When the worst things in your life become routine, your emotions shut down. I’ve been unemployed almost one-and-three-quarters years. It’s hard to remember enjoying a meal without worrying about money. Impulse purchases feel like moral lapses. Some nights I can’t sleep at all because of the gnawing anxiety in my gut. I’m astounded I’ve remained solvent this long, but it’s taken all my retirement savings to do so.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now add all the worldly woes of the past five years into the mix. You know what I mean. The Russian guy, the orange guy, and the car salesman sure have made a mess of things. We all live in that post-apocalyptic wasteland. “Hope” and “naivet\u00e9” now count as synonyms. I can’t remember what it’s like to wake up and just feel okay.<\/em> Going out and having fun without money hanging over my head? Get real.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Think of my life like a ship. It carries me, but it also carries all the people I love and care about as well. Consider them crew. Or passengers. Whatever floats your metaphorical boat. So the people aboard count on me to remain seaworthy. When they’re under attack, I need to load the cannons. If there’s a storm, I keep an even keel. The captain must inspire confidence through competency.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And my ship, for nearly two years, has remained stuck in dry dock. I don’t have a cannonball left to fire. Gaps in the hull reveal the innermost parts of the vessel. Every day I grab a hammer and pound the nails down. I strip the old varnish and lay on new coats. Muriatic acid burns my hands as much as the barnacles. I dream about the day it will sail again, even though part of me believes it never will.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Being unemployed so long has kindled cynicism that exceeds reason. I distrust everything. I feel tired all… the… goddamn… time. Hope is exhausting. Better to give it up as another moral failing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then, of course, something comes along to stir the pot all over again. “Hell is repetition,” among other things. Life certainly feels<\/em> hellish right now. But I still keep toiling away nonetheless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For the past week, I have navigated an interview gauntlet. I asked a friend if his workplace had vacancies I might fit. He confirmed they did. So I sent off a resume with something extra: a referral. I’ve tried this tactic before, but few workplaces actually<\/em> hire after listing a job these days. So I kept my expectations low.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The employer asked me to submit nine video responses to nine written questions. I did so.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then the employer asked me to perform three take-home assignments. I did so.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As of today, I have cleared two job interviews.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And we’re still<\/em> not done here. There’s still<\/em> no decision.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I’m told one more interview remains, but based on my experiences since 2023, it’s hard to believe this will reach the finish line. Is that my cynicism talking? I’m certainly exhausted with the employment landscape in this country. No company to date behaved in a way I would call “ethical” or “humane.” Still, is that a healthy response, or an exhausted one?<\/p>\n\n\n\n I think about all the stuff I’m building on my own right now: books, audiobooks, podcasts, etc. My LLC paperwork languishes in Legalzoom’s dungeon as their “crack” staff tries to figure out how to file a street address with the State of Washington. Once that’s done, I’ll have the foundation of something I<\/em> own. Something that’s mine<\/em>. And I don’t intend to stop creating if I land a job.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But will<\/em> I land a job? I certainly need the income. My personal ventures remain embryonic. It takes time to build the foundation for profit-driven creative endeavors. Anyone can write and throw their work into the Internet’s yawning chasms. Turning writing into a job requires work over time. Lots<\/em> of time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Maybe my life is ready to leave dry dock. I don’t know. I don’t trust the feeling that I’m close to something. Every time I put my ship in the water, it sinks and I drag it back to shore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I’m not sure how much of this job market America can endure before it collapses. Workers themselves certainly can’t handle much more. I cannot handle much more. So I focus on repairing my own hull and mending my own mast. People rely on me to have my shit together. I’m the captain of this vessel, and that means I’m responsible for it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Maybe I’ll leave dry dock soon. I hope so. It’s a scary thought after all this time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But it beats sinking to the ocean floor.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A sailing ship and a life share much in common. Mine’s been in dry dock so long that I can’t remember open water. But the tide may be coming in, and I hope the hull’s seaworthy.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1690,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"A life is like a ship, and mine's been in dry dock for almost two years now. 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