description.
Then I get incredibly nervous.
I write a resume. And I rewrite. And I edit, then trash it. And write a new one. And edit some more and send it to everyone I know for input and rearrange everything and desperately search the Web for resume-writing tips and finally, with a sigh of despair, figure it's as good as it's gonna get.
Then I write a cover letter. And I go through the same process as with the resume, but with twice as much angst because a cover letter doesn't really have a format like a resume. Sigh of despair—it's as good as it's gonna get.
Then I submit them both.
And suddenly, I am overcome with insatiable optimism. I am certain I will get the job—I have bought into my own rhetoric. I talk about all the things I will do when I have that job: work out more because I'll have a flexible schedule, go home for lunch because I'll be closer to home, ride the bus because there's a convenient stop. I begin to talk about it as if it's in the bag. Nevermind that I haven't had an interview yet.
I haven't applied for a new job in two years. It's time. Not only am I stuck in a rut intellectually, I am beginning to doubt my worth as an employee. But certainly, certainly, I cannot be destined for administrative drudge work forever. Surely not.
It is time for a change. Time to change.
