...and cannot handle being unemployed with any kind of grace?
Spoiler Alert: It's me.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Dear Blogosphere, how do I tell you what's happened? I could say so much, I could say so little.
Brass Tacks: It's time to take my exit from New York City.
It can be said that I have had a bloated sense of self. I don't mean your run-of-the-mill self-esteem, but a certain, deep-seated belief in my own omnipotence. Should I wish it, the world would fall at my feet. All that nonsense. Sometimes, I assume that when I choose a path, it will come together in front of me-- no obstacles, no waiting.
In a funny little companion piece, I also have a debilitating sense of self-doubt. I am utterly ineffective, non-notable, and unworthy. There is no path for me and should I try to strike out, my every attempt will end in failure.
I Am Jekyll; I Am Hyde
My foray into the wide, metropolitan yonder was yet another journey from (A) to (B).
When I first moved to New York, I was full of bubbling hope. Headstrong and cocksure, I assumed I would find work within a matter of weeks. I knew people, I was powerful, Fate would bow down to me.
Turns out, I was wrong. In NYC, I am a drop of water in the deep blue sea. Indistinguishable from all my peers. And what's worse? I came to the realization that my little nest egg can't support the rest of my rent AND the cost of living in NYC. I could hold off, see if something pops up in the coming months. Fun fact, though- I've been applying for jobs in NYC since before I left Korea. In five months, I have heard jackshit back from anyone. If I'd landed any interviews thusfar, it might be a different story. It might be just around the corner. But nothing. So what do I do? Squander the last of my money, then stick my roommate with the rest of the bill once I'm dry? Or do I move out now, while I have enough money to cover the rest of my rent and I'll have just a little left over? If it's only the rent, it's doable. But my money won't support my slumming it around much longer.
Clearly, it's time to consider manual labor. If I have to resort to minimum wage, it would be smarter to do so in a more affordable location. Somewhere where there aren't so many people vying for the same jobs, perhaps.
Roommate, money, jobs- oh right, there's also the mental health aspect.
The crushing sense of inadequacy that comes part and parcel with being an unremarkable candidate in the application pool is no small thing. Not for me, anyway. Give me a couple months of increasing isolation and desperation and you get one hell of a basket case. A basket case who, for the first time in her life, is having frequent panic attacks. I've never had a heart attack, but a panic attack feels the way I imagine a heart attack would, plus an emotional outpouring. You get the gist; it's not fun.
I have to pull out of New York City. Too many things could go awry. I don't have any amazing alternatives right now. Who would? My first priority is getting my anxiety under control. Breathing room. I have to dial back my expectations and reassess my options. Where will that lead me? I can't say for certain, but it's not NYC, not now.
Was the whole move to New York ill-advised? Evidence points to yes. As if I wasn't feeling bleak enough already, my parents have to help me schlep all my stuff back to their house a few measly months after moving it all in. And it has to be soon, before the weather becomes too unpredictable. How cumbersome of me.
I want to cut myself a break. I want to be happy that I actively tried something, regardless of its failure. I can't. I made this impulsive, grandiose move; it failed and I keep growing more and more inconvenient for my friends and family.
Lest this post be over morbid, I'll say I've got other things I'm going to try. Smaller ideas. The problem is that nothing feels like a good decision anymore. Tiny echoes in the pipeline. If anything concrete develops, you'll be the first to know.