How Bad Do You Want It
Part 3 of a 4-part series on The Job Hunt.
All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone. — Blaise Pascal
There are differing opinions about what recreational activity life is supposed to be. You can ride the wave, or fight the system, or hurdle over the obstacles, or go with the flow, or cast your nets, or climb to the top. There isn’t a real consensus about just how hard one should try.
As in, Don’t Stop Believing but also, at some point, Don’t Worry Be Happy.
For job seekers (especially those of a certain socioeconomic status with the luxury of options), this is the paradox that puts you to bed at night and wakes you up in the morning. How badly do you want the thing you’re going for? Are you working hard enough for it? Or are you working too hard for something that isn’t actually that important?
Interviewer: What are you looking for?
Candidate: To apply my skills in management and analytics in order to discover data-driven insights that improve customer experience and optimise performance.
Interviewer: What are you really looking for?
Candidate: To get paid equal or more than my peers, to feel like I’m having an impact, to work with people I like.
Interviewer: But what are you really looking for?
Candidate: Security, respect, self actualisation.
You may have thought you had professional ambitions of Helping Business Leverage Technology or Driving Sustainable Economic Growth. But the dog show of the job hunt — putting your dreams on display for anyone who feels like asking you What You’re Looking For — is highly effective at turning that idealism wine straight into jaded vinegar.
You want to know what I’m looking for? you’ll say, A bloody paycheck and a 24 hour period where I am not asked what I’m looking for.
Sour though that vinegar may be, it is the elixir of enlightenment. Choke it down to realise that, at a fundamental level, there are very few things you really want.
I had an offer letter in my inbox. It felt the same as the notification that my British visa had been approved. The weight of all the hours, the months spent tediously preparing and anxiously waiting suddenly vanishes into thin air. Simultaneously a sweet relief and a hollow feeling of anti-climax. All of that… for this? This basic thing that I need to go about my life. Pop the champagne, I guess?
It wasn’t my Dream Job, but it was a perfectly good one. Was I settling? Should I be trying harder? Waiting longer? Negotiating harder? Compromising less?
That afternoon, I went to the Regent Street Apple Store. It was, per usual, buzzing with all stripes of people — queueing for the new iPhone, using the free WiFi, taking a workshop on how to take better selfies (no joke). I was in the Genius Bar section doing some eavesdropping while waiting for my battery replacement.
There were two types of customers: Important Looking People who said things like, “What do you mean it will take 30 minutes?” and “Who is your manager?” and Normal Looking People who said things like, “Wow, thank you so much!” and “That’s alright, I understand.”
My wandering thoughts, swirling with the day’s vague reflections about professional grandeur and ‘Impact,’ settled on a question: What if a mediocre job made you 20% less of an asshole every day? How’s that for impact?
My lingering doubts and regrets dimmed into something like zen contentment and, after being given another Katie Williams’ phone on accident and waiting 40 minutes for the panicking t-shirt squad to find out what had happened to mine, I said, “No worries, thank you so much.” And it felt good.
But maybe I’m just saying that because I’m a woman…
