It's the middle of summer and I am approaching my 5th month of unemployment and many things have been bouncing around my head. First, as each day without a job passes, I gain a better understanding of the 'long-term unemployed'. By government definition, that means being unemployed for 27 weeks or more - I am at 18 now. National Public Radio aired a story that discussed that perceived improvement in the national unemployment rate does not reflect those people who have simply given up looking for work. They further noted that this population may represent nearly one to two percent of the nations actual unemployed, meaning that there has been no real turn around in employment figures at the national level.
What do do? What to do? Looking for 'regular' jobs has been a less than successful to say the least. To date I have applied to over 200 jobs. Where does that leave me? Confused, depressed, angry, lethargic, non-committal, all true to some degree. But with savings dwindling and bills that don't go away just because I don't have a job, I must do something.
So back to the drawing board. I scour the want ads, I surf the job sites and apply to anther dozen or so jobs, ant then I wait. It is during these times I return to trying to understand how all this is affecting me. Nothing seems to help. Flipping the channels on a rainy afternoon, I stopped on a fishing show. Hmmm.... fishing? Unemployment, waiting for an employer to call, hoping to get a really good job.
Fishing. A noble past-time of an age gone by? A life-skill needed to put food on the table? A hobby that is passed from grissled old-timers to the next generations? How ever you look at it fishing and being unemployed have a lot in common.
Akin to hunting (discussed in detail in several previous posts), fishing can help me understand what I am going through. Admittedly the pain of being fired has diminished over time, I now look at the job hunt like a fishing trip with my Grandpa.
Perusing the classifieds, I identify a few 'fishing-holes' that seem interesting. So, out to my office I go. I pull out my tackle box of resumes, and after carefully reading the ad, I select one that I think will work. Remembering what my Grandpa taught me.
He would tell me, "Boy, the 'bait' you choose is the most important part of fishin'. You gotta know what you're fishin' for and give it what it likes."
So I pick out a resume, scrutinize it carefully. Reworking the 'electronic fly' so that it is as attractive as possible. The fish in the unemployment lake are very, very picky, so I must pay attention to every detail of the bait before I make the first cast.
After a couple of hours of editing, copying, pasting, reformatting, font selection, etc. I rear back, try to judge the winds and flip the pole, watching the lure fly, carried by the winds of the ethernet to its destination, just...to...the...left of the 'discard-pile' and hopefully onto the desk where the Hiring Fish in the H.R. department will be.
Having finished the cast, my Grandpa leaned back in his seat on the boat, "Son, now comes the second most important part of fishin'. Ya gotta wait. Let the fish consider your bait."
So earlier this week I prepared several lures, cast lines out to likely locations where I hope some Hiring Fish takes the bait.
Now, more than then, I better understand waiting. But, now, just like then, patience has never been my strong suit. I get patient. To help settle myself down, I thought about my Grandpa.
As a kid I admired the near mystical qualities that my Grandpa possessed when ever we would go hunting or fishing. He seemed to see, hear and feel things that I could not, and that was well, just .....cool.
Back at home, I flipped between my e-mail program, my mail-box, answering machine, and cell phone, impatiently pacing, trying to be as calm as my Grandpa in fishing chair.
The phone rings.
Sitting up with a start I grab the pole, er, phone. "Hello, is Scott Lightfoot there?"
Holding onto the pole reeling in the line, "Yes, this is he."
"This is Connie, from Company X. We received your resume and would like you to come in for an interview.", the pleasant voice said.
Reeling harder now, doing my best not to lose the fish on the other end of the line. "I'd be happy to come in and talk with you."
I could hear Connie tapping on a keyboard in the back ground. "How about this Friday at 2:30 p.m.?
I recall my Grandpa's advice, "When you get one on the line, boy, you gotta feel the fishout. Let the ple and the line talk to you."
The quizzical look in my 10 year old eyes told him I didn't understand.
"Look, son, you gotta feel the pole. The fish will tell you a lot by how it feels. The tension on the line can help you guess the size of the fish, how much of a hold your hook has and you can tell if your line is strong enough to reel him in."
Back on the phone with this fish, I could tell I had a chance. I set the appointment and prepared and waited. Again with the waiting.
Again, my Grandpa's voice in my head tells me, "The challenge is to keep hold of the line until you get the fish to the edge of the boat where you can scoop him up with the net."
The day arrived, and yes, I was exhausted. I had been holding on to the pole of hope, watching the tension in line get more taught, as I began to think about what it would be like to be employed again.
The feeling I had now mirrored the youthful euphoria I had as a kid, when I felt the first fish on the end of my line. The thought of a regular paycheck, the prospect of having the void created by my job loss possibly filled by this new job. The confusion of not having a schedule made simpler by a weekly routine - what ever it would be - 'meaning' in my life restored by being able to look people in the eye and say, "I have job." I smiled ear to ear - just like in the photo of me and Grandpa.
So I show up for the interview, jump through the hoops of that process (see phases 10, 11, 13) leave the office and return home. The muscles of hope holding on to the pole burn as I wait for some kind of response about the job. Waiting, more pain. Waiting, the line gets tighter. I pull with all the strength of my psyche. Believing that THIS time, the call will be positive. One day goes by, no call. Two days go by, nothing. Then on the third day....on my computer.... my email program comes to life . BWONG!! "You've got mail!"
Now, Scott the Fisherman, standing with my feet anchored to the floor of the boat, pulling with all my might.
I click on the message from Company X.
"Dear Scott,"
I feel the fish on the other end giving up. I get excited as I see it break the surface of the water, glimmering in the sun.
"After careful review of your resume, discussion with your references, we have decided that you..."
The line goes loose and I reel in faster, faster, to make sure I have a good hold on the hope that is the fish flying in the air.
"...do not fit the qualifications required for the position to which you have applied for. Free from the line it comes hurtling right at me. I'm too stupefied to move. I can't believe this is happening again!
"We at Company X will keep your resume on file. In the event that any positions open up in the future that match your qualifications, we will let you know."
KERTHUNK!! Owwww! What the...? The damn fish hit me right in the forehead. Looking at the floor of the boat I see it's not the Hiring Fish, but ann old toilet seat. Dizzily I lean over and pick it up. I flip open the hold in the center of the boat and toss it in with my other 'catches'; the boot, the umbrella, the coffee can, the tree root, and the bucket.
Damn. I turn the other way, start the engine and go back to shore, empty handed, no job, again.
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