What a glorious time to be underutilized. Seeking the next opportunity. In transition.
Straight out unemployed.
Argentina v. Egypt at two in the afternoon? Not a problem. Coco’s first serve right around breakfast? I’ll clear my schedule.
It’s probably a good thing the Mets are so wretched or I would be testing my family’s limits on tolerable sports spectating.
I certainly love the action, the tension, the athleticism of top-shelf sports, but just as much, maybe more, I love the narratives behind the games, tournaments, and players. To watch the Knicks come together as a model of teamwork and unite a city in a time when unity is hard to come by is a beautiful thing. Coco burst onto the scene seven years ago at age 15 and regularly flirts both with greatness and the double fault demons. She could one day dominate.
One of the biggest reasons to love the Mets is the dizzying, loopy arc since their last championship 40 years ago — the September meltdowns, the few near misses, the high drama business that comes with a hedge fund-supplied $350 million payroll. Who needs to win when we’re fed that bounty of emotion?
This wasteland of job searching has given me the opportunity to rekindle some skills of my previous career as a certified public accountant, namely a beautiful, funky, prismatic spreadsheet. I mean, I’m sure it’s not that special, as any organized salary seeker probably uses a similar tool to track all the trackables.
But I love my sheet. I open it so often that it sits at the top of my Google Drive home page. It’s my top of the pops, my #1 best seller.
It’s my scoreboard for this season that so far has no end.
And it allows me to make an honest assessment in response to the question I dread:
How’s the job search coming?
OOOOFFFF.
As much as it pains me, if I’m honest, the search has gone pretty well. It just doesn’t feel like it. The numbers…
Jobs applications submitted: 89
—I don’t spray resumes, I apply to jobs I think I’d be a good fit
Positive responses, in the form of at least a first interview: 27 (over 30%)
Number of orgs that never responded: 22 (and certainly more to come)
—added only because how hard is it for these slack mofos to send an email? IT’S NOT!
Deeper runs into the process (the playoffs!): 12
Finalist: 5
And then the biggee —Job Offers: Zero. Zilch. Nada.
This is the fact that makes it hard for me to ever say the search is going well. Because for me, that comes when you’re signing that offer letter, salivating at the coming benefits, the regular cash infusion.
How does this make me Old AF? Through the masochistic magic of LinkedIn, I can find every person who bested me in those winner-take-all championships. Those five times I was a finalist? Each of the victors was at least 20 years younger than me. One appeared to be about 27 years younger.
And how do I know?
Because they haven’t reached the point where recruiters/coaches/LI “experts” recommend that they scrub graduation dates from their profile! LIKE I HAVE!
I’m not delusional. I don’t think my age was the be-all end-all determining factor. In my first finalist opportunity, I lost to someone who’d previously worked there (practically an internal candidate). My most recent defeat was to someone who had perfect experience alignment for an org that gets out the vote; I had none of that experience.
But still…it sucks. Losing sucks. And ageism is real. Of course no one said, “He’s too old!” But more than once I’ve received some feedback that my energy level is subdued. I have to remind myself again and again to smile (chronic RBF sufferer), to modulate my voice, to sound excited.
I’m trying. But losing a lot, it makes you feel like a loser. Is that my narrative?
Not to worry. I’m not despondent. I have some things cooking right now that leave me as hopeful as I’ve been. I can even be grateful to be that committed, foolish Mets fan — their perennial underperformance and the personal anguish that comes with it has left me stronger, more resilient. I exit each failed season thinking, “Maybe the next one is our time to shine.”
Maybe I am delusional.