Living the Dream?
For someone who has been griping all summer about the fact that he doesn't have a job, I've noticed I have a pretty severe problem with Mondays. This has come as an especially noteworthy surprise to me lately because I have always maintained that it is Tuesday, and not Monday, that is unequivocally the worst day of the week. (For a recap of that argument, see here.) After much soul-searching, I've decided that I suspect it's the fault of the Monday-Friday work week, and the expectation that I should be going to a place of employment on a Monday morning, that I feel I'm being driven headlong into the doldrums every Sunday night when I go to sleep.
And lest ye remind me that the problem is far from exclusively Davidian, I know, damn it. I'm well aware that the struggling economy is striking everyone very strongly--and I'm even more astutely aware that an industry as insular as the publishing industry is only going to get more compact the harder times get. So the task of getting my foot in the door is exceptionally challenging, even with my exceptionally small feet. But before I let this turn into a rant about why my credentials seem to be getting me nowhere (that's another rant, for another day, in the distant future, when/if I continue to be in the same unemployed boat), I instead want to mention two encounters I've had over the past two days, each of which has given me a bit of a different perspective on what it means to be in my present condition.
Last night after dinner, which followed a day of concentrated job searching in the wake of my typical Monday morning petulance, I took a ride with my father to a job site. On the way back from the errand, we drove past a bar and grill in Elmwood Park that had recently opened, one that he drove past on an almost-daily basis but never went into in the two months it had been open for business. He asked me if I wanted to stop for a drink and, naturally, I agreed.
The place was relatively quiet and we had no trouble finding a seat at the bar. He ordered his standard, a screwdriver, while I tried to enjoy a Blue Moon from the tap. Unfortunately for me, the keg was tapped and I quickly assured the amusingly frazzled bartender that another screwdriver would be just fine. Based on this exchange, and my father's curiosity about how the place was doing, we struck up a conversation with the bartender. Of course, the discussion eventually steered towards the economy. I offered up the usual spiel on my job search, but the guy had a certain quality to him, and when he started pressing me a bit more on what I wanted to do, I dropped the act and bared a bit more than usual. I told him about my novel, about the screenplay Karen and I are working on, and about my aspirations to be a writer.
In response, he asked me if I had a business card. Naturally, I was a bit taken aback--I told him no and asked him why he was interested. He responded by reaching into his own pocket and handing me one of his cards. Turns out our bartender does some acting in New York City, and is in contact with a number of directors who are frequently looking for scripts to take a look at. He urged me to keep working and keep him posted about how the script is progressing, going so far as to say he'd help me shop it around a bit once it was completed. And like so many other situations I've been in lately, he stressed that making the connections is the most important part, because I never know what might happen from having met him.
And of course, he's absolutely right. One never knows what opportunity they'll have missed because they didn't say what needed to be said to this or that person at the given time. Maybe this will be the connection that makes it all come together, maybe it won't. But if nothing else, it gives me an awfully good reason to hold onto my focus in the midst of all my frustrations.
In the face of all this career-seeking discussion, by contrast, I was faced with a meeting today with an old compatriot whose career has taken a rather sudden turn. My old high school theatre teacher retired from education several years ago--amidst of a number of instance of (surprise!) student disrespect and overbearing parental demands. He left with no regrets and pursued more seriously his then-part-time work as a stagehand, working with several local venues and theatre companies. He sets up and operates equipment during concerts and live performances, doing more physical work, by his own admission, than he'd ever planned on doing at his age.
And he loves it.
Our lunch opened with my typical lamentations, but he deftly switched gears and started sharing stories from the road, chatting about his experiences like it wasn't over six years since we'd talked. It was not only inspiring to hear that things were going well for him, but also to hear that he was doing what he loved and making his living now with absolutely no regrets. And I mentioned to him that I could only hope to be so lucky as to achieve the same thing. His response: "Keep dreaming."
Believe me, I want to. It's really hard right now, staring down a future that is more indefinite than I've ever known it to be. But I do know there are a few things I have going for me already, and I plan on riding those things out to their foregone conclusions in the hopes that I'll get a few more answers than I've gotten so far. It's hard to stay positive, to keep reminding myself that things are going to work out, but every now and again you meet a few people that remind you it's possible. I may not be living the dream right now, but at least I feel like that dream may actually come to life soon.
It's not much, but it's better than I was thinking and feeling on Monday. Time will tell if it'll only last the week, to be replaced this time next week by more self-doubt and loathing. All I do know for sure is that something's gotta give soon--and I only hope it's as a result of the big picture coming more clearly into focus.
And lest ye remind me that the problem is far from exclusively Davidian, I know, damn it. I'm well aware that the struggling economy is striking everyone very strongly--and I'm even more astutely aware that an industry as insular as the publishing industry is only going to get more compact the harder times get. So the task of getting my foot in the door is exceptionally challenging, even with my exceptionally small feet. But before I let this turn into a rant about why my credentials seem to be getting me nowhere (that's another rant, for another day, in the distant future, when/if I continue to be in the same unemployed boat), I instead want to mention two encounters I've had over the past two days, each of which has given me a bit of a different perspective on what it means to be in my present condition.
Last night after dinner, which followed a day of concentrated job searching in the wake of my typical Monday morning petulance, I took a ride with my father to a job site. On the way back from the errand, we drove past a bar and grill in Elmwood Park that had recently opened, one that he drove past on an almost-daily basis but never went into in the two months it had been open for business. He asked me if I wanted to stop for a drink and, naturally, I agreed.
The place was relatively quiet and we had no trouble finding a seat at the bar. He ordered his standard, a screwdriver, while I tried to enjoy a Blue Moon from the tap. Unfortunately for me, the keg was tapped and I quickly assured the amusingly frazzled bartender that another screwdriver would be just fine. Based on this exchange, and my father's curiosity about how the place was doing, we struck up a conversation with the bartender. Of course, the discussion eventually steered towards the economy. I offered up the usual spiel on my job search, but the guy had a certain quality to him, and when he started pressing me a bit more on what I wanted to do, I dropped the act and bared a bit more than usual. I told him about my novel, about the screenplay Karen and I are working on, and about my aspirations to be a writer.
In response, he asked me if I had a business card. Naturally, I was a bit taken aback--I told him no and asked him why he was interested. He responded by reaching into his own pocket and handing me one of his cards. Turns out our bartender does some acting in New York City, and is in contact with a number of directors who are frequently looking for scripts to take a look at. He urged me to keep working and keep him posted about how the script is progressing, going so far as to say he'd help me shop it around a bit once it was completed. And like so many other situations I've been in lately, he stressed that making the connections is the most important part, because I never know what might happen from having met him.
And of course, he's absolutely right. One never knows what opportunity they'll have missed because they didn't say what needed to be said to this or that person at the given time. Maybe this will be the connection that makes it all come together, maybe it won't. But if nothing else, it gives me an awfully good reason to hold onto my focus in the midst of all my frustrations.
In the face of all this career-seeking discussion, by contrast, I was faced with a meeting today with an old compatriot whose career has taken a rather sudden turn. My old high school theatre teacher retired from education several years ago--amidst of a number of instance of (surprise!) student disrespect and overbearing parental demands. He left with no regrets and pursued more seriously his then-part-time work as a stagehand, working with several local venues and theatre companies. He sets up and operates equipment during concerts and live performances, doing more physical work, by his own admission, than he'd ever planned on doing at his age.
And he loves it.
Our lunch opened with my typical lamentations, but he deftly switched gears and started sharing stories from the road, chatting about his experiences like it wasn't over six years since we'd talked. It was not only inspiring to hear that things were going well for him, but also to hear that he was doing what he loved and making his living now with absolutely no regrets. And I mentioned to him that I could only hope to be so lucky as to achieve the same thing. His response: "Keep dreaming."
Believe me, I want to. It's really hard right now, staring down a future that is more indefinite than I've ever known it to be. But I do know there are a few things I have going for me already, and I plan on riding those things out to their foregone conclusions in the hopes that I'll get a few more answers than I've gotten so far. It's hard to stay positive, to keep reminding myself that things are going to work out, but every now and again you meet a few people that remind you it's possible. I may not be living the dream right now, but at least I feel like that dream may actually come to life soon.
It's not much, but it's better than I was thinking and feeling on Monday. Time will tell if it'll only last the week, to be replaced this time next week by more self-doubt and loathing. All I do know for sure is that something's gotta give soon--and I only hope it's as a result of the big picture coming more clearly into focus.
posted by Dave at 8/18/2009 02:48:00 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home