During my most recent blubber session, Billiam asked me what my goals were when I was younger. When I told him I wanted to be financially independent and happy in what I do, he asked what dream job I had envisioned for myself that would help me reach those goals. I couldn’t answer him directly, because recently I have felt defeated in my efforts to find the one thing I want to fill my life with (let alone pursue it). The current scarcity of opportunity has muddled my thinking, whittled away at my confidence, and finally clouded my vision of my capabilities and interests. Getting through this recession, depression, whatever it is, requires endurance and a hope so blind I don’t even know if it exists.
Last week, though, I started looking back on the “When I Grow Up” list of old. I wanted to be an editor. It used to be “I want to be the Editor in Chief at Cosmo,” but then I graduated high school. I remember when The Smoke Signal took a field trip to the then-amazing San Jose Mercury, and I grew a full-blown girl crush on one of the lead news editors. She looked so polished in her navy and gold pantsuit. The way she held her pen was authoritative and sexy. She was well-groomed and smart and so well-spoken. Even when one of the brown-nosing juniors erupted with “I think you should do a piece on the difference between Muslam [sic] and Islam!,” the Editor Woman gracefully explained that Islam is the religion and Muslim is the adjective with the utmost decorum. And without snickering! I wanted to be her.
So maybe when I was going through the motions of another round of cover lettering and resume tailoring an entire month ago, a small kernel of my old goals was able to wade through the rubble of my belief in myself.
I re-applied for an unpaid internship that I applied to three years ago.
Last night I was debating with Poofy Fairy about what to wear to my interview. How does one dress to interview for Style Editorial Intern with a publication that writes about sustainable sex toys? My gut told me to do a modern take on a business suit, but Poofy Fairy warned me that they might still expect cookie cutter stodgy suits.
I ended up going with a modernized business suit, praying on the inside that the editor wouldn’t notice the hole at the left knee of my black bootcut pants.
It was the shortest interview ever, but I am stoked about the results. We completely hit it off. She offered me the position on the spot: “Why don’t you just come to work here?” I told her how I had so many hesitations about what to wear to meet her. She told me I chose wisely, that she looks for candidates who can work with “insane” artists, and that she warns candidates in business suits that they may not be happy there. I told her how I applied for this same position three years ago. She squealed in excitement with me. She told me when to come in next week. She asked if I had any more questions. I said, “Well, I brought along the story ideas that you asked for. I don’t know if we have time to go over them.” – Of course we had time to go over them, we had only spoken for ten minutes so far. She loved every one of the pitches. We talked about dance groups. I perform hip-hop, modern, and Pilipino. She performs ska-punk cabaret, Richard Cheese, and zombie. At the end of the interview, she stood up for a hug.
Cockroaches boast incredible survival rates. Junkyard dogs find love. Sometimes things just work out. This is the third time I’ve walked into an interview and received an offer before I got home. I think it’s safe to say that I hit a fine harmonic with my new superior.
I deem this is the perfect time to crack open the spiral spine on my latest purchase: THE LISA FRANK GEISHA GIRL THEME BOOK.
You are so jealous your eyes are NEON RAINBOW with RAGE.
Because every serious writer needs a serious notebook.
Lest you think I am only capable of tooting my own horn, don’t forget that sometimes I fail. For those of you that remember, yes, this is a complete 180 from last year’s editorial Interview from Hell.