Deadlines/milestones
I have a bizarre habit of subdividing my existence. By that I mean that I tend to look at the future not as one vast unbroken line, but rather as a series of much smaller chunks linked together. If there's some event that I'm looking forward to (say, a vacation), I set up a mental countdown to the start of the event, and any unpleasant obligation that falls before it (a dentist appointment, for example) is an obstacle to overcome en route to the prize at the finish line. I suppose it makes life more manageable, and goals more achieveable. I have been noticing this mental tic over the past few months, and perhaps as a result it has been particularly pronounced.
I first became aware of this tendency on the first day of my trip in Europe. I remember standing in line at the Eiffel Tower, mere hours after landing in France, in a state of total desperation. Paris was making me extremely uncomfortable--it was hot, people spoke a strange language, my hotel room was tiny. And here I was with a month of travelling ahead of me. I was mortified. So as I waited in line for the Eiffel Tower elevator, I mentally distilled my travel itinerary into a set of manageable pieces. 7 days in Paris, 3 days in Belgium, 4 days in Amsterdam, 1 day in Munich, 1 day in Vienna, 2 days in Turin, 2 days in Genoa, 2 days in London, then home. The sequence became a mantra in my head, and I repeatedly counted out the days on my fingers (I must have looked to the tourists around me like a pianoless pianist limbering up before an imaginary concert). However it looked, the technique did the trick. I found it soothing to think of my trip as a series of sprints rather than as one long marathon. Gradually--by the time I got to Amsterdam, I'd say--I became much less neurotic. I grew accustomed to being unable to communicate, and the exhausting lifestyle of a shoestring backpacker became my reality. But every so often a particularly raw moment would come along and out would come my ten trusty digits to count out the days left until I'd be back in my own bed.
My current predicament is much different than my European adventure. Most obviously, there's no particular end in sight--no plane ticket hibernating in my billfold with a date of return stamped on it in bold black ink. Plus, it's harder to divide up my time now because my life is utterly without structure. For whatever reason, weeks are too short to be productive units. And it's hard to plan out an entire month.
Basically, my tactic has been to measure my progress against the progress of others who have tread similar paths. For instance, a friend of mine who graduated college a year before I did moved to Washington, D.C. during the October following her graduation, but was unemployed in D.C. until February. Back in September, I figured I'd try to adhere to her schedule and move out in October. The deadline came and went. So I revised my plan to nail down a job by February. That milestone is now frighteningly close, and I shudder to think about what the next two weeks will be like.
But stop the presses! In the 11th hour, here came a sign that I might not be the only person on Earth to be jobless for so much time after graduation. I was speaking to a friend the other day, and he told me that a sibling of his was living at home without a job until the April after graduation day. That gives me at least two more months! Phew. (The day after talking to him, I read in article in Newsweek that stated that Howard Dean had taken 10 months off after graduating from Yale to ski and party in Aspen. I'm only in month 8.)
I've got an interview tomorrow. It's at a small newspaper in Granville, NY, which is about 4 hours away. I'm trying to go in with an open mind. At this point, there's nothing else on the horizon.
You know what, scratch that last line. If this interview tomorrow doesn't work out, next week will be go time. Bright and early Monday I'll hit the electronic pavement, and maybe even the actual pavement. If I need to set the sights a little lower, so be it. I'm going to make that goddam January 31 deadline if it...well, you know.
I first became aware of this tendency on the first day of my trip in Europe. I remember standing in line at the Eiffel Tower, mere hours after landing in France, in a state of total desperation. Paris was making me extremely uncomfortable--it was hot, people spoke a strange language, my hotel room was tiny. And here I was with a month of travelling ahead of me. I was mortified. So as I waited in line for the Eiffel Tower elevator, I mentally distilled my travel itinerary into a set of manageable pieces. 7 days in Paris, 3 days in Belgium, 4 days in Amsterdam, 1 day in Munich, 1 day in Vienna, 2 days in Turin, 2 days in Genoa, 2 days in London, then home. The sequence became a mantra in my head, and I repeatedly counted out the days on my fingers (I must have looked to the tourists around me like a pianoless pianist limbering up before an imaginary concert). However it looked, the technique did the trick. I found it soothing to think of my trip as a series of sprints rather than as one long marathon. Gradually--by the time I got to Amsterdam, I'd say--I became much less neurotic. I grew accustomed to being unable to communicate, and the exhausting lifestyle of a shoestring backpacker became my reality. But every so often a particularly raw moment would come along and out would come my ten trusty digits to count out the days left until I'd be back in my own bed.
My current predicament is much different than my European adventure. Most obviously, there's no particular end in sight--no plane ticket hibernating in my billfold with a date of return stamped on it in bold black ink. Plus, it's harder to divide up my time now because my life is utterly without structure. For whatever reason, weeks are too short to be productive units. And it's hard to plan out an entire month.
Basically, my tactic has been to measure my progress against the progress of others who have tread similar paths. For instance, a friend of mine who graduated college a year before I did moved to Washington, D.C. during the October following her graduation, but was unemployed in D.C. until February. Back in September, I figured I'd try to adhere to her schedule and move out in October. The deadline came and went. So I revised my plan to nail down a job by February. That milestone is now frighteningly close, and I shudder to think about what the next two weeks will be like.
But stop the presses! In the 11th hour, here came a sign that I might not be the only person on Earth to be jobless for so much time after graduation. I was speaking to a friend the other day, and he told me that a sibling of his was living at home without a job until the April after graduation day. That gives me at least two more months! Phew. (The day after talking to him, I read in article in Newsweek that stated that Howard Dean had taken 10 months off after graduating from Yale to ski and party in Aspen. I'm only in month 8.)
I've got an interview tomorrow. It's at a small newspaper in Granville, NY, which is about 4 hours away. I'm trying to go in with an open mind. At this point, there's nothing else on the horizon.
You know what, scratch that last line. If this interview tomorrow doesn't work out, next week will be go time. Bright and early Monday I'll hit the electronic pavement, and maybe even the actual pavement. If I need to set the sights a little lower, so be it. I'm going to make that goddam January 31 deadline if it...well, you know.
posted by temporarily unemployed at 21:30
1 Comments:
maybe this is a dumb idea or i'm misinformed or something, but do you have any interest in going back to work for the Blade? Could be a good launching point..
-jdc
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